Tag: directv

Welcome back, Coach!

I have very little and very much to say about this beautiful season four premiere. Let’s see whether my talky or taciturn side wins, shall we?

When we left Dillon, Coach had been screwed out of his position by Joe McCoy’s machinations, ((I’m sure in his eyes, Coach hoisted himself on his own petard by ignoring precious, perfect JD.)) banished to the newly reopened East Dillon High as both consolation and punishment. Despite promises of large state grants to both schools, the best talent and lion’s share of the money have been diverted to Dillon.

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Y’all have had a really nice relationship and you don’t know what’s going to happen after that. If you and Matt are meant to be together you’ll be together. And if you’re not, there’s going to be someone else special for you.

And so the long ride comes to a close. We diehards hold out hope that the weird admixture of DirecTV ratings plus the upcoming NBC run of these 13 episodes will earn another season, but if it doesn’t this was an okay way to say goodbye. If we’re meant to be together, we’ll be together.

Jumping five months from last week’s title game, it’s time for the seniors to say goodbye to Dillon High and put away their childish things. Soon. Anytime now. But first, Matt’s got to fight with Grandma about how many dresses she needs to bring to the assisted living facility. And Tim’s got to convince Billy he needs a steer. And Joe McCoy – never anything but a childish bully – has to push Eric out of his job.

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Living in Dillon is certainly handicap enough to make anyone an underdog. Almost as much a handicap as a show airing exclusively on DirecTV before returning to the broadcast airwaves. All underdogs can do is push, strive, and keep trying against overwhelming odds and insurmountable forces.

Would the Panthers find the hearts of champions within to beat the South Texas Titans? Would Tyra find the essay within to beat down the doors of college? Would Landry find the field before game time?

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In Mo Ryan’s recap/preview of FNL’s third season she pointed out how much this season has replayed the greatest hits of season one. ((And fortunately did NOT put any dead bodies in the trunks of cars.)) That’s certainly true, but is to be expected to a certain extent in a show about teenagers. After all, while it feels horribly unique and unprecedented when you’re living through it, age and perspective show us that the teenage experience is common across the generations.

Fathers and sons fight. Daughters grow into women. Our parents and grandparents grow smaller and feebler before our eyes.

But while I’m all for some repetition of themes and motifs, tonight actually irritated me. Tell me if any of this sounds familiar to you:

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Money comes and goes, yeah? These kids of ours, that’s a one-time deal.

“The Giving Tree” is one of Shel Silverstein’s finest works, and while Landry’s right that his relationship with Tyra superficially resembles it, the story is about parents and children. The give us life, nurture and support us. They feed us, clothe us, give us shelter and succor. They keep us warm and dry and safe. They teach us to play and teach us to become men and women. In the end, we survive our parents. We are their lives’ work and when they finish, when we finally say our goodbyes, it is with love and debt for all they’ve done.

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When Friday Night Lights is at its best, football is the hub around which each story revolves. Some are obviously and tightly coupled, such as the QB controversy or Matt standing tall under the weight of hit after hit to go back for one more play, one more yard. Some seem detached, like Mindy and Billy acting out the behaviors they’ll repeat for the next 30 years. But in the good episodes, every story – every *person* – is impacted by Panther Football. Tonight was one of those episodes.

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You’ll be swell! You’ll be great!
Gonna have the whole world on the plate!
Starting here, starting now,
Honey, everything’s coming up roses! – Mama Rose

So ends Six’s story, with the tearful reunion of an accidental family and the broken heart of a lifelong friend. Nothing ever could stop Jason Street, not even a broken neck. So while yes, the kid with the GED getting even an entry level job at a New York boutique agency is a bit crazy, I can *almost* believe it. Scott Porter is that good. He’s so good, I could watch Jason lie outright to Wendell about being on his way back to Dillon and stopping in just to help the poor kid make the right decision and *still* believe every word he said.

That’s a testament to Street as a character and Porter as an actor.

Jason rolls off into the sunset on $40K a year and the knowledge that he’ll be running that agency someday. At least he should know that.

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I was mocked tonight for tearing up near the end of this episode. I can’t help it, as I’ve got much love for Billy Riggins. Every time I see that dumb lug bust his ass to help out his ungrateful little brother, I get to thinking maybe there’s hope for humanity after all. I know he’s a fictional character, but he’s also very real. If someone like Billy – filled with contradictions, prone to screw up, abandoned and unloved by his parents – can find enough love to do what he does for Tim, maybe the rest of us have a chance. ((In the short-term, it means I won’t be working on my orbital death ray tonight. Long-term? Don’t cut me off in traffic and you might all survive.))

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There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza
There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza a hole.

And with that unguarded, completely vulnerable moment, Herc and the Riggins boys know what’s at stake. This isn’t about Jason making money; it’s about Jason being a father. The reaction shot of Herc was a given, as Kevin Rankin brings such a sweetness to his role Herc would obviously be taken by Jason opening himself up like that. The more significant shot for me was of Billy. Billy knows what a loving, doting, caring father is: he just has to look in the negative space around his own deadbeat dad. Billy’s not going to be screwing around on this project anymore, even if it means putting up with Jason’s work list.

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It’s when all the scared rats start running away from a sinking market that the true entrepreneurs come in. The true visionaries.

The Smash Williams Farewell Tour complete, it’s time for Six to take his lap around Dillon. And just like Smash, the start of his story places him on a road out of town. I don’t imagine this arc ending with an ebullient Jason Street, relishing a moment of simple pleasure with his friends before heading off on his life’s journey. Instead I imagine him quietly saying his goodbyes – to family, coach, and Lyla – before following Erin and his baby east.

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