Friday Night Lights -- 101 -- Pilot

Hey! I'm Ran, your armchair quarterback for Friday Night Lights. I've got my Coors Light Gridiron Cooler Box and my jumbo bag of Fiery Habenero Doritos and I'm ready for some football. Okay, actually it's caffeine-free Diet Coke and Rold Gold Tiny Twists, but the point is, if you like football, you can find about a bajillion hours of it a week on TV this fall. You've got your pro games and you've got your college games; hell, there's probably a Michigan vs. Michigan State game from 1987 on ESPN Classic right now. Even MTV has joined the football frenzy with its reality series, Two-A-Days, which chronicles high school football in a small Alabama town. But forget the real thing -- this pseudo-docu-drama is the hour I'm happily huddling up for. Go, Panthers!

You should know going in that I can't even pretend to be objective about this show. I grew up in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, a town that lives and breathes college basketball. While other kids my age idolized movie stars, I memorized box scores and collected photos and autographs of Carolina ball players. My mom gave me a player's used basketball shoes for Christmas one year. Friday Night Lights might be about high school football, not UNC basketball, but the feeling is the same. I know these boys. I know this town. I feel it all the way to my bones.

Monday. We open with some establishing daybreak shots of (fictional) Dillon, Texas, with a voiceover by Slammin' Sammy Mead, the voice of "Panther football radio," and the show's version of a Greek chorus. I imagine Slammin' Sammy and I will be good friends by season's end; he gives excellent exposition. As Sammy talks to a caller on the air, we get some essential info: it's only four days to the first game of the season, the team has a new coach, Eric Taylor, and expectations are as high as that big Texas sky they keep showing us. Coach Taylor's played by Kyle Chandler, and now that he's got a new gig, I guess I can forgive the folks at Grey's Anatomy for killing off his bomb squad character. Personally, I thought he would have made a good match for Meredith, since he was accustomed to handling fragile devices that have the potential to destroy everything in their path. Taylor walks across the football field as an NBC news van (what, you were expecting ESPN?) pulls into the parking lot, and we hear on the radio that a news crew is going to follow the coach throughout the preseason. "Who does he think he is, Mack Brown?" the caller asks, indignant. Hee. Mack Brown is the current coach of the University of Texas football team…and, in a nice bit of cosmic symmetry, the former coach of the UNC Tar Heels, my hometown team.

As we get started, I'll tell you that the entire episode is done with shaky cams and hand-helds and choppy cuts, which are fabulous to look at and a real pain to recap. But I have to say, the docu-style filming accomplishes a couple of things I really like: it gives the whole shebang a ton of verisimilitude, and it punches up the power of the rare quiet moments because it feels like we're getting to see both the public and private sides of the characters.

With the radio conversation as a backdrop, we start to get a glimpse of the players' lives. Their homes come complete with helpful signs out front listing name, number, and position. Yay! I expect to see one that says "Booty O'Licious #69 Sixty-Nine!" We start with Tim Riggins (#33 Running Back), a delectable slab of Abercrombie beefcake sprawled shirtless on a leather couch in a patch of dawn. From there, we visit Matthew Saracen (#7 Quarterback). An older woman in a robe is watching QVC. Matt tells "Grandma" he's made her two sandwiches and put her medicine in the green Gatorade. When she protests that she only wants one sandwich, he sweetly tells her he'll have the other when he gets home from practice. I'm not sure Grandma's entirely there, and that's a heavy burden for a high school kid to carry. When Matt hears a car honk outside, he gives her a kiss and heads out the door.

The next scene shows Matt riding in an old station wagon driven by a red-haired kid who says he wants his own yard sign, only his will read, "Landry Clarke. Utterly useless. All-state jerk team." I like Landry already. Matt mumbles that he could probably be on that team, too, as he opens a newspaper to a big picture of Coach Taylor and the headline, "The Best Ever?" On the radio in the background, Slammin' Sammy's still yapping, talking about Jason Street, the starting quarterback, who has the best pass completion percentage in the nation. Matt and Landry talk about the fact that Matt never plays because Street is so good. They engage in some bitchslapping boy banter, and it's easy to see why they're friends.

Back at Tim Riggins' house, the beefcake's having a little trouble with the concept of 'awake,' despite nagging from his older brother. Even hungover and pissy he's smokin' hot; I can't wait to see him sober and upright. I should probably start calling him "Timmy" to remind myself that he's JAILBAIT. Big bro says they'll kick him off the team if he doesn't get his ass in gear, and that he just "ain't that good." Timmy snarls back that he's twice the player big bro ever was, as a really really pretty tousle-haired blond wearing just a shirt comes in and drapes herself all over him. Nice work if you can get it! Hey, it's Jess from Supernatural! Big bro says, "This is life, this isn't Maxim magazine," but from where I'm sitting, it's hard to tell the difference. You know, the last time Adrianne Palicki did a pilot, she ended up gutted on a ceiling and burst into flames. Let's hope things go better for her this go-round.

Cut to a nice brick house (much fancier than Matt and Tim's more modest homes), where Lyla, Jason Street's cheerleader girlfriend, lives. When she tells her mom she can't make the family dinner because of rally rehearsal, her little brother says, "She's going to be rehearsing how far she can get her tongue into Jason Street's mouth." Hee. Little Bro and Landry should get together and swap snark.

At the practice, Coach Taylor and Jason Street are being interviewed by a reporter for NBC Sports. We learn that Taylor's been an assistant coach for six years, and that he's been coaching Street since peewee league. Taylor's got only glowing things to say about Street, and vice versa, and though it smacks a little of interviewspeak, there's obviously genuine respect and affection between the coach and his superstar quarterback.

In the stands, a Notre Dame recruiter tells Street's parents that Jason may be the best quarterback he's ever seen, and the parents say they think Jason's ready to sign with Notre Dame. Me, I'd pick someplace warm -- Arizona State, maybe? Or the University of Hawaii? But I guess the golden dome of Notre Dame has its indefinable allure for Heisman hopefuls.

The next sequence weaves quick cuts of player interviews with scenes of them in action on the field. First, we meet Brian "Smash" Williams, cock-of-the-walk running back. He's all glitz and verve, and his mouth goes as fast as his legs. He commands his interview by sheer verbiage and volume. The reporter asks him about charges of racism on the squad, but Smash deflects, saying he doesn't let it "fade" him; he's got things to do. We cut immediately to Tim Riggins saying, "That's not racism, man, I just don't like him. He could be from Saudi Arabia or Sweden or Czech. That dude could be Santa Claus and I still wouldn't like him." Don't be shy, Timmy; tell us how you really feel. He also says he plays "Fullback," though his yard sign showed "Running Back" and my unruly libido squeals, "Tight End!" When the reporter asks about his aggressiveness on the field, Riggins says, "I just like to hurt people," and we see him throw down a wicked body slam on some poor schlub.

Jason's still in the proverbial spotlight, while Matt's digging through garbage looking for something an assistant coach accidentally threw out. Poor Matt. Back at Riggins' interview, the reporter says he's noticed alcohol on Tim's breath, but Tim just denies it. We then see him fumble the football, badly. Big bro watches from the stands, exasperated, as the assistant coach gets all up in Tim's face, screaming at him.

It's lesson time, Dillon Panther-style. I can't do this scene justice in words, but you know those old National Geographic specials that showed the big horn sheep running full-tilt into each other and locking horns and basically beating the crap out of each other? Okay, now imagine my boy Timmy as a hungover (or possibly still wasted) big horn sheep, with the rest of the team as a whole bunch of other sheep who form a circle around him and take turns ramming him to the ground when the coach calls out their numbers. BAM! RAM! BAM! You can hear the impact, and Riggins goes flying over and over. He looks like he wants to hurl but continues to take his licking like a man. The scene's scored to "Black Betty" by Ram Jam, and it rocks this already rocking scene just that little bit harder. Intercut with Riggins' punishment, we get a couple more quick interview quotes from Taylor about the responsibility of coaching such a highly regarded team. There's a stark contrast between his polite, almost rote answers and the slamfest happening on the field. Smash sums up the whole team philosophy when he says to Timmy, "One person fumbles the ball, we all fumble the ball. One person shows up half-drunk, we all show up half-drunk." RAM! BAM! RAM! "Get up, Riggins," Coach Taylor says after each colossal hit, in an 'it's for your own good' tone. RAM! BAM! "Get up, son." I notice that '20' gets a couple shots in; that's Smash's number. BAM! RAM! BAM! "Get up."

Wow. Awesome intro. The screen cuts to black, with white letters spelling out "Friday Night Lights." Maybe we'll get a real opening sequence next week.

At a local eatery and team hangout, the interview's still going on. Street gets tripped up when he seems to be endorsing the "Aztec burger" he eats every day, and Smash calls out from another booth that he plans to shill for both "Nike and Adidas, Big Macs and Whoppers, Coke and Pepsi." He's so over-the-top it's hard not to like him, and hearing him, Jason cracks one of the first real smiles we've seen from him. At another table, while credits run discreetly at the bottom of the screen, Landry and Matt work up the nerve to approach the coach's daughter, who's reading Moby Dick. She's another pretty blond, but she's significantly lower on the skankscale than Timmy's girlfriend. After establishing that Matt's on the team, even though he doesn't play, and that Landry's not on the team at all, the coach's little girl shoots them down, saying, "I don't eat with football players," to Matt, and "I don't eat with you, either," to Landry. Ouch. That's cold, Miss Snippy.

Back at the interview, Lyla is hanging on Jason, telling the reporter how sweet he is off the field and how well he handles all the pressure. Timmy's girlfriend is listening in and gets all surly and sarcastic about Lyla, up to and including calling her a whore. Hmmm. Backstory, please? Then Timmy's gal gets up and sashays her bare-midriffed self over to Smash's table, her jeans riding so low I can't help but assume the Brazilian has moseyed its way to Dillon. Hoochie mama! She proceeds to take a big bite of Smash's burger. No, that's not a double entendre, though given the S-E-X in every move she makes, you could be forgiven for thinking so. We haven't learned her name yet, but I can tell you this: as far as I'm concerned, she's Trouble.

While the kids are chowing down, Coach Taylor's in his office reviewing game tapes. His wife, Tami, comes in and asks about an "ugly rumor" she heard about them needing to attend a car dealership opening the next night. Taylor's chagrined; he completely forgot to tell her about it. "Alaska," she says. "I know," Taylor says. "I'm just sayin'. A much more relaxed lifestyle," Tami says. Taylor looks at her and says, "It's under advisement." Tami moves behind Taylor and wraps her arms around him as he continues to watch the tape. Oooh, they're good together. I hope we get to see a lot of them like this. Connie Britton's reprising her role from the movie as the coach's wife, and she and Kyle Chandler seem to fit together like two spoons in a drawer.

At Matt's house, as Matt tries to throw a football through a tire (and misses repeatedly), Landry waxes grunge poetic, comparing the town to an out-of-tune guitar and a demonic crossword puzzle. He says, "I'm thinking about starting a Christian speed metal band. You in?" HEE! Matt's grandma calls out from the porch, "Matthew, you need to get a new friend." Double HEE.

Night has fallen. Jason brings Lyla home, and they get all snuggly as she talks cute about his superhuman football skills. The lines are crap, but the scene's nicely done; Jason manages somehow not to be a jerk. I'm less won over by Lyla, who seems shallow and superficial, more invested in the image than the reality. I'm sure she's got "Mrs. Jason Street" doodled with hearts and flowers all over her notebooks.

At the Taylors' house, Tami recites a real estate listing from the newspaper. "His and Her closets!" she says over her shoulder to Eric, who's still watching game tapes. He looks over at her and says quietly, "Relent." Oh! I love him! So does Tami, but you know relenting's probably not really her strong suit, as she continues to mutter to herself "His. And Her. Closets," while cutting out the ad and sticking it on the refrigerator. The daughter (who NBC.com tells me is named Julie) says to her dad, "Moby Dick is actually the perfect metaphor for this town."

Here's how she breaks it down:

The sea = the football season and all its uncertainties
The white whale = the Holy Grail: the state championship
The whalers = the players and the coaches
Queequeg = Smash Williams
Captain Ahab = Coach Taylor

Okay, so apparently Miss Snippy is also Miss Smarty; she still could have been nicer to Matt and Landry. I think she's trying to reach out to her dad, looking for some common ground, and he plays along, though he appears somewhat bemused by her erudite vocabulary. He says, "I'm not so sure you're mine. I'm going to have to order up a DNA test on you." Tami's still talking up those closets in the background and leaves the room with her arms raised over her head, going "Whoo ooo" very sexily. I find myself utterly charmed by the entire family.

Tuesday. Slammin' Sammy's on the job again, taking calls from listeners so obsessed they're practically pantherlogical, and we get more establishing shots of the town. In Night Stalker, we called these "glamour shots," but Dillon? Not so glamorous. Taylor walks out to the field parking lot to meet an older black man leaning against a car. Taylor calls him "Coach," and he's apparently been on a scouting trip to check out the Westerby team, the Panthers' upcoming opponent. They speak in the marvelous shorthand of men who know each other well. The old coach tells Taylor he's got to add height to his defensive line, to counter their…um…counters, whatever they are. Then he tells Taylor he's got to win the game -- "You've got no excuses, and that's a lonely place to be starting." Taylor's comfortable enough to tease him, saying, "It ain't that serious, it's only football," and they share a good laugh. Kyle Chandler's ridiculously appealing here, and I'm starting to think he's so good, he'd probably have chemistry with the goalposts.

Tuesday must be a pretty quiet day in Dillon, since the next scene is set in the evening, at the opening of Buddy Garrity's Chevrolet dealership. Buddy is Lyla's daddy, and the real point of the opening is to get the entire Panther football team, including its brand-spankin'-new coach, in front of the community. After a welcome from Mayor Lucy Rodell, Coach Taylor gives his "I'm just happy to be here" speech, talking about the mighty tradition of Panther football, and some of the men in the audience hold up their fists, showing their Panther rings. There's much cheering and rah-rah-ing, though as Julie says in an aside to Tami, "Let's see where that love is if he loses a game." After the equivalent of a pep rally, complete with an impromptu rap from Smash, we get to the nitty-gritty: everybody from the mayor down has something to say to the coach about how he's going to run his team. While the menfolk descend on Eric like white on rice, Tami gets approached by two women who ask her, with huge fake grins and dripping southern accents, why she hasn't been to their book club. What they really mean is, "You think you're too good for us?" Tami says she's been busy (in other words, "Hell, yes, I'm too good for you.") They press her until she agrees to come to their stupid book club, and they depart, leaving a sticky trail of insincerity oozing behind them. Ugh. In another part of the room, the mayor uses Jason Street's basic decentness against him as she corners him against a post and tells him he's too nice, and that he's got to get over that. She asks if he likes "early Black Sabbath," saying, "it'll make you mean." Okay, that's funny, but seriously? He's got the best pass completion rate in the nation, so back off, Miz Mayor. Being such a pussycat obviously hasn't hurt him any.

Meanwhile, the coach is getting yet another earful.

At a table, one of the book club bitcas fawns over my boy Timmy a little, making some awkward, sexually charged comments about whether he's ever "blitzed an older woman." Something about it all seems vaguely familiar…OMG, she's totally the embodiment of my virtual leer.

Coach? Earful. Again.

Oh, and here comes Trouble. Jason, having successfully shaken the mayor, doesn't have as much luck avoiding Trouble (whose name is apparently Tyra, but I'm just gonna call 'em like I see 'em). She wraps herself around Jason and cameras start flashing as she tells him that "drinking milk" must get boring day after day, and suggests he "try a milkshake once in a while." Uh-huh. First Timmy, then Smash, and now Jason? There's a joke in there about "why buy the cow when you can get the milkshake for free," but it's too much Trouble to look for it.

Coach Taylor? Still not getting a word in.

Lyla comes up to Jason and his hanger-on. Jason does damage control with Lyla while Trouble goes over to visit with Smash. Wow, Trouble must be really tall; she keeps having to bend over... To his credit, Smash seems to genuinely like her, calling her "angel eyes," and talking smack about pulling diamonds from the sky for her. They're laughing together when my boy Timmy comes up. He and Smash reach for yardsticks so they can measure their dicks. Okay, they don't do that, but they might as well. There's macho posturing and veiled threats (Timmy: "Grrrr!" Smash: "Arrrgh!"), and who's in the middle of it all? That's right: Trouble!

By the end of the scene -- a long, mouthy diatribe from none other than Mack Brown himself, going incognito for an extended cameo -- Taylor's literally speechless. He looks like he's having serious second thoughts about Alaska.

Commercials! Dang, that was twenty solid minutes of television, in every sense of the word.

Wednesday. An exhibition game between the peewee league and the Panthers is being filmed by the news crew (and photographed ad nauseum by all the peewee moms and dads). It's a gorgeous scene, set on a cool and cloudy day where the bright spots are the kids' uniforms and the tangible connection between the little kids, the big kids, and the grown-ups. It's a very different view of the tribe than we saw at the dealership, and a much more engaging one. The big girl cheerleaders stand beside little munchkins who will one day be just like them. One of the high school players picks up a peewee player and carries him instead of tackling him. The entire peewee team takes down a Panther in a big messy pile. It's as sweet a slice of small town life as I've ever seen, even though there's a part of me that recoils from the one-note simplicity of it all, the way even at this young age, these kids already have their desire rooted deep.

Later, Jason talks to the kids in the locker room, telling them that the plays they're learning in peewee league are the same ones they'll use when they get to high school. He's a god to those boys, and as he answers their questions, he's just as polite to them as he was to the mayor. One kid asks him, "Mr. Street? Do you think God loves football?" Jason says, "I think everybody loves football." The kid looks up at him like he's Superman, Captain America and Iron Man rolled into one, and says, "Me, too." Aww! They end the session with a prayer, with all the players holding hands.

Thursday. It turns out the Bookclub Blitzer is a real estate agent, who says as she stands in front of the house Tami found in the newspaper, "Did you see the room in the bathroom? Room in the bathroom has saved more marriages than Oprah and Dr. Phil combined." I don't know, Blitzy, I bet Tami would still vote for His and Her closets. Eric seems to be seriously considering the house, but he tells Blitzy he wants to wait until after the game to make an offer. "Bring 'em hell!" Blitzy says. 'Bring 'em'? What about 'give 'em hell'? Must be a Texanism. Eric drives home, listening to yet another vitriolic opinion of his apparently questionable abilities on the radio. He parks in the driveway, looking pensive.

Later that night, the gang's hanging out somewhere with lawn chairs and coolers. Smash is conspicuously absent. Jason and Lyla are all cuddled up, and Trouble wanders over for a sloppy kiss from my boy Timmy. He's obviously drunk again...I mean, feeling sentimental. He's got a plan: he wants "Streeter" to give him one percent of each pro ball paycheck for ten years, and when it's all said and done, they'll have a big old hunting ranch, and Timmy will be the caretaker. Jason protests that he doesn't want Timmy on his land, but Timmy's having none of it. "Yeah, you do," he says. He raises yet another bottle of beer in a toast: "Here's to God, and football, and ten years from now, Street, good friends living large in Texas. Texas forever!" Jason raises his soda can (because he's such a good boy) and echoes, "Texas forever!" Timmy's not done yet. He wants everybody to feel the love: "Let's touch God this time, boys. Let's touch God." On paper, it's a cheesy line, but the guy sold it; he really did. Or maybe it's just that drunk and drowsy and bustin' out all over with love looks really good on him. Of course, I think he'd probably look good scratching his ass and chewing with his mouth open, so take my opinion for what it's worth. Timmy and Street share A Look over Lyla's head. Bros before hos, man. Bros before hos.

Friday. Finally! Slammin' Sammy is so excited, he can hardly contain himself. We see one closed storefront after another, with signs in the windows that read, "Gone to game!" as the town empties into the stadium. Between Sammy's palpable enthusiasm, the images of the cheerleaders, the townsfolk filing into the stands, the marching bands and the mascots, and the background musical score, I've got goosebumps. They've got me hooked and they haven't even started playing yet. We cut between the field and the locker room, where I'd say the excitement is equally balanced by tension. My boy Timmy can't sit still; he's bouncing his legs like he's running in place. Jason looks serious, focused. Even Smash is quiet for once. Then Slammin' Sammy says the words we've been waiting to hear all week: "Feed the dogs, spit the fire, lock up your daughters, turn on the radio, sit down and shut up, because it's GAME TIME, people!"

In the locker room, the team has assembled for Coach Taylor's pre-game speech. His voice is low and rough and I want to jump him right there. He says he knows expectations are high. He says he has no trouble seeing them winning, but that what he expects from them is that they not take this team lightly. "I expect you boys to play football," he says quietly. "Clear eye, full hearts, can't lose." The players echo him: "CAN'T LOSE!" and I might have gotten a little choked up on that last part. The players touch a faded "P" high on the wall as they head out of the locker room. Hanging back, Taylor says to Jason, "You deserve this, you understand? You earned this, the right to win. You put that in your head." Jason looks him in the eye and says, "You, too, Coach. Expect to win. You've earned that." Awwwwww! I love the give and take between player and coach, how each supports the other. Damn it, hand me a Kleenex.

And we are underway! Jason huddles up his offense and rattles off some incomprehensible blend of words and numbers that his boys immediately understand. The play-calling reminds me of the communication between Alpha Team members on The Unit. They get it and we don't, but we get that they get it, and that's what counts. On the first drive, the Panthers score on a pass to Eugene Williams (whose yard sign would read '#8 Wide Receiver') after Smash and my boy Timmy work the ball downfield into range. Westerby answers with a touchdown on their first possession, and goes on to rack up another score thanks to their counters (which About.com helpfully tells me involves using misdirection to distract the defense in one direction while the running back zooms off in the other). The Panthers keep doing their thing -- Smash gets some nice runs on blocks from Timmy, and Jason completes another touchdown pass to #1 (Tony Somethingorother? I can't quite hear his name over the manic cheering), but you can see the unease creeping from the sidelines up into the stands as they go into halftime with the score tied. On a shallow note, Kyle Chandler looks adorable with his hair all mussed up from the headphones.

Commercials. I'll give Nike a point for perfect placement with their NFL-players-in-high-school 'Football Is Everything' ad.

In the locker room at halftime, the assistant coach, who seems to do all Taylor's yelling for him, is ripping the offensive line a new one for their inability to protect Street from Westerby's lightning-fast defense. Taylor listens intently as a shell-shocked Street describes the smothering defensive pressure. Matt's hovering over his shoulder as Jason says they're so fast, he can't even see the blitz coming. It's hectic and a little crazy -- sweaty uniforms, bloody scratches, testosterone spilling out all over the place. The assistant coach sums up the approach to the second half by saying, "We're going into a fistfight."

Second half. It's ugly piled on ugly. The first play is a total bust, which leads Taylor to mutter dryly, "Well that didn't work." Hee. Street does his best to keep the offense from falling apart, but as the radio announcer says, "If you let a team like Westerby stick around long enough, they start to think they can beat you." The Panthers have no answer for those stinkin' counters, which you'll remember Taylor was warned about by the old coach way back on Tuesday. The crowd is starting to get really nervous, and the scoreboard shows us why: Westerby's up 24-14 with only six minutes remaining in the game. They're beating the pants off our Panthers! Oh, if only that weren't metaphorical! The Panthers move the ball up the field. It's third and five, the critical play, and Jason drops back, looks for his receivers and lets the ball fly…and…it's intercepted! Oh, no! The Westerby player takes off down the field, gaining yardage, dodging tackles until the only person between him and the goal line is Street. Oh. Oh, no. No. NO! Street leaps, colliding with the Westerby player in mid-air and CRUNCH. The Westerby player fumbles the ball and it looks like a Panther recovers it, but in the meantime, Street drops like a rock to the field and lies there, unmoving. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Looking back on it, they telegraphed that pass: Which player did we first hear speak? The back-up quarterback, Matt Saracen. Remember? He was making tuna sandwiches for his grandma? They still got me, though, and I bet a lot of the people who've read the book or seen the movie the show is based on were waiting for Smash to blow out his knee. Okay, I'm avoiding the scene, because it's incredibly painful to watch. Jason's down, folks, and he's not getting back up.

In the stands, Jason's parents realize something is very wrong, while Lyla, cheering on the sidelines without as good a view of the action, asks, "What happened?" They bring out the trainer first, followed by the doctor. Oh, it's not good. It's really, really not good. Taylor tugs off his headphones and walks out onto the field while the players stand on the sidelines, shocked and scared. The crowd is absolutely silent. We see quick reaction shots of Landry, who's sitting with Matt's grandma, Tami and Julie, and Jason's parents, who head down to the field. I get goosebumps again when they show the trainers from Westerby jogging over to help out. Jason's conscious and able to answer the questions the doctor asks, but he's not moving. Oh, man, I hate this. I know it's not real, but it feels real. In the quiet, you can hear Jason's mom lose her shit as she leans over Jason on the field, shrieking, "No, no. Jason! Get up!" In the stands, the fans hold up their hands with their fingers crossed. An ambulance arrives, and they strap Jason to a backboard when the doctor says he thinks it's a spinal injury. When the paramedic asks Jason if he can move his foot, we see that he can't. SHIT. The paramedic tells Jason he's doing good, and Jason says, "Thank you." Even now he's polite. In the stands, we see Lyla's parents and Tyra, all looking dismayed. On the field, the Westerby players are watching respectfully, holding hands. As Jason's rolled off the field on a stretcher with his devastated parents walking behind him, his teammates, the crowd, and the opposing team all applaud for him, because that's what you do; it's the only thing you can do.

Commercials. They're having an Ugly Dress Parade at JC Penney this fall. But you know what? Their ugliest dress will still look better on most of us than those damn Skinny Pants from The Gap.

Turns out there's still just under three minutes left to be played in the game. Remember the game? Yeah, me, neither, but it's got to be finished, and you know what that means? Yup, Matt Saracen, whose only contribution to the team beyond digging through garbage has been holding for the occasional extra point (which even Landry will admit he didn't do particularly well), is suddenly front and center. "Good God," Matt's grandma says incredulously in the stands. Matt looks like he might puke, but he pulls on his helmet and starts throwing practice passes. The referee asks to speak with the captains, and Taylor calls for them. When Matt doesn't respond, Taylor says evenly, "Saracen. Quarterback's the captain." Smash takes Matt by the hand and walks out on the field with him and another player. Matt looks scared spitless. The referee does a good thing -- he tells the captains to go back and tell their players to keep their heads up, to play hard but fair, and only hit what they see. It grounds the players (and us!) back in the action. The coaches shake hands, the captains from both teams knock helmets manfully, the players on the sidelines do that yelling and bouncing thing teams do to recharge their batteries, and the game is on again.

The next scene intercuts between the hospital, where Jason's uniform and helmet are being cut off him, and the stadium and Matt's virgin quarterbacking. Both are traumatic. In the huddle, Matt's a basket case. Smash has to correct his play-calling, but Matt finally stammers out a play, lines up, and immediately gets sacked when he ends up calling the wrong play anyway. Lyla's at the hospital, standing by herself in the hall, crying. Back on the field, Matt's lining up again as Landry hollers from the stands, "Come on, Matt! You can do it!" Aww! Matt's first throw bounces off the helmet of one of his own players. D'oh! Jason's helmet is now off and they gently turn him on his stomach, preparing him for surgery. I can't even describe the feeling of dread I have watching these scenes. His eyes are open, so you know he knows what's going on. How awful.

On the field, Taylor calls Matt over. "You okay?" he asks, holding Matt by the shoulders. "Breathe. Slow down." At the hospital, the surgeon starts an incision at what appears to be the base of Jason's neck. Back at the field, Taylor says to Matt, "I want you to try to read the coverage. Do you remember how to read the coverage?" Matt looks over his shoulder and says, "Not so well, sir." He's panicking; you can see it. Taylor turns him back around and says, "Look at me. What you do is, you go out there and you look before you throw the ball. You look to see where the defense is, and you see where our guys are. You with me?" Matt nods and says, "Yes, sir." Taylor says, "Then you throw the ball to our guys. You got that?" Matt nods again. "Do your best," Taylor says. It's a great, great moment. The more frantic and desperate the situation gets, the calmer and more clear-headed Coach Taylor becomes. I love him a little more with each passing minute. I love how he treats his players. He knows his players, even, apparently, the ones who don't play. Having seen my fair share of asshole coaches, it's really refreshing to find one who keeps his cool in a tense situation. If he'd yelled at Matt, the whole shaky house of cards could have come tumbling down, but he did exactly the right thing, and Matt seems much better as he heads back to the huddle. The crowd comes to its feet, cheering him on, which is also good to see.

Now the surgeon is using a drill or something in Jason's back, but that's all I can tell you about it because I have to cover my eyes. They're working on him, okay? Can we leave it at that?

Matt sounds more confident this time around as he reels off a play designed for Smash. "I got this," Smash says. I totally believe him and I start to have a little hope. Matt successfully dishes the snap to Smash, who gets a first down, and we see that the crowd is starting to have a little hope, too. Matt runs essentially the same play again, scooping a short pass to Smash, who dashes in and makes a great leaping somersault into the end zone. Yay! Now they're only down one touchdown, but there's less than a minute to go! The Panthers try an onside kick and recover the ball! And who emerges from the thunderous pile with the rock tucked tightly to his chest? My boy Timmy! Yay, Timmy! Way to hang on to the ball! Trouble's grinning up in the stands, pleased with her man. Taylor calls out a play for Matt, then grabs him by the arm and says, real matter-of-factly, "Son, we've got a chance to win this game." Matt nods and jogs back to the huddle. Ooooh, it's exciting! Matt fakes a pass and hands off to Smash, who gets both a first down and out of bounds, stopping the clock long enough to move the chains, so I'd say as of right now, Smash has earned the lip he gives; he's a hell of a player. The crowd's going wild. They can feel the momentum shifting back the Panthers' way. Good Lord, there's only seven seconds to go now. It's chaos, with Taylor calling out plays, the offense scrambling to line up for the snap, and the defense closing in. Landry and Matt's grandma both look like they might pass out, and Tami seems to be seeing those His and Her closets vanishing into the mist. Matt gets the snap, steps back, stumbles, gets back up, runs away from marauding defenders, and, as time runs out on the clock, he heaves a Hail Mary all the way downfield, a spinning, spiraling, beauty of a pass, a pass that leads the announcer to gush, "Oh, man, can this kid throw the ball!" The ball hangs in the air so long it practically deserves its own zip code, and then… it's…CAUGHT! By Mystery Player #1, Tony Whatshisname!!! Hey, maybe we'll get to see your yard sign next week, buddy! Tony runs the ball into the end zone and the Panthers WIN!!!!! There's jubilation in the stands and the players lift their helmets and it's all good…for about five seconds. Then memory crashes in, and the celebration is over. Okay, y'all, just pass the whole dang Kleenex box; this is where I started bawling. Both teams meet in the middle of the field and kneel as one, holding hands, as Smash fervently prays aloud: "Right now it's not about who wins or loses, Father. We all just want to be with Street right now. We know you work in mysterious ways, and we just want to send our spirit, our presence, our love, just to heal him in whatever way, Lord. Whatever might be broken, just fix it right now, Father."

*sniff*

I've seen a comment here and there from people who were bothered by the overt inclusion of prayer, but it seems very true to small-town life, especially in the South, true to football, and in this case, like the applause for the injured player, it's the only thing they can do. I'm okay with it. In fact, as I crumple up another Kleenex, it seems to have helped. I guess that's the purpose of prayer, when you get right down to it, no matter what form the prayer takes, or who you hope will hear it.

From Smash's prayer, we go to a voiceover from Taylor, asking that all gathered there remember that life is fragile. "We're all vulnerable, and we will all, at some point in our lives…fall." We see him arrive at the hospital with Tami. Buddy Garrity, Julie, Matt and Landry, Timmy, Smash, and a bunch of other kids and players and parents have gathered in the lobby in an impromptu vigil. It's the flip-side to the radio callers, the busybodies, the fish bowl the coach and his team live in. It's true that they have no privacy, it's true that they carry the weight of the town on their shoulders. But it's also true that when one hurts, they all hurt, and they stand together, leaning on each other. The coach walks into Jason's room -- he's propped up in the bed with a horrible contraption holding his head and neck straight. I think they call that a halo brace. He's got an oxygen line in his nose, and his eyes are closed. It's heart-breaking. In a quiet hallway, Julie walks up to Lyla. Taylor goes first to Jason's father, pulling him into a tight hug. At the same time, Julie reaches out to Lyla and pulls her into her arms, and Lyla finally breaks down, sobbing on Julie's shoulder. I imagine that Julie doesn't generally have much use for the Lylas of the world, so it's especially poignant to see her offer that comfort. In the lobby, Smash and Timmy exchange a handshake and manbump. They definitely have their differences, but one thing they clearly share is their love for Jason Street (and…dare I inject a note of levity?…their apparent penchant for Trouble). Taylor walks around the bed and puts his hand on Jason's mom's shoulder but doesn't try to hug her. She's in her own terrible world, seemingly unaware of anything. Then Taylor gently slides his fingers into Jason's slack hand, and the episode ends with the camera on the coach's face, looking at his unconscious quarterback.

*sniff* *gulp* *sniff*

Excuse me while I mop up a little. I got so caught up in the visuals that I completely missed the voiceover. Here's what Coach Taylor wanted us to hear: "We must carry this in our hearts: That what we have is special. That it can be taken from us, and when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls. We will now all be tested. It is these times, it is this pain, that allows us to look inside ourselves."

Okay, I really hope I'm not going to get bunched up like this every week. I think I scared the cat with that last nose blow. I can't wait to see what happens next. I want to find out what the story is with Lyla and Tyra beyond the unfortunate rhyming of their names. I want to know how Matt ended up with just a grandma, and what planets aligned to make Landry so dorky and yet so cool. I want to know whether Tami will get her closets, and whether Julie will get over her anti-football bias. And I want to be there when Jason wakes up.

I guess Tim McGraw said it best: "I like it. I love it. I want some more of it."