Friday Night Lights - Episode 106 -- El Accidente

My dad's a retired journalism professor who lives in one of those great all-in-one communities they have now for old folks. Every month, he contributes an article to the community newspaper, and for November, he's employing his column inches to promote Friday Night Lights to his peers. Among the pimptastic quotes, he says, "The TV season this year is full of so-called 'reality' programming and other trash, but to everyone's surprise there is also a show that seems refreshingly like the good-old-dramas of yesteryear." And, "If you give the show a chance, and watch carefully, you'll have an opportunity to smile, to like the characters, and yes, to wipe away a tear. It's that good." So if there's a sudden uptick in the 65+ ratings bracket during sweeps, I guess we'll know who to thank. As you can see, this apple didn't fall far from that tree.

In Dillon this week, a television reporter has joined the Greek chorus -- Karen Stark from NBC8. While the Taylors watch her on TV in their living room, she exposits that if the District Executive Committee finds Voodoo ineligible, he won't be allowed to play varsity athletics again, and the Panthers will be stripped of their win against Arnett Mead. Eric rubs his face in the universal good-guy's-frustrated gesture, while Julie asks if they can change the channel. Yeah, Coach, there's got to be a crappy game show on some channel somewhere; it is, after all, a day that ends in Y.

At the diner, Matt, Landry, and a kid we haven't seen before, Kaster, jab at each other about the volume and quality of Kaster's bass-playing. Maybe Kaster's in Landry's Christian speed-metal band? The gang's all there -- Bull Reyes sits at one table; Tim Riggins at another. Smash calls Matt over to join his crew ("I'll be right back," Matt says. "I'll count the seconds," says Landry. Hee!) and thus begins the first of many topsy-turvy moments. Up is down, down is up -- Matt's hanging out with a bunch of football players while Landry cools his jets at the counter with a charter member of the Nerd Squad. Kaster tells Landry that Matt's "crossing over," and though Landry tells him mildly to calm down, he looks over his shoulder at Matt, concerned. Kaster says all those football players are going to end up as menial laborers; I'm not sure the guy playing bass in a high school band's really in a position to throw stones, but whatever.

In the cool corner of the diner, Smash is doing his pimpish best to hook Matt up with a tiny blonde named Tiff. Smash talks about "virgin territory," but it's hard to tell from Tiff's simper whether he's talking about her or Matt; given what we know about the average rally girl, I'm thinking it's more likely Matt's the cherry. Matt demurs, as well he should, as Voodoo walks in with a couple of henchmen at his hip. Smash takes it for the team, asking Voodoo what he's doing there. Voodoo tries to play it cool, saying he's there for a burger and fries, but Smash is having none of it, and the other players quickly rally to his side. When Bull Reyes suggests he leave, Voodoo says, "Why don't you go on back across that river?" Bull asks him to repeat what he said, and Voodoo leans in and says, "I said you should take your wetback ass right on across the river." As if we needed one more reason to boo Voodoo! Geez! Well, as you can imagine, that gets the boys riled up. Matt steps in front of Reyes, Smash talks and talks, like he does, but it's Tim rising from his booth like Achilles on the battlefield that sends a shiver through the crowd. Tim gets right up in Voodoo's face and says quietly, seriously, "The last thing you need right now is to mix it up with us, man. Trust me." Voodoo backs down, saying the food sucks anyway, and leaves. Smash looks at Tim and says, "My man Rig. Makin' the peace." See? I told you things were all tumbled up.

The kerfluffle is quickly forgotten as the TVs in the diner switch to Miss Karen relaying the news that a decision on Voodoo will not be forthcoming until later in the week. It's a reprieve of sorts, but it also means the team's still left hanging. Smash, Matt, and a couple of others settle back at a table as Landry and Kaster walk over. Landry asks Matt if he wants a ride, and Matt says yes but wants him to wait a minute. Kaster, who sounds drunk, says, "Get over yourself, man," to Matt. "It's just a stupid football game. In the larger scheme of things, you think anyone's going to give a crap?" Landry tries to shut him up, but if you're dumb enough to talk smack to a table full of football players, it's unlikely Landry's comparative voice of reason will make an impression. Reyes ducks behind Smash and heads out to the parking lot, where he proceeds to beat the ever-living shit out of Kaster with no provocation beyond what we all heard him say in the diner. Matt, Landry and a bunch of other players run out to stop him, but Kaster's already face-down and bloody. It's ugly, it's vicious, and for once, thank God, Tim Riggins isn't in the middle of it.

After credits and commercials, we join the team on the practice field the next day. I see they're giving the guys a break in the Texas heat and not suiting them up in full gear. I give two big thumbs up to the tight Panther-blue muscle shirts and shorts the guys are wearing. Yum. Voodoo asks Coach Taylor why he's not getting snaps, since the board hasn't made its decision, but Taylor ignores him, walking away. As a police car pulls up to the field, Matt goes up to Reyes and asks him why he whaled on Kaster, saying he knows him. Reyes is dismissive: "It's done, man, get over it." You wish, Bull. The cops apologize to the coach for interrupting practice and say they need Bobby Reyes. The coach asks why and is simply told, "Assault." They cuff Bull and walk him off the field, apologizing once again for interrupting the almighty practice. Smash stands there watching with his jaw hanging open. Why, he's… yes…he's speechless! Somebody note the day and time!

In Tami's office, Trouble's in a little, um, trouble. She's flunking algebra, and she'll have to repeat it next semester if she can't pull out a passing grade. Oh, honey, I feel your pain. I remember thinking a "D minus" was good news, and really, the only reason I didn't get an "F" was my Goody Two-Shoes status, which I'm afraid won't help in your case. Trouble cops a little 'tude, looking everywhere but at Tami as she says she won't be there next semester anyway because she's going to California and getting her GED. Tami says she's been where Trouble is -- she, too, was the pretty girl in school who was terrible at math, but that she got through it. Trouble says, "I don't want to be you." Hey, you could do worse, babe. I bet that Eric's a real panther in the sack. Trouble says she doesn't want to be stuck in a small town, with a job like Tami's, married to a coach. Tami diplomatically says Trouble had better bring her proof of that GED. As Trouble leaves, Kurt Kaster's mom appears in Tami's office doorway. Tami explains that they've arranged to have Kurt's homework sent to the hospital. Mama Kaster says she raised her boy right; he's a good boy, and he doesn't get in fights, but "in a few days, that Reyes boy will be back on the football team, like nothing ever happened." Mama Kaster's got a better bead on football politics than Tami does, it seems, because Tami's pretty taken aback at the notion that this will all just go away.

On the other side of the same coin, Coach Taylor's gathered Matt, Tim, and Smash in his office to hear their version of events. Tim's looking especially hot in a torn up Dillon Panther shirt, with his hands tucked in his pockets and his biceps all taut and bicepy… I'm sorry, what's the topic? Right. Taylor basically tells his three boys that from now on, it's their job as leaders of the team to stop shit before it happens, saying they hold as much responsibility for what happened to Kaster as Reyes. I disagree, and frankly, if anyone bears "responsibility" beyond Reyes, it's the coach, not those boys. It doesn't surprise me at all that young men who spend umpteen hours every day being rewarded for their degree of aggression can't figure out how to leave it on the field. I'm not blaming Coach T for what Bull did; I'm just saying that expecting high school football players to police themselves is like asking a dog to put on its own leash and scoop its own poop.

At the Rehab Corral, Lyla's tacking something to Jason's bulletin board. She turns around to ask the nurse about a request she put in for Jason for extra time in the weight room, and, holy cow, what in the heck is Lyla wearing? It looks like she either raided Trouble's closet or started shopping at Sluts-R-Us. She's about falling out of a gaping baby-doll shirt. I think even her ponytail's embarrassed at the amount of flesh on display here. Jason says around the Corral they call Lyla, "The Advocado." Hee! He's much more amused than Lyla; oh, that rehab humor. Jason's in a really, really good mood today, and soon we discover why, as he tugs Lyla over on top of him and says, "We have a visitor." I guess he really appreciates Lyla's skanky wardrobe. Yes, that's right, Little Jason, heretofore known as his paralyzed penis, and hereafter known as "the visitor," is erecting his first primetime appearance. Lyla rolls her eyes in embarrassment, but I can see why this would be thrilling news to a guy who probably feared his best days were behind him and worried he hadn't enjoyed them enough while he had the chance. It's lovely to hear Jason laugh and talk about being horny as hell, seeing those sparks of his personality shine through, and Lyla gets caught up in his enthusiasm. She tells him he's naughty like it's a good thing and lets him drag her all the way on top of him, his hands fumbling up under her shirt. They're interrupted by Francine, a staff member, who asks to speak with Jason while Lyla waits outside. Lyla, along with her abashed ponytail and her shameless, scantily clad breasts, leaves.

At Tim's house, Big Bro's working under the hood of Tim's truck, explaining… something about the engine? For the truck? Yeah, if you think my football knowledge is sketchy, you should see my cartalk. He says Tim's got to be sure he doesn't get any dirt up in his carburetor, or else he'll mess his engine up something fierce. Lyla drives up as they're talking, and Tim gets a good look at another set of headlights as Lyla walks toward him. He grabs a brew before sitting down on a cooler in the shade for The Big Break-Up Talk. It's actually handled really well. Lyla tells him they have to stop. He won't look at her, but you know he's hearing her. Jason's getting back to his old self, she says. "So you're done with me?" Tim asks. Awwwww! Timmy! Baby! She says he knew it had to end and takes full responsibility for everything that's happened. "It's all my fault," she says. "Sounds like it was the biggest mistake of your life, huh?" Tim says. She says she feels like she has to make a choice before things get more messed up than they already are. She cares about him, but she can't live with herself anymore. Tim's answer? A brew for each hand, a "Bye, Lyla," and the back of him, walking away.

Speaking of messing up your engine… at the Rehab Corral, Francine's explaining to Jason why…I'm not even sure I can type this, y'all…why it's not medically safe to ejaculate because semen can backflow into the bladder, causing a variety of problems, including a severe urinary tract infection. See? Dirt in the carburetor! Is that, like, a temporary thing? As long as he still needs a catheter? Or is she telling this seventeen-year-old who apparently just acquired more range of motion in his dick than he has in his hands that he can never ever again bust a nut? Because that would bite. "You really know how to break a guy's heart," Jason says to Francine. No kidding. Way to rain on a boy's hard-on parade.

As Tami and Eric walk from the field house to their car, they draw their lines in the sand with regard to Bull, Kaster, and their respective roles in the matter. She's an advocado for Kaster, while Eric stands by Reyes, saying he's "a good kid, just a little hot under the collar." You know, as much as I appreciate how supportive the coach is of his players, every now and then it seems like Eric's still got his head under the table with his butt sticking out, because it's like he's got blinders on. They talk over each other, getting louder and louder, each making valid points, until Julie comes up. Then they tone it down and all get in the SUV together, where Eric hands Julie an apple and calls her the apple of his eye. What a sweetie!

Trouble knocks on Tim's door. She says she just wants him to know that Bart Oliver, a defensive end, asked her out. She says she's trying to be the mature one but then calls him a douche-bag. Don't you think it's a little immature to be calling people nam…whoops…I don't have a moral leg to stand on here, do I, Tyra? Moving on! It seems like she's rubbing his face in it a little bit. Neither of them comes off smelling particularly sweet -- Tim makes it pretty clear that Trouble could line up the entire defensive line at the Applebee's bar and service them one by one and he wouldn't care, so she leaves, saying he's a jerk. Yeah, but he's our jerk, missy, so back off. The phone rings as Trouble slams the door behind her, and Tim answers. It's Jason. "I need you to come down here, Timmy," he says. Tim agrees to go, and we see Jason awkwardly drop the phone. Making the call took a lot of effort, you can tell, both physically and emotionally.

Commercials. I'm going to give our local NBC affiliate, WMC-TV, a pat on the back. They started the episode on time, they didn't break in with inane election patter, and the results ticker didn't take up half the screen. I can't ask for much more than that on election night, so thanks, WMC! Appreciate that!

Coach Taylor's riding on the highway to hell, St. Satan paying his dues in a big-ass Chevy something-or-other, probably a Suburban by the sheer gas-guzzling, god-awful behemothness of it. They're on their way to see Bull in jail, but Buddy swiftly shifts from one crisis of the week to the other as he tells Taylor they've got a little problem with the Voodoo situation. They're going to have to go back in front of the Board since one of Voodoo's relatives let slip about their recruitment meeting, and St. Satan wants to make sure Taylor's got the story straight. Voodoo needed to have established residency for at least thirty days before putting on a Panther uniform, so the "academic counsel" meeting at the seedy motel now took place in "July" instead of just two weeks ago. Taylor's aghast and says he won't lie for Buddy, but good Lord, Coach, it'd be easier for you to make that stand if you weren't bending over and grabbing your ankles. That man has screwed you but good, and you let it happen. "One crisis at a time," Buddy says. How's Alaska sound now, Coach?

At the Dillon police station, as Bull tries to explain himself to the coach and St. Satan, Taylor cuts him off with, "You know that no matter what anyone says to you, that doesn't give you the right to cause physical harm to them, don't you. You understand that." When Bull says, "Yes," Coach Taylor says, "Then why would you be so stupid, son?" And Bull lies. He LIES. He spins a wicked and completely fabricated tale that Kaster is the one who called him a wetback. Then he says Kaster wouldn't apologize and hit him first. Kaster! Little punk-ass, bass-playing Kaster! I get that Bull's scared, I get that the whole thing got way out of hand, but he's LYING, and Taylor, curse his benevolent heart, believes every word Bull says. He gets Bull to look him in the eye and swear he's telling the truth, and Bull does it. Ack! I'm telling you, it's those blinders! Coach T has many, many pretty sides, but this isn't one of them.

Back at the Rehab Corral, Tim walks down the hall to Jason's room and, after a moment's hesitation, walks in. Jason's eyes are closed, but he opens them when Tim says, "Six." Oh, heaven help me, that's Jason's jersey number. That's just…*sniff*! Jason asks what took him so long, and Tim brings up some bad mojo when he talks about that dang carburetor again, saying he had to hitch a ride because his truck's not running; he's putting in a four-barrel carb (I bet it can shoot quail, too…). When Jason says Tim must know why he's there, Tim freaks in that barely detectable way he has, but Jason puts him out of his misery pretty quickly: he's finally calling Tim on not coming to see him. Jason "recaps" the past couple of weeks, and if it's all right with you, I'm going to take that as a shout-out, since Jason's at least as wordy as I am. He talks about spending most of the day in bed on his "sorry quadriplegic ass," about people poking him and prodding him like a piece of meat, sticking catheters in places Tim really doesn't want to know about, and teaching his body how to crap on cue. He wonders if Lyla's as chipper out there as she is in here, saying if she tells him one more time how great everything's going to be when he gets out of there, he's going to lose it. You go, Jason. Get it all out. "Answer me this, Timmy," Jason says. "What happened to 'Texas forever'?" Tim closes his eyes. "What happened to that eternal bond you used to love to throw around when I was healthy and headed to the NFL, huh? I need you here, Tim," he yells. "I need you here. I expect you here." Tim's still standing there absorbing the blow when Jason says, "You're my best friend. Grace period's over." Amen. Good for you, Jason, and good for you, Tim, for hauling your sweet ass over there and listening to him, really listening. Tim meets Jason's eyes and nods. It's an excellent start.

Oh. My. God. Bull's taken his lying act on the road, and, even worse, put it on TV. He's being interviewed in his letterman jacket in front of his house with his mother and an older woman bouncing a baby beside him. He gives the 'story' even more detail, saying they called his mother a wetback, too. Ooh! From Bull's yard, we cut to Eric and Tami in bed, watching the coverage on TV, and Eric's not wearing a shirt! Oh, I know, bad Bull, lying dog, but, but! Shirtless! You don't really expect me to do a play-by-play of the interview, do you? Tami says, "I'm not buying his story." She rolls on her side, and oh, my, she's practically shirtless, too. It's a good night for we shallow fans of Connie Britton and Kyle Chandler. Tami says Kurt Kaster's a straight-A student who participates in a mentoring program, and she just doesn't believe he did what Bull says he did. Eric counters with the 'he's a teenager; teenagers say stupid things' argument, but she doesn't buy it. She points out that Bull's had two previous arrests for burglary, and he resisted arrest on one. Eric's confidence in Bull is eroding by the minute, and it's about damn time. He tries, "He's had a tough upbringing," but Tami doesn't let him get away with that, either. He finally says, "He looked me in the eye and told me the truth." Oh, Eric…we all want to believe in the people we put our faith in. The coach with his players, Landry with Matt, Jason with Tim. We all just want to believe.

At school, Matt's definitely in the in-crowd, surrounded by football players as he walks down a crowded hallway. Landry snags him as he goes by and says, "Reyes lied." Matt says they weren't outside when the fight happened, so they can't say for sure, but Landry reminds him that they've known Kaster since the seventh grade, and he's never said one racist thing. Matt says it's over now, but Landry protests that it's not, that Matt can still do something. Matt asks what Landry thinks he can do. Landry says he's the quarterback, call a press conference. Matt says, "I'm not Peyton Manning; I can't call a press conference." Hee. Hey, if Bull Reyes can stand in front of a TV camera and lie out his ass, I don't know why Matt couldn't do the same and tell the truth.

At the Rehab Corral, Jason's sitting up, out of his neck brace! Yay! He's at one of the weight machines, with a therapist standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady. Tim walks in as Jason's telling the therapist he can do fifteen reps instead of twelve. When Jason asks for privacy, she asks Tim to spot Jason by holding him the way she was so he doesn't fall forward. Tim puts his hands on Jason's shoulders. As Jason continues to push the weights, we see the catheter bag at his ankle. "What say you and me get out of here later?" Tim says. "That's a great idea," Jason says sarcastically. "Where do you think we're gonna go?" Tim tells him anywhere but there -- it smells like a hospital, and he hates hospitals. Hmmmm. That makes me wonder again what happened to Tim's parents. Did bad memories play some role in Tim's reluctance to visit Jason? Anyway, Jason asks when Tim was thinking about going, and Tim says, "Tonight." Jason gives a little smile as he says, "Let's do it."

Commercials. Somewhere there's a Brooklyn-style Domino's pizza with my name on it.

At the Texas High School Athletic Administration District Board (try typing that ten times fast!), St. Satan and Coach Taylor have come to face the music. Taylor says under his breath, "I'm not lying." Buddy lays it out for him: "You want to coach big-time high school football? Because that is what every single one of these coaches does. This is just part of the deal. You want to coach? You better get ready for this." He says he doesn't like it any more than Taylor does. Ha! Oh, that's a good one, Buddy. It's clear he thrives on this. He gets to be the devil's advocado, just like he likes it. Turns out St. Satan played at UT with the board member in charge of making the decision, Forrest Akin. With one quick sweep of the dirt under the rug, Forrest says, "Let's cut through the hoopla and settle this matter." He says he feels real comfortable with it, he's looked it all over, and he thinks everything's going to be just fine. Taylor looks like he's waiting for the "but," while Buddy's eyes take on a particularly satanic gleam.

The good news gets passed on over the public address system at the high school, and if I hadn't gone to a junior high where they broadcast Woody Durham's ACC Tournament radio coverage over the PA during class, I'd be more surprised. The assistant principal says, "Ray Tatum was deemed eligible to play in last week's game. This means the Panthers victory over Arnett Mead still stands." Smash lets out a whoop of joy and everybody's all excited and jumping around. The players come to get Matt, dragging him into the delirious melee, while Landry stands apart from the crowd, looking lonelier by the minute. When your bass player's in the hospital and your BFF's drinking the Kool-Aid, what can you do but walk away? Matt sees Landry leaving, but he's caught up in the middle of a bunch of guys whose whole job it is to impede forward progress, so Matt lets him go.

In the parking lot at the Rehab Corral, Jason explains to Tim how to lift him out of his wheelchair. He wraps his arms around Tim's shoulders as Tim hosses him out of the chair and into the front seat of the truck, which must have gotten that four-barrel carb installed, since it seems to be running just fine. You can see the long red scar running vertically down the back of Jason's neck as Tim struggles to move him. "Why don't you leave some of that Jell-O for the other patients, Street? Are you kidding me?" HA HA HA! Good one! Lyla walks up, marginally more clothed than before, and asks, "What's going on?" Jason looks at her, pauses adorably, then says, "Field trip?" Oh, man, I love these kids. SO. MUCH. Lyla wants to know who they cleared it with, and Tim looks at Jason before he says, "With Street," and they both grin. Lyla asks to talk with Tim, and Jason says, "Go easy on him, boss." Wow. Tim and Jason are great together, Lyla and Jason are great together, and Tim and Lyla may be a little fucked up, but they're great together, too, so I think it's safe to say I have a new OT3. I know it's all going to hell in a handbasket eventually, but not this minute, so I'm going to enjoy the chemistry and bask a little. La la la! As Tim puts Jason's chair in the back of the truck, Lyla asks what he's doing. "Going on a little ride," he says. They stare at each other for a minute, then Tim goes to the driver's side while Lyla stands by the truck, her arms crossed over her chest, still disapproving. "Hold on a second," Jason says. "Lyla, come with us." She says no, she'll be behind them with the police brigade. Jason calls her closer. She walks up and he asks her to let the rules go for once; he needs this, she knows he needs this. He reaches out and slides his fingers along her arm. It's so great to see how far he's come physically. "Come on," he cajoles her. She looks at him, then at Tim, then back at Jason. "You guys are crazy," she says, and Jason knows he's got her. "Timmy, let her in," he says with a big smile. Tim gets out to make room for her between them, and isn't that just a tidy little metaphor.

The truck's barreling along a straight flat stretch of Texas road, with hay bales out one window and a "Welcome to Dillon" sign out the other, and James McMurtry's "Lost In The Backyard" playing on the radio. Jason says, "Do you know how great this is? Me, you, Rigs, open road, fresh air, no hospitals. Man, did I need this." Lyla slants a guilty glance at Tim, and he catches it but doesn't respond. They stop at a convenience store, and while Tim goes in to get some stuff, Jason kisses Lyla in the truck. Tim interrupts them, saying he's low on cash, so Lyla goes into the store with him. She corners him by the cooler and says, "I don't want this to be awkward." Tim says, "Well, maybe you could start by not shoving your tongue down his throat, Lyla." Hee. He gets snippy, she gets snippy in return and turns away, but he stops her and says, "Look, it's Jay's night, all right? Let's just get through it for him."

At a picturesque lake, Tim falls naturally back into in his caretaker role as he bends down and lifts Jason in his arms, carrying him down toward the water. That's quite a bromance you've got going there, boys! Tim says, "You're not in game shape, are you, Streeter?" Jason laughs and says, "How're you supposed to carry a whole team? You can't even carry me." Tim huffs and puffs under Jason's weight as he walks with him down to the lake, and I take a minute to enjoy Taylor Kitsch's obvious strength -- Scott Porter's no lightweight! Jason says, "Maybe I should get rid of the chair and have you carry me around everywhere." Awww! And heee! It's nice to see them interacting. They seem to bring out the best in each other, which makes all kinds of sense given what we know of their friendship and teamwork from before.

Back in town, in less idyllic environs, Julie comes into the diner to pick up the family supper and sees Matt sitting alone at the counter. She says, "So where's the other one?" You're a cutie pie, Julie. Matt lifts his chin, pointing out Landry sitting at a table with his back to them. It's so sad -- just as Tim and Jason find their way back to each other, Landry and Matt fall apart. I'm telling you, it's a topsy-turvy episode! "Trouble in paradise?" Julie asks. Hee. "It's this whole Reyes thing," Matt says. "You mean the guy who nearly killed that other kid, but nobody's going to do anything about it because he plays football?" Now, see, Julie's the one Coach Taylor should have talked to about all this. Julie sees everything. Matt says, "So I guess this puts you on his side," but Julie disagrees. "I just think you should man up and talk to him. I mean, you two look pretty pathetic without each other." She gets her food and leaves.

After she's gone, Matt walks over to Landry's table. "I thought about what you said," Matt says, "and I think you're not really recognizing my position in all this. I'm under a lot of pressure. I'm supposed to lead this team. I can't go around making accusations." Landry's unimpressed. "Can't you cut me some slack?" Matt asks. "You're supposed to be my best friend." I think we've learned from Jason and Tim that sometimes being a best friend means calling a dude on his shit, Matt, and that's what Landry's trying to do. "Reyes is a crazy son of a bitch, but he's key to our defense. We're relying on him." Oh, Matty, honey, you're just digging yourself in deeper. "He also assaulted one of our friends," Landry reminds him. Bull, who has all the sensitivity of his namesake, comes over to the table and pees on it. Okay, he doesn't, but he does seem to be staking some territorial claim to Matt as a Panther. Landry's heard enough, seen enough, and flat-out had enough. He gets up and walks out. Bull gibes, "Did I upset you?" What a jackass. Matt tells Bull to leave Landry alone, but the damage, she is done, because here comes Landry back, getting up in Bull's face about the fact that if he didn't play football he'd be in jail right now. Bull tries to intimidate him, but Landry holds his ground and Bull's the one who shifts his weight, a sure sign of weakness. "I'm not afraid of you," Landry says, rock-solid, staring him down. Wow, butch Landry's kind of sexy. Reyes steps around Landry, saying, "You're not worth it." Them's fightin' words for Landry, and he follows Reyes out, then jumps him from behind, wrestling him to the ground outside the diner. Oh these boys and their fisticuffs! At least nobody ended up in the hospital this time! Matt separates them, shouting at Bull to go home. Landry says, "You know what? Kaster was right. You did cross over. Congratulations." He walks away, leaving a distressed Matt staring after him.

Commercials. We're SO going to see "Happy Feet". Probably twice, if my kid has anything to say about it.

It's dusk at Threesome Lake, where Tim, Jason, and Lyla are relaxing on a boat out on the water, golden air and silence all around. Could be Jason's boat, or Lyla's, since they seem to come from some money; it's only Tim's if he stole it. Lyla's lying back against Jason, while Tim looks out over the water. "I could be out here all night, listening to this…this nothing," Tim says. I sure do love his voice, and it brushes the scene with a little extra glow. It's a happy moment, and that's a rare and beautiful thing.

It starts me down a sniffly path that leads straight to the Taylors' backyard, where Tami and Eric clink their wine glasses in a toast, which is fitting, since I think Eric's a little toasted. Tami congratulates him on the Voodoo decision (the Voodoo Re-do?), and Eric tells her it could easily have gone the other way. Then he describes the whole seedy motel thing to her, implying that promises were made by St. Satan that wouldn't sit well with the district board. She says Eric didn't do those things, but Eric says, "I think sometimes that for anyone to do what I do, it's damn near impossible to not sell your soul just a little bit down the river." Hello! I've been saying that for weeks! Good to see you get with the program there, Coach! Tami tells him to keep doing what he's doing and take it one day at a time. "Do you know what I really love?" Eric asks. Tami nods. "I love football," Eric whispers. "I love football. I love those kids." Me, too, Eric. Me, too.

The doorbell rings, and it's Matt at the coach's door. Julie answers it, and they make cute small talk about her dance rehearsals in the doorway before Matt asks to see the coach. Julie seems gratifyingly disappointed to learn that Matt's there to see her dad. Ah, young love! Eric steps outside and pulls the door closed behind him, asking Matt what's up. "Kaster didn't say anything racist," Matt says. Ooooh! He's manning up, just like Julie told him to! I love that! Taylor says he didn't think Matt was outside, and Matt says he wasn't, but he's known Kaster a long time, and he doesn't think he would say anything like that. He tells the coach that Voodoo's the one who called Reyes a wetback, not Kaster, and he thinks Reyes was all riled up about that, and Kaster was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Taylor's quiet all this while, listening. "I know I should have said something sooner," Matt says. "I think I might have been confused about what was right for the team …and what was right." He looks Coach Taylor in the eye, Luke Skywalker passing on wisdom to Obi-Wan, following in Jason's footsteps as a quarterback who's got heart and brains as well as a golden arm. Matt leaves, saying he's sorry he bothered him. Taylor calls after him and tells him to say hello to his grandma for him, which is Coach-ese for 'you done good, son.'

Talk about manning up: Taylor does his own door-knocking, this time at Kurt Kaster's house. He's still in his white t-shirt and adorably mussed-up hair, so it looks like he went straight there. Kurt's mama seems somewhat reluctant to let him in, but she does, and Taylor goes in to talk to a woefully beat-up Kaster. "I want to apologize for what happened," Taylor says. Kaster says when he gets back to school, every football player's going to have a piece of him on a daily basis. "I can guarantee you no football player's going to come near you," says Taylor, saying there's no excuse for what Bobby Reyes did to him.

Back at Threesome Lake, my OT3's sitting near a campfire, talking about the good old days. Jason's in his wheelchair, sipping from a soda can he's holding carefully in both fists. Lyla's on the ground between the boys with a blanket over her shoulders, and Tim's settled back in a lawn chair, obviously perfectly content. It's a good look on him. When he gets a bad look, I'll be sure to let you know, but it hasn't happened yet. Tim talks about their big plans, and Jason gets a little tight-lipped as he reminds Tim that things have changed. Tim tells him they're still getting that big hunting ranch, and when Jason asks how he plans to do that without Jason's NFL money, Tim says, "I'm going pro." Lyla asks if he thinks he can do that, and Tim says, "No," and they all laugh. "That's just the money part anyway," Tim says. "We can figure that out." Lyla looks down at the fire. Tim says, "Best friends, right? Wasn't that always more important than football?" Jason laughs a little and says, "No. Not always." He looks at Tim, then at Lyla. "But it is now." Tim owns my heart forever when he says, "The three of us, we'll rise up, together." He looks at Lyla and says, "We can get through anything. Anything at all." I believe, Tim! I believe! He and Jason exchange looks, and Tim settles back in his chair, once again content now that he's said his piece.

Commercials. NBC says to stay tuned for more Friday Night Lights, and trust me, there's nothing I'd like more. Stick with it, please, NBC. It's worth it.

At the coach's office, Taylor calls Bull on all his…bull. "I was down there trying to help you, and you looked me right in the eye and you lied," Taylor says. Yes, yes he did. Bull admits Kaster didn't call him any names but tries to excuse his behavior. Taylor's not in a forgiving mood. "You need to go to your locker and pack up your personals. You're off the team." I thought I'd be all 'YES!' about that, but I'm not. It's so sadly clear that football is all this kid has going for him, and he's just lost that. There's nothing victorious here, nothing to cheer about. If any good came from it, maybe it's that Coach Taylor's blinders have come down a little bit. He loves football, he loves those kids, but he's also seeing the dark side of what that can mean, and what it can lead a man to do. "I suggest you go to the guidance counselor's office, and you start working on your anger problems," he tells Bull. "There's nothing else I can do for you."

On the practice field, Taylor's shifted Voodoo from offense to defense. Voodoo protests, saying, "All due respect, I've got a state ring sitting in my drawer and it's not for defense." Taylor brushes by him and says, "All due respect, you can go sit on that bench if you like." Take that, Voodoo.

Did Christmas come early? Because Eric and Tami are back in bed, and given Eric's heavy breathing, it's apparent to me that he's made good on his promise from last week to do a little dance, make a little love, and get down tonight. Woo hoo! Tami tells him that Bull Reyes came to her for counseling, but who cares about that when there's married nookie going on right under our noses? Well, that is, until the doorbell rings. It's St. Satan, of course, disrupting their nuptial bliss. Rats! Buddy, your timing sucks! Eric answers in a pair of boxers and a hastily thrown on t-shirt, and the football tan around his ankles couldn't be any cuter. His hair's still feelin' the Tamilove, sticking up in various places, and he's so dang adorable I have to watch it with the 'mute' button on a couple of times to drown out St. Satan so he doesn't spoil the view. I kind of wish I'd left him muted, because he's come bearing bad news. After berating Eric (in his own doorway! In the middle of the night!) about his decision to kick Reyes off the team, Buddy lets him know that Voodoo's gone back to his school in Louisiana. Now, in some ways, that's good news, because Lord knows, the guy brought nothing but trouble, but with Bull off the team and Voodoo up and gone, where does that leave the season? Even I find myself thinking of life in terms of where the season fits into it, so I guess I can see why this would bring the chair of the Boo(hiss)sters out in the dead of night. But there's more: not only has Voodoo skedaddled, but before he left, he told "that reporter woman, that Helen (sic) Stark" that he'd only lived in Dillon for two weeks, AND that he was recruited, so now there's documentation, and not even Buddy's friends in low places can help them now: the Arnett Mead game's a forfeit. "The season's over," St. Satan says as he leaves.

Well, shit. Eric rocks back, trying to take it all in. So much for afterglow, huh?

Looks like it was a late night at Threesome Lake, as Tim, Jason, and Lyla are just now getting back to the Rehab Corral, accompanied by Whiskeytown's "Everthing I Do". "We've gotta do this again," Jason says. Lyla says they will, once he's officially released. Phil's waiting for them in the door. "I sincerely hope y'all had a good time," he says. "We did," says Jason. Phil takes over and starts wheeling Jason back inside as Jason gives one last smile to Tim and Lyla. They smile back at him, and who wouldn't? It's been a good day. As they enter the building, Phil says that the next time Jason wants to fly over the cuckoo's nest to tell him since he spent half the evening trying to keep the nurses from calling the cops. Aw, you're a good egg, Phil. As the doors close behind Phil and Jason, Lyla turns to Tim and says, "He can never find out what happened between us." Tim says, "I know. I get it." Then he says, "I'll miss you." How did Tim Riggins get to be the emotionally available one? It's topsy-turvy, that's what it is, and I like it. Tim offers to drive Lyla to her car. What, around the block? Is that some new innuendo I never heard before? No, he literally means driving her to the other side of the center, apparently. Jason looks really small and alone as he wheels himself down the hall to a window, where he gets a perfect view of Tim and Lyla sharing a long…too long…hug.

For those of us who've been privy to the whole thing, it's gratifying to see Tim and Lyla find some peace with each other; even a banked fire radiates warmth. We know it's an end to something, but for Jason, seeing them, it's just beginning. He watches them, his face set, then turns away, wheeling himself back down the hall, swiping his hand across the back of his head. *SNIFF* I know I'm a ridiculous romantic to hope that these three can find a way to keep that magic they found by the lake, keep their friendships intact, keep each other close. I put my faith in them, and I want to believe.

Yeah, I'm a sap; sue me.

This week's cheer comes from sunriseyes:

Dillon, we're all behind you
Raise high the blue and gold
There is nothing half so glorious
As to see our team victorious
We've got the team boys!
We've got the steam boys!
Keep on fighting, don't give in
D-I-L-L-O-N
Dillon will win!