I felt a little bit like Lyla this past weekend. No, I didn't suddenly become a unicorn-riding, cupcake-baking cheerleader with an emotionally available ponytail, but I, too, felt torn between two lovers when the Tennessee Titans went up against my boy Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts. Peyton and Tony Dungy (who I've loved since his days at Tampa Bay) versus my home-state team…who to root for? Who to shower with love when they scored? Who to boo for bad plays? Decisions, decisions. In the end, I went with the winner -- Go, Titans! It's the second week in a row those Tennessee boys have defeated a Manning. Just sayin'. So, Lyla? I feel your pain, hon.

Just because we got the back nine doesn't mean I plan to curtail my vociferous pimpage. In fact, I put on my Friday Night Lights pimping hat at the post office the other day. It's a baseball cap festooned with blue and gold glitter letters spelling out "FNL=YAY" on the front and a pom-pom poking cheerfully out the back. Okay, I don't have one of those, but how awesome would it be if I did? Anyway, when I explained to the tender young thing in front of me in the interminable line that the show offers sexy shenanigans, bitchin' parties, and a quadriplegic/reformed (?) alcoholic/somewhat delusional love triangle, she promised to tune in. I do what I can, people; not everybody likes football. Sometimes you've got to dangle a different carrot!

In honor of Friday Night Lights earning a full-season pickup from NBC (WOOO HOOO!), we're kicking things off this week with a cheer, courtesy of Star22:

We're the Dillon Panthers and we're here to stay,
We're gonna kick your ass so come on, let's play.
Smashin' through the defense, Rigs has got the ball,
Coach Taylor's on the sideline, Saracen's givin' his all.
So stand up and cheer: FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT
We've got the means to go all night!
We're the Dillon Panthers in the yellows and blues,
With clear eyes and full hearts, WE CAN'T LOSE

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.

Texans aren't the only ones who take their football seriously. I saw a police car driving down the road the other day right here in Memphis with UT flags flying off both rear windows. "UT" in this neck of the woods means the University of Tennessee, alma mater of THE MANning (and forty other current NFL players). UT's big here, even though we're four hundred miles west of Knoxville. Our pastor went to UT; so did our best friends, Kimmie and Cheesestick, and their three-year-old already knows all the words to "Rocky Top." We get more orange on cars than we do on trees this time of year. The cop was in the process of pulling somebody over, and his flashing blue lights totally clashed with the bright orange pennants whipping in the breeze off his hindquarters. Now there's some professionalism for you: "Do you know why I stopped you? I'm citing you for running a red light and rooting for Arkansas."

2-4-6-8! Who do we appreciate? You, NBC, that's who, for ordering up more scripts for Friday Night Lights! We realize it's the Matt Saracen of your primetime lineup, but, like Matt, it can only grow if it gets to play. And yeah, it's meat and potatoes fare compared to the sugar rush of 1 Vs. 100 or Deal Or No Deal, but we all need a square meal now and then to balance out all that junk. So, big 'G', little 'O', Go, Friday Night Lights! B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E! Beeee aggressive! Beeee aggressive!

I spent this past weekend in Nashville with a bunch of girlfriends. There's only so much I can tell you about the bikers, the karaoke, and the Citron-fueled Hawaiian Punch, since what happens in Nashvegas stays in Nashvegas, but I can tell you this: I pimped Friday Night Lights to anyone who stood still long enough to listen. I'm feeling downright evangelical about this show, proselytizing to the masses that don't quite fit NBC's target demographics. I practically hijacked a few folks and sat them down to watch the first two episodes. There's not a football fan among them, but one by one they succumbed. Four down, ten million to go!

I'd sketched out a mock interview to start this recap, with me (channeling Mack Brown) bombarding a Coach-Taylor-like Peter Berg with questions about his ability to get it done this season, but after the mystifyingly dismal ratings, not only wasn't it funny, it felt like kicking a puppy…a pure-bred golden retriever puppy that had just lost the Westminster Dog Show to a poodle in sequins dancing the samba. I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but if you're watching the show, tell your co-workers, tell your neighbors, tell your bank teller and your chiropractor, or, if you're in NBC's target demographic, tell all your friends at school! Heck, fire off a quick e-mail to nbcshows@nbc.com and tell the suits themselves how you feel.

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!