A Brief Love Letter To Friday Night Lights
I am currently catching up with the final season of Friday Night Lights. For those unaware it’s an hour-long drama focusing on a Texas high school football coach.
So much has been written about the show by television critics far more talented than I, so I would defer to them in terms of categorizing the show’s brilliance.
There is this:
While Terminator: The Sarah Conner Chronicles still airing it briefly featured an evil T-800 named Cromartie played by the insanely talented Garret Dillahunt. At the same time, the San Diego Chargers were getting excellent play out of their shut down corner Antonio Cromartie. Every time I watched a highlight featuring the CB I secretly hoped the anchor would make reference to his true desire to Kill. John. Conner. For no other reason than that it would severely tickle an grey area on the venn diagram of my pop culture consumption.
I love sports. I love great hour-long dramas. Friday Night Lights is most likely the best representation of that combination those who are like me will ever see in our lives.
There will be great cop dramas. There will be great science fiction epics. There might even be another great series centering around a zombie apocalypse.
But pound for pound. Note for note. FNL was a rare breed.
A show as contemporary and hip in their indie music choices that score the show as it is dramatizing forever repeated stories of recruiters and boosters inflating the egos of teenage athletes and the tricky economic and family dynamics that help it happen.
The first four seasons are currently on Netflix Instant. If you despise sports you will probably like it. If you love football, you will most likely love it.
Except for the regrettable, writer’s strike-shortened second season. Take that with a grain of salt.
Texas forever.
