Snaps to MCA, Sarahnova, and Wing Chun.
So much of this week's episode seemed to consist of boring exposition in service of future episodes, and it really dragged (pun not intended), so I kept the recap short.
Previously on Dawson's Creek, Eve gives Dawson a stolen copy of the PSAT; the gang argues over what to do with it; it disappears; Andie cheats on it; Pacey makes fun of The Flash for coaching football; The Flash wants Jack to join the team, and Jack expresses reluctance to do so.
Fade up on the Sanctum Dawsonorum. Pacey "Cosmo's Closet" Witter, carrying a piece of AV equipment, kicks the door open and begins listing things like the Commodore 64, lawn darts, and Super Sugar Crisp, winding up with, "And now, back from the halls of obsolescence, the Betamax machine!" Dawson "Malt-O-Mealberg" Leery calls Pacey "a lifesaver" by way of thanks, and comments that he has forty-eight hours "to become an expert documentarian, but all my mom's old newsreels are in Beta." My recollection of Betamax's real-life date of extinction makes this highly unlikely, but whatever. Pacey snidely expresses surprise that Dawson has forsaken "the ephemeral world of make-believe for the gritty realities of real life," wondering if the world has spun off its axis, and given the gravitational pull of Dawson's giant cranium, I wouldn't rule that out, but Dawson tells Pacey that the human-interest story his mother was working on for the network "fell out [sic] at the last minute," and if he can get her "some raw footage" by Friday, The Hussy might be able to whip it into shape and get it on the air that night. All right, hold on a minute here. I assume that The Hussy does in fact work for a network as a correspondent, because I can't imagine that a local-news station in Philadelphia would give a fiddler's fart about high-school football in Cape Cod, but can someone please explain to me in which universe a news producer would consent to air footage shot by the teenage blunderkind son of the new anchor? I. Don't. THINK SO. Anyhow, Pacey calls the story "the chance of a lifetime" and understands why Dawson has changed "his vision," and Dawson calls it "a temporary change," which leads to the obligatory fantasy-vs.-reality debate, which I won't detail because we've heard it a bazillion times before. Pacey mentions Eve, and Dawson concentrates on hooking up the Betamax machine and doesn't respond, so Pacey asks, "Who's your guinea pig?" None other than "Broadway" Jack McPhee. Pacey ruminates on the whole "gay football player makes good" story arc and advises Dawson not to "mess with" it, and Dawson says, "It's a great story, but you can't just turn the camera on and let it run," hitting "play" on a home movie of his younger, smaller-headed self playing mini-football with The Flash. Pacey asks, "Why not? That's exactly what's happening here, and it seems pretty interesting to me." Dawson says his mom must have taped over her reel, and then we see a burst of static before cutting to a home movie of Joey's late mother introducing a young Joey "Vertical Hold Adjustment" Potter to Young Dawson. Pacey asks, "Is that who I think it is?" and he and Dawson watch Young Joey push Young Dawson to the ground and run away (heh), and the theme music starts up. Pacey observes, "Once a heartbreaker, always a heartbreaker, eh, Dawson?" Dawson watches the tape for much longer than he needs to as the sound of a cat with its tail caught in an industrial clothes press fills my living room. Skillet: 1, Sars: 0.
Grams at the kitchen table of the Ryan Home For Wayward Sexualized-Too-Young Girls And Alternatively-Lifestyled Boys. Enter Jen "Delusions Of Garofalo" Lindley, clad in her game-day gear: torn fishnets, abbreviated cheerleader uniform, and crimptastic hairstyle. Grams gives her guff about her attire, accusing her of "degrading [her] team colors," and Jen comes back with a pseudo-feminist slam on the entire concept of cheerleading and adds, "I'm making a statement." What statement, exactly -- "whoever issued a patent to the inventor of the crimping iron owes us all an apology"? Grams sniffs, "You're making a mockery," and goes back to doing the jumble. Jen confesses that she doesn't know how much more of the whole school-spirit gig she can take, and Grams lectures her on how the school needs Jen's "leadership and verve" for the important game they have coming up, remarking that, when she wore the Capeside colors, she relished the chance to show her team spirit. Jen gathers up her bookbag and says, "Grams, I hate to break it to you, but you were showing off a bit more than just team spirit." Shut up, Jen. Grams scowls.
In the hallway at Capeside High, cheerleaders wander around with their hair in multi-ponytailed 'dos, carrying blue and yellow balloons and squealing. Joey frowns at them and smoothes her hair. Behind her, Pacey hides behind a cardboard cutout of the Capeside Minuteman (no comment), making it appear to "walk" alongside Joey, and she gives the cutout a strange look but keeps walking, and after a moment, Pacey drops the cutout and mocks the cheerleaders by shriek in a falsetto, "Like, oh my god, go team, ah ha ha ha ha!" It sounds dumb, but it was actually pretty funny. Joey laughs and says, "For a minute, I thought you had been possessed by these school-spirit creatures from the planet Overzealous." Pacey says he's considering "making a run for it before the pods hatch," and invites Joey to cut class with him, and she pretends to consider it but then sarcastically declines. Pacey asks, "What if I told you there was [sic] a mission to my madness?" Joey asks if he's serious, and Pacey uses a French accent (don't ask, because I just don't know) to request Joey's presence for a "pressing appointment," but he won't tell her exactly what it entails. She orders him to tell her. He won't, and she says she won't come if he won't tell her what he has planned, and he teases her some more, adding that she has ten seconds to take a chance and come with him. Of course, she decides to go. Pacey makes fun of her for breaking down after only six seconds: "I thought you'd last at least eight." Joey snaps, "I loathe you!" and follows him. Oh, yeah -- those two will totally hook up.
Dawson interviews Jack on the field. I mentioned to Wing Chun the other day that I sort of regretted calling Jack "Pinhead" last season, because now I sort of have a crush on Kerr Smith, but now that he has to wear those buffoonish uniform pads all the time, well, they make his head look really, um, small. Pin-sized, in fact. Anyhow, Maxihead asks Minihead if he loved football as a child, and Jack says he just started playing, and "the only subject I know less about is being gay, actually."
Speaking of The Flash, his hairy knee appears on the bench to Jack, and The Flash says pointedly that Jack has learned "the importance of starting practice on time," and he gives Jack a big old homoerotic clonk on the shoulderpad with his clipboard, so Jack gets up, and The Flash harangues him good-naturedly about his time on "the forty" and sends him on his way, and speaking of forties, I could use a forty of Olde English right about now. Dawson wants to "take care of the Coach Leery interview," and The Flash mutters, "Not now, Dawson," while looking at his play sheet, and Dawson points out, "It's due tomorrow," and The Flash says that Dawson can get an extension, but the team has a big game on Saturday and he wants the team "completely -- focused -- on football, okay?" Dawson looks crestfallen.
Henry "The Ninth -- Grader, That Is" Parker tells a long-winded story to the team about how he acquired Doug Flutie's mouthpiece. Jen comes up to the group as Henry makes a weird rictus with his face and asks, "What's everybody looking at?" Jack tells her drily, "Apparently, we're looking at Doug Flutie's old mouthpiece." Henry holds up the mouthpiece worshipfully in Jen's direction. She pronounces it "disgusting." According to Jack, "Henry says it's his good-luck charm." According to Jen, "Henry needs his head examined." Jen and her posse o' cheerleaders march off. Henry crawls over to Jack and asks for Jack's help with the massive crush he has on Jen, throwing around slurpy phrases like "her voice is the sweetest music" and "her very name is fire in my loins." Jack laughs in his face and advises him to "start by saying hello." Sars advises him not to use the word "loins" ever again.
Oh, Lord above. Jen. The other cheerleaders. Jen, missed by the other cheerleaders at the spirit table. Jen, having "limits." The cheerleaders, diagnosing a "low-iron day" and blithering on about the silent auction, "like, the most successful one" they've had to date. Jen, figuring out that they've auctioned off a ride on the Minuteman Mule ("Mule"? Didn't Paul Revere ride a full-sized horse?) and a kiss with the head cheerleader, namely Jen. Jen objects, the cheerleaders sputter, and Jen backs them down the hall while growling that she started the whole cheerleading thing as a joke, but now she's had enough of the "polyester molest-me skirt," and rather than "be sold off like a harem girl to the highest bidder," and she quits and stomps all Peterbilt-like down the hall. If I cared one whit about this plot, I'd mention that Jen's completely unconsidered and inconsistent anti-objectification rants really chap my ass, but I don't, so I won't. I'll merely report that lookers-on in the hall cheer her as her mudflaps disappear from view.
Andie "Encyclopedia Blonde" McPhee, kitted out in a hideous pink top and state-hospital bangs, hastens out of a classroom and crashes into a guy in a suit, knocking his papers to the floor. Helping him gather them up, she reads the front of a folder with evident dismay: "ETS!" ETS Agent Guy snaps, "Drop! That folder," and she does, and then he orders her to back away from the testing materials and keep her hands "in plain sight." Okay, this is much closer to the way ETS approaches its testing materials than what we saw last week. Anyhow, Andie yammers guiltily that she hopes nobody at Capeside High has "compromised the integrity of the exam," a phrase she rephrases several different ways so as to highlight her deft verbal skills, and ETS Agent Guy says he can't tell her that, and he asks her if she knows where he can find Principal Green. She says no, but before ETS Agent Guy heads off, she expresses her "regret and recalcitrance at this incident." "'Recalcitrance'?" ETS Agent Guy repeats quizzically, and Andie perkily corrects herself with a few other synonyms to cover her Freudian usage slip. The agent tells Andie to "watch" herself, and she skitters away. You will find me, dear reader, listed in the Manhattan telephone directory, so if you can think of any reason why I should care about this subplot, please call me posthaste.
Joey and Pacey, in the middle of what Joey calls "a death march on a deserted road." They traipse past an "Entering Capeside" sign while continuing to set up a future storyline in which they wind up kissing, but other than that, nothing else really happens in this scene. Oh, wait, Joey bitches about having to stand in line at the post office to pick up "some mysterious package" which Pacey has under his arm, but we don't learn the contents. Oh, and also, Joey uses the phrase "voluntary manslaughter," which, while not grammatically incorrect, still got on my Law & Order-addicted nerves. Oh, and Pacey makes Joey hitchhike, despite the fact that nobody has considered either hitchhiking or picking up hitchhikers a good idea since Ted Bundy got arrested. And did I mention that a car stops for them, a car containing Principal Green, and that I totally didn't laugh at that non-surprise non-twist that I saw coming all the way from the lower Cape, and that Pacey does his best slapstick by staggering out of the bushes with a lame excuse and a handful of poison oak? Did I mention that downing an entire box of No-Doz, foil packaging included, barely kept me awake?
Oh, criminy. After a shot of the football field by night, cut to The Flash scribbling plays on the chalkboard. Dear Flash: Get a life. Signed, Your Fellow Superheroes (co-signed "The Rest Of The World"). Dawson bustles in with tripod in hand (no comment) and asks his father for ten minutes of his time, "and then I'll be out of your hair." The Flash rumbles, "Can't it just wait till after the game?" and adds that after Saturday he'll have plenty of time for Dawson. Dawson tells The Flash again that he has a deadline for the project. The Flash doesn't understand, and Dawson reminds him that he has to turn in the material to his mother at the station. Well, now we know where Dawson inherited his tendency not to listen to people, because The Flash still doesn't get it, and when Dawson prods his memory, The Flash repeats incredulously, "Your mother is doing a story on Jack?" More back-and-forth in this vein; evidently, The Flash thought "this was just one of [Dawson's] school projects," and Dawson snipes, "Remember last night in your kitchen, the blond-haired kid moving his lips? That was actually me, telling you this." My father would have punted me for the field goal for taking that tone with him, but I have to say "heh" anyway.
The Flash flexes his neck muscles as a substitute for actually emoting (tm Tom Cruise) and thunders, "This is the last thing I need right now," and he slams his clipboard down. Dawson gives his dad the "whatever" face, and The Flash crabs about his best player losing focus, the team can't afford it, he's worked "too damn hard," blah blah blah beefcakes. Dawson says, "Well, excuse me if my entire future conflicts with your precious football team," and he's got a point, and then The Flash sighs, "Oh, don't be so theatrical," and he too has a point, but he ruins it by grumbling about the "football-loving principal breathing down [his] neck" and that he's trying to "build something here." Dawson wants to know what The Flash thinks he's doing, "dabbling in a hobby?" and says he's waited for just this kind of opportunity his entire life. The Flash snorts, "All sixteen years of it?" Zing! Dawson objects, The Flash reminds him he'll have plenty of opportunities, Dawson asks, "Are you telling me not to do this?" with a self-righteous nostril flare, and The Flash says no, "because I know you'll make the right choice," and he twangs his neck tendons menacingly while glaring at Dawson. Flare. Glare. Flare. Glare. Care? Well, no, as a matter of fact, I don't.
Morning in Capeside, accompanied by a Lilithite wondering about "that faraway look in your eyes." Joey lugs a crate through the dock shop and rounds a corner to find Dawson standing on the dock outside, clad in his customary XXXL sportswear (borrowed, as MCA pointed out, from Fame's Mr. Shorofsky), and the same fugly white socks and brown booties from episodes. Joey makes a sarcastic remark about "Bimbo Cove," presumably in reference to Eve, who thankfully has not appeared in this episode. After more weird Eve-related repartee, Dawson says he needs advice, and Joey smiles ruefully, saying, "What else are dumped ex-girlfriends for?" Um, Joey? Not that you didn't do the right thing, but you dumped him, okay? Anyway, Dawson wants to know what he should do -- finish the story, or forget it in order to mollify The Flash. Joey wonders aloud if perhaps "a nationally televised broadcast kind of overshadow[s] a football rivalry," and while Dawson agrees, he also recognizes that The Flash hasn't had the easiest time of it over the last couple of years; his restaurant dream failed, "his wife stepped out on him with the Capeside equivalent of Ted Knight," and as a substitute teacher he kind of stinks. I have to admit that that Ted Knight line gave me a smile. Joey says it sounds like a self-respect issue for The Flash; Dawson agrees and asks, "What d'you think?" Joey prattles on about father-son conflict and "the stuff of Greek drama," and Dawson asks if she means "tragedy or comedy," and I don't remember anything in Aristophanes about Dawson's Little-Dutch-Backstreet-Boy hairstyle, but I'd have to come down firmly on the side of "tragedy." Joey intones wisely, "Sometimes we fight our fathers, and they respect us. And -- sometimes we fight them, and -- and we lose them forever." More non-sage non-advice in this vein follows -- "decide how you want to live your life" blah blah blah "if I do it, it'll kill him" blah blah blah "according to Freud" blah blah blah Oedipal-conflictcakes -- and none of it explains why this so-called Dawson-Flash conflict constitutes anything close to a big deal. Dawson hands Joey a videotape he dubbed for her, says a few cheesy things about it, and takes off. Joey sighs.
Ryan Home. A blurry group of girls comes into focus, debating whether Jen has "dried saliva" or "the zipper mark from the pillow" on her face, as Jen slowly wakes up to find her bed surrounded by cheerleaders -- including Grams, who makes her customary "rise and shine" noises and says that the cheerleaders "have an urgent matter to discuss with" Jen. Jen, from the depths of her pink bedding and Lanz-of-Salzburg jammies, repeats sleepily that she has quit, and says that unless one of the cheerleaders has a large cup of coffee hidden under her pompoms, they'd better leave. A crimp-haired cheerleader says that they respect her decision, and another girl has risen to "the leadership challenge," an announcement Jen greets with a blasé thumbs-up. Heh. But Crimpy goes on to say that they want her to reconsider the kiss issue, and Grams puts in that a mystery bidder has plunked down five hundred dollars just for the privilege of kissing Jen, and a redheaded cheerleader adds, "But they've specifically stipulated that the kiss must come from you." "Stipulated"? Jen struggles up in bed and says, "I don't care if they bid the kingdom of Brunei. I'm not for sale." Oh, I see -- but you'll give it away for free to guys like Chris "Teen" Wolfe? Whatever, Jen. The cheerleaders and Grams guilt-trip Jen into agreeing to the kiss by mentioning that the proceeds of the kiss auction go to widows and orphans; no kiss, no money for the widows and orphans. Jen groans and pulls the covers over her head, much as I felt like doing for much of this episode.
At school, Principal Green approaches Andie, saying he needs to talk to her about a "critical problem" that recently came to his attention. Andie asks what kind of problem, and he says, "It's a disciplinary matter," and he can't discuss it with her now, but she should come to his office on Monday "and we'll go over all our options in detail." Andie squirms like a butterfly on a pin. Principal Green says, "Monday morning. Be there," and leaves her to simmer in the sauce of her own guilt. Considering that Andie emerged from a psychiatric facility only a few short weeks ago, wouldn't the whole PSAT-cheating thing have a slightly graver effect on her than, say, the Three's Company-style wackiness the writers have opted for?
Principal Green marches into his office, which contains Pacey and Joey sitting in front of his desk, and tells them that, since Pacey had such a creative excuse for ditching school (whatever), he's decided to respond in kind. Pacey tries a little sucking-up, which prompts Joey to call Pacey "Eddie Haskell." They bicker while Principal Green futzes around behind them. Principal Green shouts, "Enough!" and thumps a large cardboard box down on the floor, saying that the two of them obviously "have an affinity for one another" and opening the box. They look in it. Joey: "No way." Pacey: "Oh, that's not gonna happen." Gee, I wonder what the box could possibly have inside? Not my Maalox shipment, obviously -- the box is far too small.
Jack stumbles over Andie sitting on the stairs and asks her what's wrong. She wants to know "why would anything be wrong" and Jack says that, unless she's "smoking or making out," her sitting on the stairs "of a public high school" is cause for concern. He pulls her off the stairs and invites her to take a look at the footage of his interview. Andie gasps, "You went through with it?" Jack doesn't see the big deal, and Andie begins rambling about things rocking "your safe little world" and what if "maybe you had a terrible moment of weakness" and a bunch of other Prattling Of Ironic Double Meaning that is apparently supposed to apply to both her and Jack. Or something. Anyhow, Jack just stares at her and then asks, "Why are you being so paranoid?" Andie, in a high-pitched whine remarkably similar to that of a miter saw, keeps on about mistakes and errors in judgment, and throws in an ill-considered car-wreck metaphor just for good measure (no comment). Jack joins the rest of North America in asking, "What the hell are you talking about?" Andie means public shaming, exposure, and breaking their father's heart. Jack looks taken aback as Andie chatters on about Angry Pants; he thinks Andie is talking about him, but of course she's really talking about herself. Jack tells her to chill. Andie warns Jack to think things through. Hello, American Ironworks? Can I get an anvil delivered to -- oh, never mind, an anvil just arrived. And landed on me. Again.
Living room, Estrangement Estates. Dawson and The Flash watch TV. On-screen, Jack says that nobody on the team seems to care what he does off the field. Yeah, as if the producers have any intention of letting Jack do anything off the field besides gel his hair into nifty shapes. The Flash seethes in Dawson's general direction. Cut to footage of the opposing team's coach saying, with a Texan accent, that he doesn't care if Jack wears lipstick and rouge to play, because their team will still "infringe on him" just like they would any other player. Whatever, Opposing Coach -- and give that accent back to Jimmy Johnson. Dawson clicks off the TV and says smugly, "Well?" The Flash says quietly that he just lost the first game of his coaching career. Oh, for Christ's sake, Flash. Get. Over. It. Dawson makes a canopy out of his nostrils and snorts, "If you say so." The Flash lays into him for interviewing the opposing coach and for taking Jack's anonymity away, and grouses that Dawson might as well have painted a bull's-eye on Jack's back. Dawson bitches that, instead of celebrating his "first professional success," The Flash insists on worrying about a football game, and The Flash tells Dawson not to make him the bad guy; he wanted to make The Flash angry, and he's succeeded. The Flash prepares to storm out of the room, but Dawson brings him up short by saying that The Flash doesn't talk to him anymore, not the way he does to the guys on the football team; The Flash tells Dawson that at least his team respects him. Good point. Dawson suspects that The Flash wishes he'd had a son more like the guys on the team, which I doubt, because if Dawson played football, they'd have to commission a special helmet the size of Epcot Center for him.
In any case, The Flash resents this and says that he reaches out to Dawson, but he also tries to give Dawson his space, and Dawson complains that when he takes that space, The Flash gets pissed off. The Flash shoots back, "No, I'm just trying to break you out of your self-centered, self-righteous fantasy world long enough to look out for other people." Well said, Flash. Dawson wonders when it became his responsibility to look out for The Flash: "I'm saying I parent you, Dad. I walk in on you having sex, I give you advice. I'm the kid around here, and sometimes I might even act like it!" The Flash stares at him, and yet again he does not pound his arrogant son into the ground with a wooden mallet, and I don't know why. The Violin Of Familial Discord sounds in the background. Dawson flares his nostrils. Stare. Flare. Stare. Flare.
After a brief commercial break, during which I arrayed every knife in my kitchen on the table in front of me in ascending order of sharpness, the better to keep myself awake during the interminable football scenes to follow, we fade up on the field. Jack catches a ball, Kerr Smith's body double gets sacked, lather, rinse, repeat. During one vicious pile-on, a member of the opposing team snarls at Jack, "Go back to tetherball, ya limp-wristed homo." Then he clocks Jack with an iron skillet. Oh, sorry, that was the writers clocking me with an iron skillet. On the head. Again. Anyhow. In the stands, Jen and Dawson look worried; on the sidelines, The Flash shouts orders and tells Jack to "walk it off." Jack cracks wise to The Flash under his breath. Dawson asks Jen if the debacle on the field is all his fault. Jen says, "In a word -- yes." Once again, I must say in Dawson's defense that I could spend an entire day listing things that Dawson is to blame for, and the debacle on the field would rank dead last. I mean, who outed Jack? Mr. Peterson. Who made him join the football team? The Flash. Who aired the story? The Hussy. Did Jack refuse to participate? No. Did Dawson encourage the anti-gay attitudes of the other team? No. Did the writers reach into the barrel with a long-handled spatula and scrape the bottom until they came up with something, anything, to stretch out Jack's subplot without having to write a man-man kiss into the script? Yes. In short, whatever. Jen goes on to say that at least Dawson won't have to kiss a guy with "furry teeth and halitosis" after the game. Shut up, Jen.
Sidelines. Principal Green's box held the Minuteman Mule costume, and now Joey and Pacey argue over who gets the front end of the mascot and who gets the back end. Pacey says he tends "to get a little carsick in back seats." Joey puts the mascot's head on Pacey.
Andie delivers a heartfelt speech of apology to Principal Green. The camera pans slowly around her and her extra-crispy bangs in extreme close-up as she compares Pacey to a light pouring into her mind and says that "just as suddenly, the room got dark again, in my mind, I mean." Andie begins to cry. She admits that she went to a Bed-And-Breakdown (tm Sarahnova) over the summer, and although she got better, she lost Pacey, whom she calls "my soulmate." Gah. She compares the experience to having her "heart literally ripped from" her body; she does not explain why, if she felt so bad about losing Pacey, she acted like she couldn't have cared less in the episode, but she does say that she felt "cold and empty, my future slipping away." She didn't want to lose her life too, so she freaked out and stole the test and cheated on it, and she knows she messed up. "Now all I can ask for is your compassion," she finishes quietly, and the camera cuts to her standing in front of a mirror. She wrings her hands and walks out of the room. All righty, then.
Jack's body double takes another hit just before the air horn signals half-time. The score: Iron Skillet 5, Sars 0. Er, I mean, Visiting Team 21, Capeside 0. Dawson gets up and tells Jen, "Let's go." "Where are we going?" Jen asks. "To even the score," answers a determined Dawson. Jen follows him.
Locker room. In a series of fade-cut shots, The Flash tries to rally the troops with a string of clichés taken straight from The Big Book Of Sports Platitudes. Deciding to kick it up a notch, The Flash then delves into Chinese history by mentioning General Sun-Tzu, but before he can say the name aloud, Dawson's voice finishes the thought for him, describing the general as "a brilliant military strategist who lived about two thousand years ago. My dad's been telling me about him ever since I was a kid." The Flash eyes Dawson, who has bucket and towel in hand, with suspicion before asking, "What's with the bucket?" "Well, I thought I'd soak my GIANT HEAD," Dawson tells him. No, no, not really -- actually, Dawson says, "Turn our weakness into a strength, just like the general said." The entire team stares at him as he goes on, "We're gonna start by obscuring everyone's number so the other team can't find Jack." Yeah, the officials will totally allow that. Not. The Flash says skeptically that that might work "for a couple of plays." Dawson calls the number-obscuring "Phase One," and when Henry asks, "What's Phase Two?" Dawson throws open the door of the locker room, and the cheerleaders sashay in. The players whistle, and The Flash gets to his feet.
Jump-cut back to the field. The Flash tells his assistant coaches (whatever), who have headsets on (whatever), to cross their fingers. The Capeside players huddle, then line up, and the opposing team does a series of unconvincing double-takes. Cut to the Capeside offensive (and I do mean "offensive") line, sporting more makeup than Liz Taylor in the barge scene from Cleopatra and leering lipstickily at the opposing players through their mouth guards. One of them winks at the opposing player across from him; meanwhile, the other team's players whisper and shake their heads. Henry -- who looks a lot more like Leonardo DiCaprio with makeup than without -- sneers, "Try and find the homo now," and stuffs in his mouthpiece. The game resumes and we go to commercial. Fortunately, we didn't just see one insulting stereotype replaced by another. Oh, my mistake. We did.
When we return from commercial, Capeside has come within three points of the visitors, and seven seconds remain in the game. Dawson and Jen watch tensely from the stands as Henry calls a play and Jack gasps something about his mascara running. Meanwhile, Sars marvels at the fact that Kerr Smith still looks pretty cute despite having more eyeliner on than Dr. Frank N. Furter. Jack tells Henry to throw him the ball, and he'll catch it. Capeside runs the play. The clock ticks off the final seconds, and the slo-mo gears up as Henry unloads a pass to Jack; Jack pulls it down and heads for the end zone, launching himself over the opposing defenders and landing on his back for the touchdown. The crowd goes bonkers, The Flash slowly gets to his feet and looks as though he might burst into tears of joy, Jack spikes the ball, and the team rushes him. Principal Green rushes down to congratulate The Flash on his "irreverent and imaginative" game plan. Then a tub of red Gatorade gets dumped on The Flash.
In the stands, Jen says grimly, "One good deed down, one to go." Dawson comments that Jen has again fallen victim to "her own big heart." Jen elbows him and groans.
Andie rushes up to Principal Green and says she needs to talk to him right away; he wants to know if it can wait, but Andie says no, and then she launches into her prepared speech, but she has enough long pauses in the beginning to let Principal Green jump in with, "What are you talking about, Andie?" Good thing five people haven't already asked her that today. Oh, right, so they have. Andie asks, "Didn't you want to talk to me?" Principal Green says that if she must know right now instead of waiting until Monday, he's forming a student disciplinary committee, and he wants to put Andie in charge of it. Good choice, Principal Green. Why not give Dawson a leadership position in the Itsy-Bitsy Forehead Club, too? Andie sputters her gratitude and tries to take back what she'd said before about making a mistake, and Principal Green goes to join the team on the fifty-yard line. This installment of "Irony: How To Miss The Entire Point" has been brought to you by Alanis Morissette.
Fifty-yard line. Principal Green presents the winner of the silent auction, who has won "one ride on the Minuteman Mule, and one heart-stopping kiss from our head cheerleader." "Ex head cheerleader," Jen hisses. The Minuteman, complete with powdered wig, leads the Mule in, and it stumbles, dumping the auction winner -- Henry -- on the ground. He staggers to his feet and yanks his helmet off and stares at Jen puppyishly. Jen snickers, "Henry?" Henry nods in mute adoration. She asks how he got five hundred dollars, and he stammers, "Mouthpiece." As the crowd urges Henry to kiss her already, Jen asks if he really sold his Doug Flutie "memorial mouthpiece" just to get a smooch from her. Henry looks away, then back at her, and nods dumbly. Jen smiles in spite of herself and says, "I don't know whether to gag or be incredibly touched." Heh. The cheerleaders lead the crowd in a chant of "kiss, kiss, kiss" and Jen looks around uncomfortably. Henry tells her she doesn't have to kiss him if she doesn't want to. Jen tries to hide another smile, says, "Come here, freshman," and pulls him towards her. The slo-mo starts up again as they kiss, and Jen's bottom lip squishes out on Henry's. Violins. Loud, skillet-esque violins. Back to regular, um, "mo" and Jen urging everyone to go on home and Henry grinning. Principal Greene stops her and says they have "a little unfinished business" to attend to first. Then he crowns Jen Homecoming Queen, and as another student drapes Jen in a cloak and places a tiara on her head and a wand in her hand, Jen mutters, "This isn't happening." No, Jen, it isn't, because you aren't a senior, you aren't pretty, and for the last time, you aren't Janeane Garofalo.
Jack slumps on the bench. Andie percolates up behind him and tells him, "See? I told you everything would work out fine." "You did?" Jack asks, removing a towel from his head. Andie burbles about a positive attitude. Jack refers wryly to her doomsday predictions that he would disgrace Clan McPhee and horrify their father, and Andie comments derisively that Angry Pants is "probably out sailing or golfing or wherever he is -- I wouldn't give it another thought." Jack shakes his head and makes an "I give up" face while wiping makeup off with his towel, then tells Andie that she's making his head spin. She says she's just glad it's over, and she can't tell him how relieved she feels, and then she asks, "So who won the game, anyway?" Jack stares at her. I find myself overcome with gales of laughter at the wackiness of Andie's subplot. Oh, so sorry -- I seem to have confused "gales of laughter" with "convulsive retching."
The Minuteman Mule. More bickering. The costume comes off to reveal neither Pacey nor Joey, but rather two similarly antagonistic freshmen who evidently got suckered into wearing the mascot uniform by "those two slackers." Please, God, let it end.
Joey reacts unfavorably to Pacey's surprise, a leaky boat with peeling paint on blocks in a boatyard. Pacey says a friend of his brother's sold it to him cheap. Joey doesn't think Pacey will ever get it into floating shape; Pacey doesn't care. He announces his intention to sail around the world in his boat once he finishes working on it, and Joey says, "I hate to break it to you, Captain Stubing, but you can't sail around the world in a twenty-foot boat." Could the characters on this show please stop using the phrase "I hate to break it to you"? I mean, we've heard it three times in this one episode alone. Dear writers: The thesaurus and you. Perfect together. Love, The Not-As-Stupid-As-You-Seem-To-Think Viewing Public. Anyway, Pacey points out that the much-smaller U.S.S. Minnow had room for all of the Gilligan's Island characters and their stuff. Well, he convinced me. Not. Joey asks for "permission to come aboard." Pacey helps her up into the boat and reveals the contents of the mysterious package: a sign reading "True Love," which will adorn the vessel. Pacey says, "Kinda high on the schmaltz factor, huh?" and Joey says, "Acutely. But sweet." Pacey puts her to work sanding the boat. Joey glares at him before saying, "You are so overboard," but they spend a happy afternoon sanding as a mournful patchouli-and-scarf-wearing ovary sings about "another bridge to cross."
Night has fallen on the football field. The Flash joins Dawson where he sits pensively on the bench. "The night you were born, I bawled like a baby," The Flash tells him, without preamble. Frankly, if a head that oversized issued from my wife's womb, I too would weep, but anyway, Dawson smiles and says with sincere affection, "Really? I didn't know that." The Flash admits to crying for the twenty-four hours: "Holding you so small in my arms -- I never knew I could love anything so much -- so fast -- so utterly." Well, except free weights. "Part of me was terrified," he continues, adding, "Raising a son is more a matter of faith than most people know." "So is being one," Dawson responds. The Flash says, "You're right." Father and son exchange a level look before The Flash says, "I think I realized something today," and when Dawson asks what, The Flash tells him, "That my job as a father isn't to give you the whole picture, because the truth is, I can't see it myself. My job is to try and help [sic], every now and then, with a piece of the puzzle." Huh? Dawson says The Flash has helped him, and The Flash says he hopes so, but Dawson's future and expectations belong to Dawson, and he shouldn't let anyone stand in the way, not even The Flash. Dawson remembers that The Flash always taught him "to be my own person, to think for myself. I just did what you taught me." After a manly silence, which I thank the heavens above neither of them ruined by choking out a tearful "I love you, [insert nickname here]," The Flash does the cheesiest thing, suggesting they go home and "pop in a little Close Encounters or something." Uh -- nope, no comment on that. Dawson gets up and proposes tossing the old pigskin around instead, but The Flash declines, saying, "Gimme that. Why don't we leave the football here on the field where it belongs," and he hurls the football . . .
. . . into the past. Cut to the home movie of Young Dawson and The Flash playing catch in -- all together now -- slo-mo. The strains of a nostalgic song twang away on the soundtrack as Joey watches the home movie. Attired in a tank top so strappy that it barely has straps at all, and strangely formal hair-and-makeup for an evening at home watching videos, she smiles through tears while watching her younger self clown around on a swing-set with Young Dawson and her late mother. The nostalgic song croons, "You think that I don't love you / You're just wrong," and I head out my front door and up to the roof with an armful kindling and a towel, the better to spell out the words "we get it" using smoke signals, because yes indeedy, WE GET IT. Joey smiles as her younger self chases Dawson around his backyard, then gets sad again, then smiles again, and as the screen fades to credits, the soundtrack of the home movie pipes up, "Bye, Joey." "Bye, Dawson." Bye, cornea. Bye, stomach lining.