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Buddy! Garrity! I'll say it again. Buddy! Effing! Garrity! Who's got two thumbs and loves Buddy Garrity? This guy! After a, quote, "moment of scintillating clarity," Buddy and Coach Taylor decide to turn the stupid racist Santiago plotline into total awesomeness by moving Lyla's pet juvie into Buddy's house. Tammy is at first resistant, but then she decides that 55 is the perfect age for Buddy to become a man, and gives the go-ahead, and lo, it is awesome and tear-jerking.
Plus other things happen. Riggins decides, in his usual way, to move out of his house altogether, because the brother and the cougar door seem to be stumbling towards love. He surfs Tyra's couch for 48 hours and not a second more, and then ends up ferret-keeper to a creeping creepster. Tyra wastes an efficient amount of energy busting Tim's balls about his homelessness, but saves the majority of her mojo for finally proving her awesomeness to my girl Lyla, who couldn't be loving her more right now. They choreograph a scandalously sexy dance for the boys of the football team at the eponymous team-boostering event after being roped into working together by Tammy herself. You know what's more frighteningly powerful than Tyra or Lyla? Tyra PLUS Lyla. Awesome once again.
Smash continues to be starry-eyed about his future possibilities, up to and including a full-ride scholarship to a historically black university, which he ignores because their team sucks. Mama Williams (with a distaff reference to Street, which is the only 06 sighting of the entire episode, which sucks) takes matters into her own hands, reminding Eric that he is in loco parentis with the fatherless Smash, along with everybody else in the entire town of Dillon, TX. A showdown with a creepy recruiter reminds us all, especially Smash, that Eric Taylor rules at life. Coach's love even seems to make an impression on Smash, which, as you know, is technically impossible.
Julie is betaken with the sexy new faculty advisor for the school paper, Noah From Cincinnati, and Tammy sees trouble brewing. Predictably, Julie does not see the danger in crushing on the teacher, no matter how inappropriately friendly and disproportionately hot he actually is.
Matt Saracen's sexy nursemaid lady finally crosses the line, teaching him first to dance and then to chastely kiss, and finally to be goofy and cute over breakfast, all with the bristling speed of a bustling glacier. It's so weird to see him even a little bit happy that it practically shocks his grandma into lucidity. In related news, Matt Saracen discovers new ways to be adorable. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously, Matt Saracen made out with his horrific Rally Girl right in front of Julie, acquainting her finally with the concept of "consequences," and Riggins got thrown off the team, but still didn't really make the connection. Santiago got passed from Lyla to Buddy to Eric, like that sexy virus called Responsibility. Landry's dad set fire to the GMC evidence of his crime, thus showing that sometimes, neither consequences or responsibility are really something anybody's going to talk you into taking on for yourself.
Now, it's 6:40 in the morning, and the recruiter circus has come to town, folks: it's "the first day that college recruiters are officially allowed" to talk to individual players. Smash wakes up and starts with his morning routine of pushups, free weights, and sending himself mental valentines about how awesome he is. Of course, everybody in town wants to know how things are going with him, because he's the only person on the team whose storyline even tangentially involves football. Which, frankly, I like that, because his stories were very uneven last year, and mostly he was just a dick, but having him be the baseline player guy -- steroids, recruiters, going pro v. graduating college -- makes him a lot more sympathetic than just having him stand around being rude. So it's not even seven and already the people are calling and getting on Mama's nerves, so she hangs up on a few of them, but finally little sis Noannie brings Smash the phone. He tells her to take a message and she reminds him that she's not his PA, which he agrees is a good thing, because she's not getting paid in dollars: "The Smash train is pulling out the station; you better hang on, before you lose your seat." She rolls her eyes, but he's laughing cutely as he answers the phone.
Tami's awful sister made some pancakes, for which Julie does not pine, because she's already busy whining and lying in bed thinking about how stupid it was to let Matt Saracen go. Everybody's getting ready to leave, and Julie's having yet another meltdown about him, and even Tami is like, "Seriously." Oh, Tami, you are going to wish you still had it that simple by the end of the day.
Over at the Saracen house, Carlota gets out of the shower and runs into Matt in the hallway, and starts yelling at him. This makes Matt...way less jumpy than you might think. He just kind of grins and apologizes. This newfound confidence is, like, thing number one billion of the things about Matt Saracen.
Tim stumbles out into the morning, a time of day to which he has not been previously introduced, to find his brother playing adorable grab-ass with Jackie the Neighbor Lady. They offer him breakfast, but he is feasting on sadness instead. He and Julie should form a club. Can you imagine? He's so much scarier than Tyra if you think of it that way. Billy shocks him out of his reverie and he suddenly runs back to his bedroom and starts packing a sad little backpack. Jackie is horrified by the fact that the teenage boy she fucked and then dumped for his brother-slash-father is...acting like a teenage boy who got dumped for his brother-slash-father. Not that we really blame her, because Tim has the appearance and studied cool of being old for his age, but on the other hand: it's Tim Riggins. Most of us can identify the smell of a Tim Riggins from around the age of twelve. Billy and Jackie do a lot of yelling while he is quietly getting his stuff together and running away from home at this, like, leisurely place, but mostly they're trying to apologize for the unapologizeable and explain the unexplainable. Even a rational teenager would have trouble swallowing this particular thing happening, and no adult can really find the words to explain the details of why it makes total sense, so it's just very frustrating for everybody.
If you are ever in trouble, in any way, drive directly to Tyra's house. This is like rule number one for life. And it's one that Tim understands, so off to Tyra's house he goes. And she is in fine, fine form, looking like a million bucks and staring down at his sexy self with his little knapsack, all, "What's all this you got going on here?" Just arch as hell. He's like, "This? Is my clothes." "That's nice, why are they right here?" He asks for a place to say and does the whole Riggins thing, and she makes him wait awhile before nodding, of course, and giving him 48 hours. Dude, you are not giving Tim enough credit. Tim Riggins could have revolutionaries living in your basement inside of 24 hours, and you're giving him 48? And you know he'd be standing there in the wreckage of all democracy with his shoulders hunched and his hair in his eyes looking at you like, "Can I have some beer money?" On balance, though, that's 48 chances to run into him coming out of the shower, which is a good trade. Tim Riggins is like a Mogwai only if you get him wet, you want to take off your pants.
John From Cincinnati comes slouching up to Tami Taylor in the hallway, looking smoldering and confused as usual, and asks her for the keys to the activity lounge for the Dillon Chronicle staff meeting. She's like, "Sweetie, ask your faculty advisor. Go through channels." But of course, he's totally the prenominate faculty advisor, so she wigs out adorably about how he's like twelve years old, and he calls her "ma'am," and she gets all Tami in his face. He admits that he is Noah Barnett, the new teacher for English Lit, Creative Writing, Speech, and the paper. Dude, how come on all shows, those English-Speech hyphenates are wildly sexy gentlemen? In real life they're either A) the gay organ player at the church who also teaches Latin and is a virgin with lots of cats, or more likely, B) Emma Thompson in the Harry Potter movies whose head is a Pure Moods jukebox 24/7. The two people most likely to make you believe in yourself beyond all reason and make you into the literary equivalent of delusional dipshit Smash Williams, not that I know from experience. Either way, I see a controversial literary magazine in Dillon's future.
Coach Taylor gives the boys a speech in the locker room about how the recruiters are trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with G and that stands for "you will work at a gas station for the rest of your life if you believe their glittering lies." The recruiters, he explains, don't care about how they get you to commit to their school, and are liable to do anything creepy they can think of as a result, whereas the Texas High School Athletic Administration has made it their business to care. The camera immediately locates Smash as Eric discusses the fact that the Panthers will lose eligibility for State if anybody gets caught accepting anything, from iPhones to "rides home." That said, he wants all meetings and discussions set up through the Coach's office, so they can take care of it. "Anything you need, you will get." It's interesting to see this from a new direction this year, like how last year we watched Street go left in this process, and now Smash is going to go right and we'll see how it was supposed to go, and how awful it still has the potential to be.
On the way out to the field, Pete from Miami approaches Smash, who quickly tells him that Miami is not for him, due to weather. Things get wildly snake oily all of a sudden, and some random girl comes running up, like, "I suffer from baldness and blindness! Let me sample this wondrous elixir!" And the guy is like, "Step right up, sexy young lady whom I have never met before, and sample this all-natural, accept-no-substitutes, honest-to-God wonderful formula which is now pending patent!" They have a completely unrehearsed and not-at-all sketchy conversation about her brother, who just happens to have been recruited to Pete's school two years ago and has since not only become the biggest draft pick of all time, but is also the proud owner of several Playmate models, a mansion as big as Missouri, and not one but several gold-plated jet planes. "Young gentleman, note please that I have nothing up my sleeves or hidden in my suit jacket. Now, have you ever met this young lady before?" Smash is like, "No, but I would like to make out with her." They laugh, and she is hot, and Smash is so dazzled that he doesn't even notice the guy slipping Mystery Girl a fifty with his finger on the side of his nose. Oh, Smash. Where is your mother?
Santiago suits up on the field, sweating already due to his intense hotness. Eric and one of the identical other coaches -- it's Mac McGill, the racist one, which lends even more awesomeness to this scene -- watch him do all kinds of boot campy training things that I don't know about, and Eric's like, "Watch this." He calls Santiago over and sends him to see "the guidance counselor, Mrs. Taylor," to go over his transcripts and credits and make sure everything's "squared away academically." He looks Santiago in the eye and asks if he understands what he's saying -- that Santiago has gotten the nod and everything else is gravy, offering him some snake oil of his own -- and tells Santiago to be nice to her. "She's my wife." Lord knows Eric Taylor is the best man in the universe besides Jason Street, but you don't really need to love him to be completely enchanted by Tami the second you come within fifty yards of her. Eric looks over at the other coach as Santiago runs off like a puppy, and he's not exactly smiling, but...it's Eric. He's doing that thing he does where he doesn't smile, but glares in a certain way that means he's happy.
Landry and Tyra lounge against a wall in the middle of just God and everybody discussing their murder. Tyra is mildly overjoyed to hear about the car-bombing, and Landry's like, "Except for how my dad is a cop and also my hero, and he just did an evil thing to cover my ass, which makes me feel insane." Tyra's like, "I have never had a role model or a hero of any kind so I don't really understand what you are talking about. I was raised by wolves, dude." He agrees that it's not great to talk to her about it, but they both kind of shiver about how they still only have each other to depend on about this, even though they broke up. Or I should say, "broke" "up," based on their totally sexy guilty smiles about how they are still totally BFF and can't do anything about it. Tami comes running up and steals Tyra just as Landry was about to do something, touch her or say something not having to do with rape and murder, something cuter than those subjects, and he's like, "Great. Later." Tami is so wonderfully harried this morning, it's hysterical; she just keeps jabbering and not breathing and directing people places. She calls over her shoulder, "Good to see you, Randy!" I wonder if he even notices when people do that anymore.
Tami talks about how if you ever have any problems, go immediately to Tyra Collette, and she's like, "I need a go-getter! I need two go-getters!" and ushers Lyla over. There are few things I love more than the contrived "now you have to work together and get over yourselves" story, but this one is awesome because it's not like they have this huge rivalry anymore, so it's just like, "X thing happens so that the powers of Lyla and Tyra will be unleashed." It literally does not matter what Tami wants, the whole point is that Lyla and Tyra are both magic, alone or together. Tami continues firing her cokehead monologue at both of their heads, all about how Pantherama is this huge drag that is slowly killing her and so she can manage either the "entertainment" or the silent auction, but not both, and with Tyra's skills in party promotion and general havoc-wreaking, and Lyla's ability to make things happen simply by thinking really hard about it, plus their varied skills in dancing and/or making a huge spectacle of themselves, make them perfect for the entertainment. Tyra babbles about how she is really studying hard, and Lyla babbles about Christian activities, and Tami takes them both on so perfectly. "Oh, honey. You are not using Jesus Christ, Our Lord, as an excuse not to help your counselor, are you?" Bested, Lyla smiles sweetly and gives in; Tyra's even more of a pushover because she loves Tami Taylor more than anybody on earth whose name isn't Taylor. She yaks at length about nothing at all and then wanders off, still talking to herself and acting crazy, and the girls just grin at each other.
So on the one hand, I want to give you a straight recap and no bullshit, but on the other hand, I really want to tell you how much I love this show and why, so we're stuck. I made it five pages, though, and that's something. Okay. I love this show because I went to Robert E. Lee High School in Midland, Texas, which is the rival school of Permian, which is Dillon. What that means is, my school is the same as this school, in terms of the football craziness. My friend Ali was like, "Is this like a Greek chorus thing, or do they really have radio shows about high school football?" and I was like, "Try entire radio channels." Now, you know me, I am a bad-ass kickball player but I still don't entirely understand how football works. But there were like 500 people in my graduating class. I'm more comfortable in Dillon than I would be at the school from, like, Fame. Just because I spent every second of every day, and every calorie of energy in my brain, making sure I could leave and never, ever go back there doesn't mean I didn't love it, or I don't still love it. I had such a crush on one of the guys in Explosions that I spent most of high school hightailing it away from his location like Saracen on angel dust; this show is in my blood. The reason that it's good is because it makes you feel that way, too.
Before high school I grew up in Albuquerque and Phoenix and whenever it was my choice on how to spend the weekend, I wanted downtown, the tallest buildings as possible all around me. If I go outside the city limits or into a place with less than a million people, I get hay fever. I was born for cities, and except for high school, I have lived in them. So when I say that watching this show is like jumping into a time machine with my entire family and singing songs that only we know, I mean it. This show makes me ache, because it is incredibly real, and does such a good job of explaining that secret part of my life to the people that know me. And it does a good job of explaining why these people matter, and why you can't just divide your country into the Blue coasts and the Red State everything else. These are your people. Texas people are the same people as you, and Christian people are the same people as you, and this show does such a fucking fantastic job of forcing you to see their dignity, and their intelligence and the strength of their love, without resorting to that smug Coen Brothers crap about it. Where we're different is always a fraction of where we overlap. It's not Texas pride that makes me so weird about this stuff, it's American pride. These are your people, and this show is eloquently and radically about that: It is really like this, and I know and love these people, and I loved every second. This show gives me those West Wing shivers and homesick headaches that you only get when you're trying not to cry in front of people. Hot behind your eyes: When I think of West Texas, it's not the Bubbas and gun racks. West Texas is a thousand Eric Taylors, standing under a blazing sky; it's a thousand strong men on their knees, as they take Street off the field.
Anyway. Noah From Cincinnati has gotten the Chronicle staff together, handed out columns and stuff, so now they're discussing feature ideas. Some dude is upset that The Knife has never played in Texas, and while I agree that it's a shame and I love them, it's also not, because The Knife is incredibly scary music. Matt Saracen would never, ever sleep again if you took him to a Knife show. Noah agrees that this is interesting and a damned shame, but that it's not so much a thousand-word piece. Julie brings up Pantherama and somebody gives her grief about going straight to football, proving he knows nothing about Julie and her war against organized sports. She brings up excellent points about how it generates all this revenue, and then nobody knows how that money is distributed or who does that. Do all sports get the same funding? Did that lesbian soccer coach ever get her balls? Noah calls this "excellent thinking" and gives her the assignment. Little does he know it's going to be a thousand words on like, "How My Mommy And Daddy Deserted Me, Proving They Are Hateful Jerks," "Leave Your Family To Coach A College Team And You Deserve To Get Shot At," "Quarterbacks Are The New Muslim Fundamentalists," And "Why Rally Girls Spread Herpes."
Tami judges Santiago's grades "pretty good" -- no easy feat considering he's transferred five times in his career. I would say that her jaw drops, but by the end of this scene it would be in the rich Permian loam underneath the school's foundations, so I will say that she is somewhat surprised. He explains that his uncle moves around a lot, and that his actual parents were deported. And if you don't recognize the fear in his eyes when he quickly protests, "...But I was born here," it's the look of somebody who's used to being X'd out. There's a reason Julie's "Tyra Is Not A Whore" storyline and the Junkyard Dog story happened at the same time last year: it's not about prejudice, it's about being given permission to exist, which is a whole other thing. For Santiago, "born here" is the difference between existing and not existing, no matter how kind Tami obviously is. Lots of smiles prettier than that hide stuff way worse than you'd think.
So, Tami presses, the uncle is his legal guardian? He mm-hmms noncommittally, because those words don't mean for him what they do for her. So then how come, Tami asks gently, his official address is "Garrity Motors"? Oh, because that makes it easier. "For what?" Well, because his uncle will probably continue to wander. Tami makes the call and very quietly explains that she's going to need a real address, and a face-to-face sit-down with the uncle. Santiago dances very fast, having done this dance a billion times, and offers to have the uncle sign anything at all that she needs. She blinks slowly, now that he's answered the scariest question: he's the uncle. Tami doesn't need to love these kids to do her job, exactly, but it's hard not to. You know right then she's going to get this kid into college. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" They have a duel, his puppy-dogs and her kind, gentle eyes, and finally he admits that the uncle's been MIA for a while. How long? Ten or eleven months.
Saracen's horrible Rally Girl is grilling him about this car he wants to buy, and he's throwing a wild amount of Matthewing at it, about how it's not a big deal and it's going to be too expensive, et cetera. He talks himself out of so much stuff, it's so sad. She notifies him that she's an "exceptional negotiator," which I can respect, and he asks if she's lately from the unholy army of Buddy Garrity, and she laughs. "I actually know cars. I bet I can get you a discount." What Matt needs is somebody who can teach him how to navigate the real world, though, so I guess I don't hate her. She sure does have a crazy old face, though. Which he will now be swallowing whole.
Julie sees them making out and once again totally wilts and runs into a classroom, where of course Noah From Cincinnati is sitting listening to his evil pervert iPod. (Which is I'm sure full of songs like "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon" and "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman" and "Young Girl, Get Out Of My Mind." Or will be soon.) She quickly explains in that Julie way that she is going to need to keep the door closed for a while because her ex and his scary girlfriend are pretty into PDA and really she just needs to avoid them for awhile, because Matt's the QB1 and she's a cheerleader, so it's like he's with this perfect doll and Julie was just an interlude, but RG is the real deal, but honestly, she just came in there to cry. He watches her give this whole speech, smiling tenderly, and offers her a bite of his veggie deluxe sandwich. Liberal vegetarian teacher from the Fourth Estate with an open mind and an iPod! He's a witch! The camera lays on his cutie-pie menace pretty thick, but I'm so sure. Not this show, and not this girl. Maybe Tyra, it would play out that way, but at most I see this relationship getting weird like a boundary-crossing office romance where you're like, "Wait, are we both totally being gross?" And then it's awkward.
Tami walks that hideous baby around yelling at Coach about how, yes, she did due diligence on the kid's transcripts, and all Eric's sports-ass covering has been done, but there are larger issues at play, such as the fact that Santiago is a homeless orphan with only Buddy Garrity on whom to depend, which is thrice horrible. Eric, of course, is like: "The team is his family, the field is his home, I am his father, Landry is his beagle puppy, Street is his older brother," and all that adorable stuff, but Tami is like, No. Actual people right now. He gets a family first, and that's the end of it. Tami Taylor is West Texas poetry in motion. The South has their Steel Magnolias; we've got Steel Buttermilk Pies.
Tyra's awesome stripper sister delivers the best monologue of the episode to a beer-punchy Riggins, sprawling on the couch, about this new bitch at the strip club dancing to "Devil Went Down To Georgia," which is Mindy's signature song, so she offered to kick her ass, because she dances in boots and chaps and a thong, like, the very costume that would provide the most ass-kicking range of motion. I love the stripper sister, but I like to think about all the people that made sure Tyra wouldn't turn into her sister, because I am proud of them, because Tyra is wonderful. She walks into the room, lit from behind, in her work uniform, looking like a captain in the Sexy Police, with a righteous anger in her eyes. She looks so awesome it's like a cartoon. Tyra marches Tim into the kitchen and warns Tim in a chilling voice that he will not be screwing Mindy. "I know you like to create havoc wherever you go, but do not screw Mindy. That's my line. Don't cross it." Tim, who is awesome in his own right, slides two feet to the left of what she's saying to look at -- and fuck with -- what she's actually saying: "Okay. How's Landry doing?" Tyra doesn't even bother to respond to that one, even though it was an excellent, if slightly cheap, shot. "Hour 36 of 48. Tick tock."
Smash and his mother sit in the parlor with a Mr. Gordon, representing the historically black college Whitmore University. I'm sure this is going to go...well. (I was going to say "smashingly," right there, but I caught myself.) Smash explains that he's mostly only interested in football, and not the guy, and the guy's like, "Well, we don't offer athletic scholarships. But we do offer academic ones." Should Smash enroll, he could play football and get an awesome education. Of course, what he's really saying is that Smash could save their team, because every single recruiter has an angle, but at least his angle means well and would help Smash create an actual life. He jokes about how great it would be to end up on a team that was 2-9 last season, with zero drafted, and Mama's offended, but the guy's like, "You are going to get other offers," trying to work with him. Smash does his awful Smash thing about "you know that's right" and all that stuff, and the guy tries to explain that the four years will determine his entire life, and Smash is like, "Exactly. I will go pro in three, so don't waste your time." The grownups are worried about him, but I'm kind of on his side this time, because he has the chance to be gigantic -- that's not a delusional opinion, it's a fact -- and hedging his bets would make him really resentful if it didn't come together.
Rally Girl asks the owner of the car, who has managed to grow a toupee with his own hair, all these car questions, impressing the dude and Matt wildly. "Smart girl, pretty girl, knows her cars!" She and Matt have a long, mumbly, hushed discussion about the car, and they are adorable together, and she gives him her knowledgeable opinion that it's worth it, then gets $200 off the price because Matt's QB. I realize that they are selling her hardcore because they need Matt to be in a perfect storm of ass, with Julie and Carlota and RG, so that he will lose his entire mind, but I don't mind. She's awesome in this scene. They grin at each other, and Matt's got wheels.
Eric brings Buddy into Tami's office, immediately setting off her bullshit detectors. Like, she actually says, "Oh, here we go." Eric heads into the breach about how he and Buddy have been discussing the Santiago situation, and then Buddy opens his mouth and words come out. Now, you should know that I have always loved Buddy Garrity. He's not a good man, but he's a pretty neat guy. He pushes all my Michael Scott buttons: he's the loneliest man in Dillon, and he always has been, and no matter how much he tries, he can't make it work with other humans. He loves his kids, he loves Panther football, and he loves Eric Taylor. These are all things we have in common. So my response to the speech, and the rest of this story, were probably markedly different from yours. Here's what he says: "Santiago has been working for me part-time, did you know that? And he's a great worker. And when Eric told me about his living situation, I was appalled. And so I came up with this...moment of scintillating clarity. He should move in with me. Easy. Simple." And the fear in his eyes...I realize most, if not all, of those words were lies. But he's scared for the kid, and scared of the kid, and scared of Tami, and he loves Panther football. Plus, like, Buddy Garrity totally just said "moment of scintillating clarity," which is awesome. Tami stares at him, this person who could fumble a trip down the hall so badly he'd alienate half of the town on the way, just stares and stares, and then asks to speak to Eric. Buddy backs out of the room, hilariously, with these like head-dipping bows and half-muttered words, like he's trying to get away from a bull in the heather, because he's scared of Tami, because he should be.
Left alone, Tami starts in on Eric with a quickness, and like any scene between the two of them, it's the best thing in the world. Eric's like, "Don't whisper-yell at me, don't whisper-yell at me please," and she's like, "You brought Buddy Garrity into my office? First of all. And now you're suggesting that Santiago -- that poor child -- is going to live with Buddy Garrity? We're not selling puppies, here." Eric agrees, but dismisses her appeals to his sanity and Social Services by pointing out that Santiago has spent most of his young life falling through a series of cracks, so how great is the protocol she's so excited about? Tami sees through this, though, and calls him out for trying to sell her on what is admittedly a pretty terrifyingly ill-advised idea, just to get the kid on the team. Eric gets very offended about this, and quickly changes thrust to how, in the system, they won't be able to take care of him or make sure he's okay, whereas with Buddy -- who is constantly showing up so they'll feed him, tie his shoes, or otherwise help him with his life anyway -- they'll always know where Santiago is and whether he has lived through another day. It's persuasive.
Tyra and Lyla stare at the gaping wasteland of emptiness that is the Pantherama volunteer list, and Tyra gets that scary look in her eyes, and drags Lyla into the men's locker room. Smart girl. She tells them all to shut up, and asks Lyla why they're there. "We're here because nobody signed up for Pantherama," Lyla shouts, loving it, because she's awesome and strong, but is also comfortable with following somebody's lead, which is rare, and one of the reasons Lyla's my favorite character after Street. She has humility. Tyra grows to three times her normal size, all, "NOBODY!" She tells them that tradition dictates that the players provide the entertainment, which makes sense because all Pantherama is, is the boys putting on a big stupid show. "Listen up, ladies! Lyla and I have a job to do, so let's make this easy on everybody." She grabs a hot freshman and gives him the signup sheet. "We're going to be spending...a lot of time with, um, what's your name?" His name is Carter, and he now has the biggest boner in all the world. She runs her hand across his back and the boys all start hooting like crazy jackals. I wish Tyra were president of the United States, she would get everything done so fast. "Lyla and I are gonna be spending a whole week with you. Anybody else?" The insane group lunge for the signup sheet is so intense and violent that Tyra barely gets out of there alive. Lyla stares at Tyra and falls in love with her for like the sixth time.
Noah From Pedophiladelphia is like, "This is a good article. Cut it down by 500 words." Julie points out that this is half the piece, and he gives the awesome answer, "Find the right half." She protests that she was supposed to show range, and he reads her first sentence, which includes both "blustery" and "multiloquous," a word I've never even heard, but then Noah says something so weird it's like Martian to me, about how you should not use "ten-dollar words" when a "nickel word" would suffice. What? You should sacrifice multiloquicity for simple perspicacity? Is he, in addition to being a pervert, a formicating drug user? You should always use the longest words and most torturous syntax possible, so that people will think you're smart. That's just common noûs. Noah offers that she could stand to lose the three angry paragraphs about Rally Girls (see?), and she's like, "But you said it was good!" It is, he says, but holds forth a beautiful epigram I've not heard before: "Good is the enemy of great." That's nice. That's Jason Street talk right there. "The less a reporter says, the more she hears." She ribs him about his journalistic career, and he's like, "Um, before I started boffing high school students I did Journalism at Columbia and then a year at the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel." Okay then! They are edging up on breezy-flirty as he tells her again to cut it down. Dude, if you're after getting' the honey, then you don't go killing all the bees! We've been through this!
Sitting at dinner with Smash and his family, Mysterious Snake Oil Girl totally jokes about how when her brother Owen was getting courted, she was a "slave" for him. She asks if Noannie is taking his messages yet, getting a succinct variation on "fuck no," then explains how her brother invented playing them off each other. Smash is like, "Wow, that is brilliant." I can't tell if he's actually impressed with this or just trying to be cute, but mostly I can't think about it because my mind is blown because I cannot imagine having dinner with the Williams family and even thinking the word "slave" in any context, even in my brain. Mama keeps asking about the education he's getting, at this college which is in Miami, and she shrugs it off awesomely, like, "Yeah, sure, whatever. My Dad says he's making connections on the team that totally rank on an MBA." Mama's not dissuaded: "So your dad's an idiot too. How about your mom? Does she worry about the fact that college sports are a ticket to poorness and injury?" Her answer? "Guys like Smash are blessed -- that's as close as you can get to a guarantee." So, that would be a yes. Mama is so grossed out. I would throw that little girl out of my house because she is obviously a secret agent who means them no good.
Matt drives up in his brand new car and he's proud, but of course downplaying it past humility and on into weirdness, and Grandma and Carlotta are all over it, being hilarious and excited about it. Grandma starts yelling about how she wants to go for a drive, and Matt charms Carlotta into the car, promising he's a good driver. Matt Saracen, come to my house! Drive me to the Sonic! I will buy you a Route 44 Coke and we will talk about life. I want to spend the rest of my life driving around in Matt's stupid car.
Mama comes into Smash's room and he apologizes for bringing somebody for dinner without warning, and she's like, "Yes, you are dead for that, but I'm going to be nice so you go to Whitmore." He's like, "No, didn't you listen to that awful, sketchy girl with her sweepstakes lies? I may have already won!" Mama points out that Smash was, as usual, rude to the nice man; that Smash, as usual, totally bagged on the very nice gift of a full academic scholarship; that Smash, as usual, waltzed into the house with a crazy white girl and has decided that she is a prophet. He's like, "Wait, back up. Is this about the white girl thing?" She can't say no, because that wouldn't exactly be true either, but it's number like fifty-five on the list of what this is about, and besides, it's only important that she's white for reasons having to do with Smash, not with Mama, so instead she's like, "Why don't you try and tell me what it's about?" He has zero answers beyond, admittedly, everything he's already said a hundred times in the last year.
Mama tears down the Porsche poster and waggles it around in the air. "Is this why you play?" Which is a valid question, too, so he retreats to his place of wisdom like always, about how she doesn't know the recruitment game or how it works. Like she's just this superstitious old woman that suspects everybody of things and wants him to go to Whitmore because she's stupid. And like, even if you could climb into the screen with them, you still couldn't get them to hear each other, and it's awful. I've always thought Smash is only interesting when he's knocking heads with women, with Mama and Waverly, because his arrogance is so much easier to pinpoint and pop at those moments, and he knows it. She's like, "I don't know how it works? I know that every day is another chance for you to end up like Jason Street." Which is...effective. Street's like the 9/11 of everybody on this show, still. And since that's the only time this week that the show will admit he exists, I'm going to take a moment, because I love Jason Street more than anybody in the whole world, and I want to grow up to be him, and it is late in the day for me to be picking my heroes, but there it is. I admire him so much that I wish he would stand up and walk around, so I could feel less weird about loving him so much, because it seems like a wheelchair thing, and it is really not. You know? So anyway, Smash gives the only defense you can really give to the #06 Combination Attack, which is that you need to stop handing him No and start giving him some Yes, about anything at all, because if you say "Jason Street" three times in a dark room, you immediately get paralyzed, and when you're on the field you aren't allowed to even think it. "Nobody holds me back!" She stalks off again, like they haven't had this fight a billion times, and Smash gets super weird, in a Beautiful Mind kind of way, about sticking the poster back on the wall, and getting it just right.
Having finally coaxed the boys into a half-assed formation, Lyla takes center stage and tries to show them the moves she's come up with. Landry looks especially adorable right now. Everybody laughs at her cheerleader moves, but lest you think she's being stupid, she's like, "Dude, it's supposed to be funny. This is funny." But since we already had the Powder Puff episode last year -- another thing I had to explain to Ali was all too real, just unbelievably serious business -- you know that's not happening. She heads over to Tyra to regroup, and Tyra thinks. What is totally fucked up and bizarre and awesome? What's the Tyra angle on this situation? While spinning her wheels, with Lyla looking frustrated, she snaps at one of the guys -- the cute one with the awful fake contacts that was Smash's second in command during the Mac McGill thing -- to put his shirt back on. Her hilarious appalledness turns immediately to intrigue, and she tells him to take it off again. This, of course, causes all of those boys to start shucking their clothing. There's a great shot of Matt and Landry looking very nervous, among literally acres of muscled football flesh, and then before you can blink, the Guys have officially Gone Wild. Tyra is like, "This. This is entertainment." At its most basic! Let me tell you about a little show called Friday Night Lights, girlfriend. Tyra gets up and does a very sexy dance with him, and Lyla giggles and then commits to the process, and then the whole thing turns into Matrix: Reloaded. Only, you know, fun.
Julie laughs about Noah's iPod, and how it's entirely full of Hannah Montana and KidzBop: Pussycat Dolls, and Tami comes running into the room because somebody projected the Julie Batsignal of Mother May I Sleep With Danger onto the wide Texas sky. (Matt, the Swede, now Noah: she's going to be dating Buddy Garrity by the end of the season at this rate.) Noah gets his feet off the desk with a quickness and Tami stares the shit out of him. He's like, "Your daughter -- who is sitting right here, a good twelve inches away from my sexy scary self -- has a feature in the Chronicle!" Tami gives him the keys he asked for, even though he already held the staff meeting somehow, and she's like, "Great." Julie scatters, and Tami basically goes into a total ninja pose, ready to kick his head through the window in the most amazing field goal of all time. After officially putting the fear of God into his mostly oblivious head, she stalks out into the hall, giving an awesome teacher-voice "JULIE" into the quiet hall.
Carlotta watches Matt dancing awkwardly in the living room, through the screen door. Somehow, she's able to shake it off and come inside, praising his "moves." He mumbles and stumbles and tells her to shut up like a thousand times, awesomely, and explains about how he has to dance at Pantherama. What's Pantherama? "This thing you have to take my Grandma to. Tomorrow night." He tells her about Tyra and Lyla's stupid (-ly wonderful) dance, and how they "somehow" decided that he needs to be in the front row, for reasons that remain mysterious to him, and that they have to take their shirts off. It all makes him very uncomfortable. Carlotta's all, "Like The Full Monty?" Already pulling out her wallet. He's like, "Oh God." He stretches out mournfully on the couch and vows to call in sick, and she's like, no. "If you are going to dance in front of people, you have to own it." (This actress makes this character into something that is not offensive. I feel the same way about Santiago. On paper, this is so not cool, and I say this as the obsessive/recapper of Gossip Girl, the inventor of "inclusion as insult," but they make the characters so real and sympathetic and appealing that I don't even notice.) She asks for a demonstration and as usual, Matt Saracen is adorable, and then things get very contrived, so you can fill in the blanks: she's like, "I am Latina and I know how to loosen up and have fun," and he's like, "I am a small-town white boy and I am afraid of the wild stallions of my sensuality," and she's like, "Put your hands on my fiery hips," and he's like, "But why? I am so innocent," and then he does that thing again where he just clicks into being a man, and starts smoldering directly at her, and it is so, so awesome.
Mama Williams sings and does the dishes, and Smash comes in, looking sweet and repentant, and she hugs him and laughs, and they are super sweet. So of course Smash drops the hammer that Whitmore is out of the running. Which sucks on many levels, but I am not so clueless that I am going to lecture you on why HBCs are awesome, even in the world of today. He explains to her his very valid side of all of this, Street aside, again: he's going pro, there is no chance he's not going pro, he needs to surround himself with people who believe that, because there's only one way he can get what he wants. And even if she can't see it, or is minimizing it, that one thing he wants is to save all of his family at the same time, because his father was a trifling man and is now dead, so he has to save them all at the same time, because that's the only option he has, and all of her No does real damage to the future Smash that is going to do these things, who exists in his head. Future Smash that would cause him to do really awful, horrible things, like steroids and lying about money for steroids and robbing God for steroids. Smash is a good boy. He drives me nuts, but I do like him, and that's why: it's never been about his glory. He's so sold on himself that he has as much glory, right this second, than he could ever want or need. Waverly proved that. It's not about glory, it's about getting there. And possibly Porsches, but mostly Super Future Smash, which is what makes this so hard, because he's wrong by being right. He tells her also that in order to preserve Super Future Smash, she's not invited to any more recruitment meetings. Well, there's not a way to take that well, but she does okay.
Tami sits across a table with Buddy Garrity with all her cards very well hidden. She's done a lot of thinking, and a lot of research on Santiago. He's been in Juvie twice, and there's a history of violent episodes -- which I'm sure will bite us in the ass around episode 14 or so -- and all of this info together makes for a very messed up situation. So you put a kid with that stuff going on, that fear of extinction, that confusion of purpose, that strength without will or direction, that pain, into foster care or a group home...seriously. Foster care turned me into Wolverine, and I'm the biggest pussy you've ever met. I can't imagine how damaged Santiago would be by it, especially so close to being an adult, especially being so self-sufficient already. Buddy goes, "I understand." And you know, he does. The fear is back, because this, now, is Buddy's test, and he knows it. There's no Super Future Buddy, anymore. Even before he got kicked out of the house and started drinking, he'd given up on that. He's more like Santiago than not: they're both living alone in squalor with no idea how to grow up. Buddy Garrity is the loneliest man in Dillon, and the worst part is, he and everybody else knows it. So the question isn't, "Can Buddy be the father to this boy?" The question is, "Can two half men make one whole one?" Breaks my heart; breaks Tami's heart too.
"You're looking at him like a great football player, but let me make something clear to you: this is a boy who needs a home, and this is a boy who's at risk." True of Buddy, too. "I know, Tami. I've got three kids. I know what it takes." Which is true, and I love most that Buddy isn't flinching yet. He's scared, but it's not like he hasn't thought about this. You can see it in the performance, how he wants to say, "Stop saying this out loud, it's too big." She agrees that he is a good father -- and I don't disagree -- but Santiago is not Lyla. This is a whole other situation. He pauses and nods. It's true: "Even though I am a little bit nervous about it, I know I can do this. And I really like the kid. He has a great heart, and I want him to have a chance." So does Tami. She stares him down, and it's on. At first I thought, if this is how it's going down, why couldn't it be Tim? It's because Tim has never been afraid of extinction, because Tim has always had Jason Street to remind him he exists. To give him permission to exist. But Buddy has nobody, and Santiago is the definition of having nobody. I love Buddy Garrity so much, and I'm not, I think, making wild intuitive claims when I say that this is what makes or breaks Buddy Garrity; this is the way it had to go.
Tyra pours a big old glass of water on Tim, because obviously she gets that Tim Riggins ought to be soaking wet all of the time. He moans and looks intensely hot for awhile, and she tortures him for fun, and her mom -- I missed her! -- offers him breakfast, because that's what you do to a Panther on your couch. Even if he's not on the team, he's still shirtless. Tyra rescinds the offer and tells him again that he absolutely has to get out. I'm sure if we saw the kitchen clock it would read 7:01, because that's how Tyra rolls. He looks up at her, and there's none of that practiced stupidity in his eyes, he's completely, sadly, seriously lost: "I've got nowhere to go, Tyra." She points out that this is only because he's throwing a hissy about Billy and Jackie, which she additionally points out is stupid and the Jackie thing was inappropriate in the first place. Which: Jackie is about the hottest person outside the regular cast, and I love how she shows up on every single show being hot and loveable. She's like if Anne Dudek had a heart and was eerily identical to Jessica Biel. (Fun fact! Anne Dudek has the same birthday as both Sars and myself! Astrology is terrifyingly real!) Mindy -- whom I think we can call agree is a stellar character reference in any situation -- brings up a totally sketchy-sounding "guy" who needs help with his "pets," and before you can say "Michael Vick," Tim is like, "That sounds absolutely dreadful, but I am out of options."
Eric brings a copy of the Chronicle to Tami with the most uproariously hurt expression on his face, like he just found the Sophomore Burn Book and he was listed as Third Hottest Coach or Most Bookish. He's like, "Where does the goddamn money go?" Tami laughs and just waves at him: "I know! She's totally a journalist! Hey, on that note: have you noticed the new teacher and how she's dating him?" Eric's like, "Quote! 'Athletic director and Panther football coach had no comment'! She's asked me through the bathroom door! What am I supposed to do! I was busy!" Hee! I still think of him as this young hot dude, which he is, but: Who knew he was going to be the realest dad of all time? Tami laughs and notes that Julie's doing a good job, and has a point or two. He just grumbles and shuffles out of the room again. She's like, "Bye, honey!"
Back in the athletic offices, Mama Williams is waiting for Eric and looking totally bereft. He welcomes her in, because they have always had a serious respect for each other, and she sits. "What are you doing about this recruitment insanity?" She tells him about the constant phone calls, and Smash "acting like he needs a Hollywood agent." Have you met Smash? He was born that way. She reminds Eric that he told the parents he was keeping an eye on it. Eric is like, "It's like this every year. But especially with your son, and I get it, because he is amazing and talented." She's like, "You know how Smash won't quit about going pro and doesn't believe in college?" Which is a very funny way to take on Eric, and he kind of doesn't get what she's saying at the same time as he does, because his whole life at this desk is verbally mincing around landmines, every second. "I can give recommendations. I can give advice. But in the long run, that's a decision that you and Brian will make," basically, is his answer. I think he agrees with me that Brian is right about going pro, but I don't know as much as he does as far as dividing one's eggs between baskets, so I don't know how much of this is careful wording, and how much is staying far away from the parent/teacher meridian. She levels, beautifully: "My dead husband was a trifling man. I couldn't count on him to bring his paycheck home, or to be faithful, but he was always there for Brian. They could talk." She takes a measured pause and says it the most concise way you possibly could: "I'm not asking you to be this boy's daddy. I'm just here to remind you he doesn't have one." Eric nods, because: there it is. I would still be talking an hour later, but there it is. Mama Williams, I wish you were my mom. She gets it done right.
I was diligent, last year, in monitoring Grandma Saracen's mental state, because last year literally all I did was worry about Matt Saracen every second, all week long. (How great is it that he's not in constant peril this year?) But anyway, she's really infantilized in this episode, and I don't know if that's a sign of something coming down the pike, or just this particular writer's deal, but MAN is she out of it this week. Matt and Carlotta are both totally solicitous (multiloquous?) with her, all, "I HEAR THERE'S A GREAT SHOW TONIGHT!" and she's like, "LET'S GO FOR A RIDE IN THE CAR!" and "CARLOTTA HELPED ME LEARN TO DANCE!" and "DANCING, MATTHEW? ARE YOU DOING THE WATUSI? ARE YOU WALTER CRONKITE?" And Matt and Carlotta are totally sweet and flirty without even looking at each other as he admits that she helped him learn the dance, and that she's a pretty good choreographer, and Grandma's going to have fun, and the whole time they're being adorable, Grandma's like, "CAN I PET CHECKERS?"
Getting Julie, Tami, Eric, the awful sister I can't stop referring to as Gina even though I first fell in love with her on Boston Public, is quite a thing these days. Especially with Intrepid Reporter Julie Taylor hectoring everybody about how Pantherama is the first social event of ugly old Grace's life, so they should start saving up for therapy right now. "Pantherama is tradition, and tradition is good, Sweetheart. Maybe you could use some of that positive tradition in the work that you're doing with your articles?" Julie rattles off how "Noah says" that you can't have preconceptions about your articles, and Eric's like, "Eff Noah," but Tami catches just a glimpse of the Batsignal in the setting sun and she's like, "Honey? Does everybody call him Noah?" (Tami was involved in Tyra's older man issues last year, right? She knows the signs? I can't remember. I mean, she'll obviously fix this, probably looking crazy in the process, but she's Tami. If you ever have a problem in your life, drive to Tami's house before you hit up Tyra, because Tyra is probably busy with a scheme of some kind.) "Um, that's his name? Noah?" Tami's vaguely like, "Mr. Barnett would be more usual..." in a vague way that tells you this is going to be horrific.* Eric asks, since Julie seems to feel, as usual, that her civil liberties are being impinged upon, that Julie try and get both sides of the story time. Everybody rolls their eyes and loves him fiercely.
(*You know what, though? This whole episode is about orphans, and this whole season has been about Julie's orphaning. She overdoes it because she's a kid, and because she's Julie -- because she's the over-opinionated, wry child of Tami and Eric Taylor -- but she's not wrong. They fucked her over, and they all three know it. It was unavoidable, and it's mostly over now, but she went absolutely insane to demonstrate this, and even though the narrative would have you believe that a heart-to-heart talk fixed it, she's not done. There's a reason she's doing this now. Tami and Eric both have issues, sometimes, dividing the line between friend and parent. Ultimately they will always make the right call, but it's blurry, because Julie is awesome and you want to be her friend, and she's also totally manipulative, so sometimes it takes a while. Noah Barnett is just Julie's version of the Ferret Guy we'll meet later -- somebody who's enough of a parent that you feel safe, but just young and clueless enough that he'll do what you want, which for Julie right now means making her feel worth being loved. And Tami and Eric did that, and they're going to get screwed by it. This isn't about sex, it's about Julie losing both her parents, and her boyfriend, within weeks, and nobody listening no matter how hard she screamed, so she goes on screaming**.)
Buddy Garrity, never happier than when he's shouting into a megaphone (**), welcomes everybody to Pantherama, which: love the name, so much, and introduces the Panthers. Grandma Saracen is adorable and really quite lovely on a bad day, but tonight she is, I hasten to point out, wearing cat ears. Not to overidentify, and I realize it's weird, but she looks even more like my Grandmother with those things on, and it made me homesick some more. Lyla's doing her "I'll be right here to the side if you need me" thing she does, that I love so much, and meanwhile Tyra's like, "Don't fuck up," which I also love so much. You could say my whole life has been trying to equalize my Tyra-slash-Rayanne tendencies and my Patty Chase tendencies into a workable person, and so that person is pretty much Lyla, but if that means I get to make out with both Street and Riggins, I can't see how that's a bad thing. "You're going to be great!" yelps Lyla, which is both sweet and good, because everything Lyla says, happens, because she's possessed of a powerful will. The Panthers run out onto the court doing that whole "raise the roof" with their arms that sports teams have been doing since caveman pep rallies, and Tami gives the girls a happy, naïve thumbs up.
The boys, our boys, form up and dance awkwardly for a second, and then...things get Miss Jackson If You're Nasty pretty quickly. There are one thousand shocked shots of everybody on the entire show and their extended families; Tami's jaw hits the floor for the eightieth time, the lesbian mayor loves it, Noannie and Corrina are loving it, it's totally dirty, "Gina" loves it, Landry is somehow even hotter for being the only one who keeps his undershirt on, and...BOOM! The pants come off! Mama Corrina is like "Whaat? Everybody goes crazy, Grandma and Carlotta are like "Awesome!" Lyla and Tyra laugh their adorable asses off, and Tami is shocked. Just shocked. The girls shrug at her with giant smiles, but it doesn't work: she's simply too flabbergasted to deal with the cuteness. Even Buddy is totally open about how this is the coolest thing in the world. Tami and Eric stare at each other like they're wondering if this is the apocalypse, hilariously, and the boys finally grab their shit and disappear. Tami glares daggers at the girls, but Tyra's just like, "Way to go, boys." (What's funny is how, if you hit fast forward on your brain, in ten years Tyra is Tami Taylor. Her salvation is already written. What I want to know is, will Tim live long enough to become Eric? I know what you're thinking: that's Street. But Street's already the man he's going to become, he's just growing into it. It's Tim's salvation I'm praying for.)
In the parking lot, Grandma's like, "MATTHEW YOU SURE CAN MOVE! YOU REMIND ME OF A BOY I MET IN THE WAR!" He begs off to help clean up, and tosses the keys to Carlotta. "You looked good out there," she says, and "Because of you," is his answer, and they look at each other for a second too long, and he kisses her. Awesome! She's like, "Whoa!" And gets in the car and squeals the fuck out of there. He just gets that Matt look on his face, like, "Oh, hell."
Good morning, Saracens! Grandma's like, "YAY, BREAKFAST! IT COMES EVERY DAY BUT IT IS STILL SPECIAL! DO NOT PUT ME IN A HOME! I WANT TO PLANT APPLE TREES AND ORANGE TREES AND SAUSAGE TREES AND BACON TREES AND WAFFLE TREES FOR BREAKFAST! IT'S THE BEST!" And while all of this is going on, there's a family happening right in front of you. Matt smiles at Grandma, and smiles cautiously over at Carlotta, who serves him his breakfast finally, and she smiles carefully at him, and they both smile about Grandma, and Carlotta puts her hand on his shoulder, so carefully and sweetly, and they are a family. He gets that man look again and eats his waffles, and I know everything has to go to hell because that's how TV works, but for a second I just want to keep them there, having breakfast. This preposterous, beautiful family, made up of wrong turns and fears and sadnesses twisted straight. The morning is my favorite time because it's the only time you get to feel like this.
Smash sits with Pete From Miami, studiously not taking bribes, not discussing school housing or the hot tubs that come with it, not getting his meal paid for, not getting a ride home, not getting totally worked over by Pete and his white devil succubus. Eric rides up on a literal white horse with his to-go boxes and informs Pete From Miami that he will not be screwing Smash today, will not be breaking rules, will not be screwing up Eric's chance at State, will not be getting murdered in cold blood by Eric Taylor. Pete scampers and Eric sits down. Smash is like, "Oh, man. Another person who cares about my welfare and loves me and recognizes my awesomeness? What have I done to deserve this?" He admits that he arranged the meeting without Eric's office, because "nobody wants all the red tape" and he doesn't need Eric to "hold [his] hand." He assures Eric that he's making good decisions and not acting like a total idiot like usual. And he's not. Eric trains those awesome burning eyes of Coach Taylor love on him, and says the thing you want to hear him say every single day: "You've got heart, charisma, and a lot of skill. You're probably one of the best athletes I've ever coached." And Smash, of course, thanks him politely, because he's secretly wonderful. "My old man gave me a hard time on every damn decision I ever made. Every single day I lived under a roof with that man, we went head-to-head. I'm here. I just wanted to remind you of that." I never thought about Eric's dad before. I only know how to get better through awfulness, because I was the Tyra, so maybe I'm reading my own shit into this, but: somewhere between Cider House Rules and Cotton from King Of The Hill is what I'm picturing. I love you, Eric Taylor. "You got money? Good. You buy your own meal." He stands up, having made his West Texas poetry point, and Brian's like, "I am still angry and dissatisfied and arrogant, but on the other hand, Eric Taylor rules the entire universe. Hmm."
Tim pulls up to the crazy Ferret Man's house, and crazy Ferret Man yells at him through the door, and Tim flashes Mindy's name like a calling card of doom, and the ferrets' names are Roscoe and Coltrane, and the guy lets him in, and...it's bad, y'all. Without a paragraph break, because it's basically the same exact scene, substitute "Julie" for "Tim," "Noah From Cincinnati" for "Crazy Ferret Man," and "New York Times, which we'll be sharing every morning," for "ferrets Roscoe and Coltrane." And instead of "Mindy," you can say, "the only mistake Eric and Tami have ever made."
Eric, Buddy, and Tami muster up in Buddy's sad living room. I was like, "Strong Xandir, strong Xandir. I will not cry." But Buddy's so nervous and jumpy, and he's saying shit like, "This is good, this'll be masculine-looking," and I just lost it. Buddy Garrity, on pins and needles that Santiago -- a person who literally expects nothing but pain, which Buddy can't even imagine -- will be happy. Buddy, worried that he can provide more than sustenance for Santiago. That Buddy will be permitted to exist; that Buddy will be more than a trifling side note. That somebody will love him, and see him as a hero. Tami sends Eric to make Santiago's bed, as like this token attempt to be normal before they abandon him to Buddy's wild ways, and she marches Buddy into the kitchen to see how he's doing in the "feed the boy" area. "I see a lot of steak, a lot of sausage." Buddy's like, "Yeah! I did it!" She tells him, sweetly, that he needs some vegetables. He makes a mental note, desperately: "Okay, got it. Veggies." And Tami is so cool, because everything she says is actually three things. She's instructing him literally on how to be a person, she's reminding him of the horrible hugeness of this, but most of all, she's gentling him. Like when the equestrians go "shh, shh," and run their hands over the horse's skin, everything she says is this: "Shh, shh." She knows he can do it, which is bizarre even to her, but she knows it. And in his braver moments, in those moments of scintillating clarity and hope, Buddy knows he can do it. But this is not one of those moments. Everything she says, he shudders and nods and hopes, and all he can say is "Okay. All right." "You're a guardian now. Get me? Gotta be home when he's home. He's a kid." Okay, all right. She sends him in to the boy. "Shh, shh," she's saying. "Okay. All right."
Eric makes Santiago's bed for him, promising him with a laugh that this is the last improbable time he will ever do so. Buddy enters and Eric leaves with proper respect, slapping Santiago on the shoulder. And now they're alone: a family, happening right in front of your eyes. Buddy goes on and on about how the bed is stupid, how the desk is too small -- it was Buddy Jr.'s -- but he'll get him a bigger one, he will make everything so perfect, he will do anything to make Santiago happy, so that he'll stay, and make Buddy a successful father and a good man again.
In two weeks, Landry saves his dad by damning himself, and not even Tyra can fix what happens . But this week, out in the hall, Tami suffers a moment of buyer's remorse: "We're doing the right thing?" And Eric kisses her, but what he's saying is, "Shh, shh."
"I wish it was roomier, Santiago," says Buddy, his eyes so full of begging there's no room for tears. And then the sad, sadder, saddest part: "I didn't think...I was going to be here this long." And Santiago answers this first question, eyes full of the same hope and fear: "This is the first real bed I ever had." Not even Buddy can handle that level of...whatever this is. He scoots, and Santiago sits on the first bed he ever had. He sits, and takes out a stack of letters with Mexico stamps and sad, lonely addresses, and slides them under the pillow, and is very lonely. Stuck into a place he never expected, with demands of such magnitude he's only just glimpsed them. Being a son again. His arms, and his legs: he's so big, for such a small bed.
Okay. All right.