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Humanity! I love it! When has television ever made you feel this way? NEVER.
So, Peter Berg is in town (as "Mo McArnold") on what Coach calls "the world's longest business trip." Mo is Tami's old boyfriend, the one that came right before Coach, and he's in every way Coach's opposite -- flashy, talky, jittery. He's in town looking to buy some real estate, but it's clear the only property he has eyes for is in Tami Taylor's pants. Coach can only take so much of Mo's incessant "friendly" kissing of Tami's cheeks before he really, according to every code of manhood ever written in any culture, is called upon to go whiskey shot for whiskey shot with him. Which (again, according to some man code) ends with Peter Berg and Kyle Chandler rolling around on the floor together.
Smash tries to ingratiate himself to the University of Alabama since TMU dumped him; when that fails, he finds himself taking a meeting with a recruiter for arena football. Yikes. Coach finally steps in to help him out of this downward spiral, taking him for another meeting with the football coach at Whitmore College -- the historically black school Corinna wanted him to go to. They still want him, and he makes a commitment to play for them. He's not immune to the sadness of seeing his NFL dreams ended, but tries to listen to his mother's assurances that it's the college education that matters.
The waitress that Jason Street had a one-night stand with shows up to tell him she's pregnant. Jason can't believe it, because everyone told him it wasn't physically possible for him to have children. The nineteen-year-old waitress (rightly) is pretty set on an abortion until Jason lays it on super-thick about the tiny toes and fingers and how this is his one chance to have a child.
And, in the most surprisingly good storyline of the night, Lyla and Chris grow closer when he invites her to a family weekend at his grandmother's ranch. His family is infuriatingly perfect -- educated, somewhat worldly, witty, and loving -- and you can see Lyla just blooming under the prospect of becoming part of something so blessed again after being in paralysis/divorce/adultery exile for so long. But this is exactly where the long arc of her dalliance(s) with Tim Riggins pays off; we know she has it in her, and so as much as she wants the perfection, she's always going to need the Riggins. When Chris prematurely ends their soon-to-become-heavy-petting session, Lyla is quite literally blue-balled and it's fascinating. Meanwhile, Tim Riggins has been playing it steady, going to her church (and, ridiculously, hosting a sports call-in radio show there), just keeping himself in view. I think it's going to work. May the best man fucking win.
Oh, god. Except we might not ever know! Show! Come back! Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously, we were tested to our very souls. Currently, we are tested to our very souls in having to consider the possibility that this might be all there is of our beloved show.
We open at the megachurch. Tim and Billy Riggins are in attendance, barely managing to toss a buck into the offering plate Lyla is passing around. Cut over to the rocking black church, where a three-tiered electronic keyboard has been pressed into serving the Lord. What I want to know is, where's the key-tar? Corinna is clapping her hands and swaying to the music while Smash stands to her, distracted. He looks down at his phone and then walks out the open door in the back, much to Corinna's chagrin. Outside, we find that he's calling the football coach at the University of Alabama. He's fed to voicemail, where he leaves a message "following up to see if you got my other messages." Ouch. He forces out a sunny reference to how he feels like "rolling with the Tide" now. He hangs up and looks down at a piece of crumpled paper in his hand, a sad little list of schools and coaches to call.
Buddy Garrity Motors. Jason is with a customer, giving him the "this is the absolute best we can do" spiel. The guy is resisting, but Jason gets distracted by his commission when he sees the redheaded waitress he had a fling with a few weeks ago. He wheels outside to greet her, and they make the briefest of small talk. She tells him she's not shopping for a car and then apologizes for not calling him back. Jason then tells her he was wondering about all that, about how she didn't return any of the ten phone calls he made. Oh, Jason. Ten phone calls? He babbles nervously about not knowing what "the rules" of this sort of thing are, and continues babbling until she jumps in and says it: "Jason. I'm pregnant." Jason's jaw drops and then he says, "That, that's impossible." And though I'm not thrilled with teen-pregnancy story arcs (thanks a lot, Party of Five), I'm willing to see this one through.
Credits. Tami walks through a parking lot with Gracie Belle and is stopped in her tracks. "No way! Is that Mo!" We pan over to a guy who...well, you guys, it's Peter Berg. Which, I don't really think I need to remind you but will anyway (because, Pete, call me!) but I sort of have always had this Peter Berg, uh, thing. The crooked teeth. The overbite. The receding hairline. The handheld-camera obsession. Oh my god, I just think he's so hot. I can't really explain it. Okay. So now that's out of the way, I'm just going to try to recap his scenes without interrupting myself every ten seconds to check in with you about whether or not you still want to sit with me at lunch now that you know my deep, dark secret.
Mo walks over to Tami and they hug and kiss hello -- Mo telling Tami that she looks gorgeous and calling her "baby." Mo is in real estate in Dallas, and is in town looking at grocery stores to buy. His handler leans in to clarify that they're looking at property all over the state, but Mo only has a couple of particular hot properties on his mind right now. You know. Tami's boobies? He introduces Tami as "the reigning Rankin High School homecoming queen, nineteen-eighty -- what year was it?" Tami declares that nobody needs to know what year it was and somehow out of all the talking over one another, it comes out that she and Mo were high school sweethearts. Scandal! She tells him that she's a counselor at the high school and he declares that the boys must love her, which leaves Tami rather speechless -- "Mo...you are too funny" is all she can manage. Tami Taylor! You've got butterflies seeing this guy! In the end, Mo invites Tami and the rest of the Taylors to a charity thing at the hospital tomorrow night, telling her to tell Coach that he specifically wants him to come, as the state championship coach and all.
At the high school, the football team is in the gymnasium. Smash is on the sidelines; Mac tells him that he should get out there but Smash says that he's hated this game since the fifth game. Cut to the court where the game, we find, is dodgeball. Lots of gleeful testosterone up in there, and the contrast between the rest of the team's innocent playfulness and Smash's worried eyes is great. Coach Taylor asks Smash how he's doing, and Smash tells him that he's been talking to some other coaches; Coach just tells him that that's good and then turns his attention back to the other boys.
Herc is in mid-tirade. "What a bitch!" Jason and Herc argue about what the waitress wants from him (Herc says money for an abortion, Jason says no) and why Jason isn't pissed off about her showing up pregnant. Yes, Herc, because being pissed off over basic biological realities is super-helpful. Herc asks Jason if it's even really his, and Jason is insulted that Herc thinks he'd be so naive as to not even ask; he says she says he's the only person she'd been with. Herc then wonders why Jason never thought about a rubber -- "Wrap that puppy, man!" -- and Jason loses it, shouting that he didn't wear a condom because everyone told him this wasn't possible, and that if this is true, and she is pregnant and it is his, "then it's a miracle." That shuts Herc up a bit, who pauses and then asks Street what he plans to do about this little miracle. And Jason just quietly says that there's nothing he can do, that she said it's her problem, that she'll take care of it. This is a really interesting way to come at the tired teen-drama pregnancy plot -- through a really stand-up male character who sort of maybe wants the baby. It obviously gets straight to the heart of how complicated the issue of unwanted pregnancies is.
So, now why'd I have to go make things so complicated? Timmy Riggins can help, I bet. And so we cut over to him, now apparently auditioning to host a sports radio show at the church. Is this for real? This church having so many radio programs? I guess I just grew up very New Jersey mainline, where everyone is all vying for the back pew trying to get the best position from which to get back to their car immediately after "Go in peace." Lyla and Chris come in to see Tim in there; this is the first Lyla's heard of Tim's plan, and she isn't happy.
At the Taylors', Tami tries to innocently bring up that she ran into her old flame. She beats around the bush for a long while before Eric is finally like, "who? who did you run into?" She says "Mo McArnold" and Julie immediately wants to know who that is. Nobody answers her as Tami explains to Coach that he's in town buying up real estate, like he's some sort of mogul nowadays. Julie asks again and Coach answers with a wave of his hand that Mo McArnold is an old boyfriend of Tami's, and that lucky for the two of them, Coach came along when he did. Julie smiles very cutely, seeing right through her father's gruff exterior, knowing that there is some unfinished business between the three of them. Coach declares that the best man won and Tami doesn't miss a beat by answering, "That's right, honey, I'm your prize Guernsey." So funny. Tami then tells Coach about how Mo invited them to a charity event at the hospital, only she keeps repeating that going would be "really neat," that it's a "neat idea." Coach sarcastically tells her it'd be "real nifty" to go to it, and then she tells him that Mo wants to see him. Coach isn't falling for that, either, and when she says that everything that happened is water under the bridge, Coach is like, oh no it isn't! He says that Mo "talks a lot" -- using the universal hand sign for jabbering -- and Tami says that she knows he's "got that crazy energy" but that it'd be fun to go. Oh, Tami. You are like plate glass right now; just like you said last week, it's nice to feel like a boy likes you.
Ugh. Noelle. She's super-unlikable in this scene as she sits in a car with Smash, trying to help him get up the courage to go ambush a football coach. She tells him to remember that he's Smash Williams and that he's set all these records for a state championship team. She says that this coach is going to be so psyched to have a second chance to sign him and that besides, when he comes back, she'll totally eff him. He does a double take and asks, "For real?" and then she says "Nah, I'm PMS-ing." Ugh. UGH.
Smash approaches the coach and launches into his sales talk, telling him that he got caught up in the moment, committing to TMU, and that he's changed his mind now. The coach wasn't born yesterday; he tells Smash that he knows TMU pulled the scholarship. Smash is nothing if not persistent, though, as he keeps a desperate smile plastered on his face and goes over his stats once more, declaring himself the best in the state, and saying that he is ready to come to Tuscaloosa. The coach finally tells him that the spot is taken, that they have a commitment from Jewett Coleman from California, who'll fit in nicely with the quarterback that he's presumably scouting right now. Smash keeps on until the coach finally yells at him, saying sternly that they honor their commitments, and that means Jewett Coleman is coming to Alabama and that they are the University of Alabama, they don't play second fiddle to anyone. Then the coach softens a bit and offers Smash his hand, wishing him good luck and telling him to say hi to his mother for him.
Tyra and Landry walk into school in slow motion, holding hands. Matt Saracen cranes his neck to watch while Jean averts her gaze from such nonsense. Tim walks up to Lyla, and if you thought Tim Riggins was likable as the resident bad boy, he is just stratospherically perfect as the romantic underdog. He advertises his radio show a little bit to her and then, not getting much of a reaction, asks her how "the boy" is. She says that he's great, and that he invited her to the ranch this weekend to meet his family. Tim Riggins -- who, brilliantly, has got a pencil behind his ear in this scene; so insouciant! -- snarks, "That's great," which I believe is quickly becoming a little catch phrase for him. Lyla says that it is great, mainly because Tim isn't going to be able to find them, and then brushes past him. These two clearly want to just fall down in the sand and make love in the waves every single time they talk. They're like the origin of the bickering-turns-to-kissing convention. I love it!
At the Clarke household, everybody continues to pretend like Landry did not kill someone, sort of in cold blood. Landry and Matt come home and find Landry's dad -- what was his inappropriately Boystown name? "Chad"? -- charming his wife by telling her he has every intention of licking her bowl later. Uh, yeah, that's pretty much verbatim what he said. The camera is horrified at having caught such a scene, and so wanders over to Landry and Matt on the couch, where Landry is holding a Guitar Hero guitar. Oh, to be in high school and have it be 3:30 PM again. Landry asks Matt if he heard about him and Tyra, clearly feeling his oats in a big way here. Matt wonders what happened to Jean, and Landry just tells him its complicated. And then immediately contradicts what he just said by explaining exactly what happened to Jean: "I'll tell you one thing. In, like, the boudoir? Tyra does, does things that I didn't even know..." Matt interrupts, kind of meanly, to say that it's no wonder, Tyra's got a lot of experience, reminding Landry that he's not Tyra's first, that she was with Riggins before. Landry calls him out on this and Matt says he just didn't realize Tyra was his type. Landry gives as good as he gets, though, and says, "Well, I didn't think a hot Mexican nanny was your type." Matt, exasperated, reminds Landry that she's not Mexican and not a nanny: "She's Guatemalan and an in-home-care nurse." But then Matt gets to the point, saying that he got blown off by the hot lady just like Landry is going to get blown off by Tyra. So true.
Jason sits in front of the computer, reading a website called "Fertility Information." He takes a deep, inconclusive breath. And then we cut over to him wheeling into the restaurant where his waitress Madonna works. He tells her that he thinks they should have the baby, that he was up all night researching and this baby is a blessing from God. She immediately turns around and walks away, which I think is a sign of a girl with a good head on her shoulders. She should probably run away if he starts speaking in tongues. He follows her around, talking about motility rates (his is very low) and reflex versus psychogenic erections (she was apparently great at helping him achieve the former). She's like, I am trying to make the guacamole here, please with your dirty medical talk! Then it's on to "duct function" and sperm this, semen that until she finally says, "Oh, my God. Shhh." He says sunnily that the point is that his boys can swim. Well, actually, Jason, the point is that they swam their way over to her body. She tells him that he is freaking her out and he needs to go home and get some rest. But he counters by telling her that the worst part of his injury has been people telling him he might never be a father, so now that this has happened, they have to have the baby, because "it might be my only chance." She responds, "You do not get to put that on me. I am not some sort of experiment for you to prove your manhood. I am nineteen. You're a car salesman in a wheelchair." C.f. my earlier comment re: good head on her shoulders. He keeps at her until she raises her voice a little, telling him he was a one-night stand, before catching herself, realizing that she is at work. He looks at her with crazy man eyes and says, "It was one of the greatest nights of my life." Wow. Way to be weird, Jason. She throws up her hands, turns on her heel, and walks away from him.
Smash is at the Alamo Freeze, apparently on a break, taking a meeting with...an arena football rep. Oh no! This is terrible! The rep tries to tell him that arena football is the real deal, but Smash knows otherwise: "Come on, man, y'all run around inside with some tiny balls and a bunch of nets and stuff." So much different from Smash's sport, in which you run around outside, with a smallish ball and two large goalposts. The rep counters savvily, saying that Smash is right, they are a "fan's game" (Smash never said that). He then tells Smash that their players make about $42,000 a year between January and June. Smash seems impressed by this number, which just means he's never had to do the weekly grocery shopping or fill the gas tank of the car. Honey, that's not going to go too far. The rep closes by telling him that if he wants to play pro football, this is his chance.
At the hospital, a little group of folks stands around listening to a speech about the new helicopter and heliport Mo apparently donated. Mo takes the podium. Did I mention that one of Mo's things is wearing a cowboy hat? And that Peter Berg looks hilarious in a cowboy hat? All tall and lanky, he looks kind of like Woody from Toy Story. He opens his speech by saying that as a third-generation Dillon resident, he's proud to make this donation. He steps back and give a little finger-gun point out toward the Taylors.
Cut to the reception, where Mo rushes in on Coach and Tami and starts talking a mile a minute. He raises his glass to Coach for his state championship and then again for his new baby. They shake hands and Mo wonders what it's been, fifteen years? Coach confirms as much and Mo shouts out "red light!" Coach laughs disingenuously while Tami stands by with a sort of horrified smile on her face: "Hasn't changed a bit, has it?" I guess they play red light/green light? Like kids do? I don't know. Mo tells them they look great but then puts his arm around Tami and jokes that she looks even better. He rattles on some more about how he has to go, they've got him on a schedule, and Tami gets wide-eyed realizing he's going to go up in the helicopter. Mo brushes it off as just for pictures, "it's ridiculous," and then declares that he's going to the football game on Friday. Through clenched teeth, Coach says he'll get him some good seats, but then Tami offers to have Mo sit with her. Kyle Chandler's hair might as well have its little fists balled up, all "put up your dukes, man!" Mo leans in and kisses Tami again, then tells Coach to "bring 'em hell. You bring 'em hell" and then gives him a faux right hook to the jaw. Amidst much hilarious fanfare (Movie Fone guy intones, "Mo McArnold will now take the inaugural flight in the medivac helicopter"), Mo takes a dorky little ride up into the air. Tami and Coach watch. That is, until Coach turns his head to watch his wife watching, and is clearly nonplussed by the wonder and amazement on her face.
Applebee's. Jason is telling Coach about his predicament. He explains the whole "his only chance" thing (people, it's called ADOPTION) and then asks Coach if he thinks he's crazy. Coach tells him that he's heard this all before. A nice little line reminding you how in-the-trenches high school teachers and coaches often are. Coach observes, though, that usually he's hearing the story the other way around. Jason says that he isn't trying to get out of it, he's trying to get into it, and confesses he did the worst job possible trying to convince her the first time around. That's putting it lightly. "Blessing from God" is really not what a nineteen-year-old waitress with really sore breasts wants to hear. Coach tells Jason that he has no magic words, that it's up to Jason to find the words to convince her. I'm not so sure how into this "convince her" approach I am. Like, is this really the time for rhetoric? Coach gives him Get Ready Cuz Ima Bout To Drop Some Wisdom eyes and then declares that "children and the mother of your children" are the two most important people in the world. He asks how old they both are, and Jason tells him, and then says that she's just scared. Coach tells Jason that what he knows about women could fit into this coffee cup, but that what he does know is that you need trust and honesty with them. He tells Jason he doesn't have an answer for him, that the boy needs to make his own answer.
Cut over to Tim Riggins in the studio. He's super-charismatic on the air, saying things like "let's get real here" and "let's get after it" and answering questions about how to contribute to the salvation of the football team and whether or not he'll go out with a girl because she thinks he's hot, you know, kind of like Jesus was. To this latter question he replies, "You've just been cut off. That was ridiculous." Hee. Then someone calls in to ask what Tim thinks about the Smash Williams situation. He says that Smash is a stand-up guy and that if it were him, he probably would have taken things even further than Smash did. The girl asks, "So you're saying it's okay to hit someone." Uh, if they're racist asswipes it is. I really don't think there's a commandment against popping jerks every once in a while. Tim pretty much agrees with me and says as much, causing the station manager (reverend? deacon? I'm totally confused by the business model of this church radio station) to take a deep breath.
Tim signs off and Chris, who's been back there watching him, asks him to talk for a second. Chris starts by mumbling about how he knows Tim is only doing this show to get close to Lyla and get under his skin. Timmy plays dumb (and oh so beautifully) and Chris tells him that Lyla is over him. I like to imagine a montage going through Timmy's head right now, remembrances of Mexico and how no woman could ever get over that. Chris wishes him good luck in the game and tells him he'll be listening to the game on the radio. Timmy wonders sweetly whether Lyla will be thinking of Chris or of Tim as she sits with Chris listening to the radio. Chris, killing him with kindness, smiles beatifically and says that she's going to be with him, so... Oh, Chris. Like most devout Christians, I believe you underestimate the power of imagination and desire. That was such a great scene; good old Logan Huntsberger brought exactly the right amount of smug wholesomeness to meet Taylor Kitsch's smug depravity.
Coach has called Smash into his office. He asks him to go down to see the coach from Whitmore College with him. Smash doesn't want to give the historically-black college the time of day, saying it's like Siberia there, that they were only 2-8 last year. Coach reminds him that Whitmore is one of the only schools still standing behind Smash at the moment. Smash still resists, and Coach snarkily asks if he's got an airplane coming to pick him up to whisk him off to LSU, USC? Coach then tells Smash that he didn't listen to him the first time, so he'd better now. He offers the possibility that Smash might transfer after two years, that, hell, he might be the first player from Whitmore in ten years to make it to the draft. Smash thanks him quietly and tells him he'll let him know.
Football game. Dillon is killing their opponent, 30 to 0. It's maybe not such a good thing that Coach doesn't have much of a game to distract him from looking into the stands and watching Mo and Tami hanging out together. He sends the second string in, sweetly telling them to wave to their parents and then go have a good time. On the field, Matt Saracen calls a play mischievously, asking Landry if he wants to show Tyra what he can do. The ball is snapped and Matt tosses Landry a jump pass, and all he needs to do is just sort of saunter into the end zone. Tyra cheers, Landry's parents cheer, Mo grabs Gracie Belle -- bundled up in a big puffy pink snuggle suit -- and raises her into the air. Coach catches this last move and scowls. Tami, in the stands, says that Gracie loves her Uncle Mo! Last play of the game; the opposing team has the ball near their end zone. The boys are forming up when Coach calls from the sidelines for Santiago to move to the side of the formation. Slammin' Sammy exposits that Coach Taylor is opening up the middle; the ball is snapped, and South Pines scores. Their fans go crazy while Slammin' Sammy tells us that Coach Taylor just gave them a little joy by letting them score. Is this team (and all its fans) made up of five-year-olds? Like, in whiffle ball when your little brother didn't realize he only got a home run because you let him (lots of exaggerated pratfalls and dropped balls)? Anyhow, it seems me and Peter Berg are on the same wavelength (call me!) because he's disappointed in the stands that Coach gave up the shutout.
Out on the field, Tami gives her husband a big hug while Mo sort of lurks around. He leans in to give Tami a kiss on the cheek (I love it!) and starts to walk off. But he can't resist pointing out to Coach that he gave up the shutout, then saying, "Coach, you need to bring the hammer down!" Eric barely even gives any indication he's listening to a word Peter Berg is saying, and he, Tami, and Gracie walk off together, Coach doing his usual, funnily gruff baby-talk to the little girl.
Down at Whitmore, Coach and Smash are standing with Coach Deeks, observing practice. Eric notes that the players are playing with a pretty open offense. Apparently this is called a "West Coast offense" but Deeks interjects to say that, no disrespect to Coach Walsh (that's former 49ers Coach Bill Walsh), but they were running that kind of offense ten years ago. "Speed and quickness," he says. He tells Smash that they don't have the size, but they've got the heart. They need a guy like Smash who can see the field and make the cuts. He looks meaningfully at Smash, and the boy wants to know why. MEANINGFUL MOMENT ALERT! Deeks tells Smash that he informed Coach Taylor six years ago that he thought the kid was the whole package. You guys, I just realized that this is Coach Deeks! (Who I apparently used to call Coach Deets; oops). There's something so awesome about him showing up now (albeit in the guise of a different actor), and us finding out how he's always been behind the scenes, keeping track of players, talking things over with Coach. Anyhow, it comes out here that he's watched Smash play since he was in PeeWee; he remembers when he got bumped up to varsity from junior varsity after a game against Arnett Meade. And when Eric came looking at the Dillon job, he told him that -- and here Eric jumps in to say the words Deeks said to him -- "Brian Williams is gonna be a star." And that he'd make Eric one, too. Deeks tells Smash that, honestly, they didn't think they had a chance at him, but that they're one big family at Whitmore and they'd love to have him. Smash, always on the lookout for a daddy, calls after Coach Deeks as he leaves, pauses, and then makes the verbal commitment. Why can't this kid ever ask his mom for any advice? He makes me crazy!
Tami is at home vacuuming, telling Eric over the phone that Mo made reservations at Carmello's, the nice new Italian restaurant. He wants to take them someplace nice. Coach, fed up, observes that this is "the world's longest business trip." Tami can't hear over the vacuum; Coach complains, saying he at least wants to just go out to barbecue, that he doesn't want to spend all night with Mo. Tami says that if he's going to be so crabby about it, they'll just have to do it the time Mo is in town. Coach doesn't like the thought of prolonging his agony and so he agrees to go. They talk a little about Smash and how great it is that he chose Whitmore; end scene.
At Chris's family's ranch, a group of true Texans sit around a table. Sassy grandma at the head of the table with serious helmet hair and everybody else some variation of blonde. Chris's mom turns to Lyla and asks her what college she's thinking of applying to. Lyla says Texas and Baylor (that's where her mom went) but that she really wants to go to Princeton. Really? Okay. Who knew? Chris points out that his sister Elena went to Princeton. The dad makes the expected joke, "Cost me a small fortune, but it was well worth it." Another sister pipes up to joke that "yeah right, like that degree in Russian Lit is doing her a lot of good while she shops for shoes at Neiman's." Everybody laughs, and Elena gives Lyla a classy wink of the eye as she takes the teasing in good spirits. And then one of the most artful scenes I think I've seen this season, as Patsy Cline's "Back in Baby's Arms" starts up on the soundtrack and we watch Lyla sparkle and bloom as she observes the easy way the family has with one another, conversing, teasing, drinking wine and breaking bread together. Lyla seems absolutely thrilled to be a part of something so seemingly refined and loving.
Over at the tacky Carmello's, Mo is just jabbering on about who knows what. He's talking about how Tami and Coach got married right and then raises his glass to toast love and to getting the love out that we know is in there. He's clearly tanked. What is he talking about? He then clinks glasses with Coach and says "God bless coaches like you" and Eric just says, "Thank you, that was a very nice speech that you made." Hee. Even though I'm sure it didn't get through the wine fuzz, calling Mo's jabbering a "speech" is just priceless. Tami does the universal "let's wrap this up" sigh and then says how good it was getting together. Mo immediately says that the night isn't over and then asks the waiter for a bottle of good whiskey. Tami protests, but Coach snaps, "Yeah I'll have a shot." Mo, never to be outdone, suggests, "Let's have two." The two men stare each other down. Tami asks for the check, too, and Mo declares that he'll take it. No, Eric says, I'll take it. The waiter pours them each a shot and Mo toasts Eric, only except the toast is "To lucky. To lucky," so he might just as well have been giving Eric a noogie as "toasting" him.
Back at the ranch, Chris is taking sips from a delicate porcelain cup of tea. He's really going to have to up the machismo a bit, arriving as he is, so to speak, after Tim Riggins. He tells Lyla that his family loves her, and jokes that his grandmother is about ready to start planning the wedding. He hands her the tea and then tells her a story about his grandmother telling one of his sisters that "the bigger your hair, the closer you are to God." They laugh, and then Lyla gets down to business: "So, uh, are we alone?" Oh, girl. I could not love you more. Lyla Garrity will go down in television history as one of the very few female characters to be given a full, (mostly) unashamed, complicated sexuality. And not, like, die at the hands of an escaped lunatic or something. Chris confirms that they are alone, and Lyla leans in to kiss him. The kissing gets more passionate, his hands grasp her hips, she takes off her cardigan, he runs his hands along her torso. And then. He stops. He tells her to hold that thought, that he doesn't want to do anything to ruin what he feels for her. She's clearly disappointed; he says that even though it goes against every fiber in his being, he has to leave. She meekly tells him she's okay with it, and he leaves. Shot of Lyla dejectedly putting her cardigan back on. I'll tell you what, I hope she's realizing that she needs a little more than good dinner conversation, which in the end is what is wrong with Christianity needlessly cutting sex out of the equation when it comes to loving relationships.
Back at Carmello's, it appears that Coach and Mo are on their thirty-second shot each. Mo is slurring about "triple stack offense," and it becomes clear that he's accusing Coach Taylor of stealing his offense from some other coach. They've each got a full shot in their hands, and when Mo tries to do another cheers to Eric, Eric says, "Cheers to liars." Mo is like, hell, yeah, cheers to liars, and these two are officially off the rails. In the background, Tami is pleading for them to finish up and go home. Mo then decides that he wants to talk about something else that Eric stole -- Tami. He challenges Eric to look him in the eye and say that he wasn't calling Tami behind Mo's back and telling her that Mo was sleeping with some other girl. Tami has had enough and says angrily that Mo's theory is ridiculous, she already knew he was sleeping with that girl. She gets up, but Mo raises yet another shot, this time "to stealers and liars." Coach takes one, too, and then says, "Red light?" Mo's hair, if it were as expressive as Eric's, would be rubbing its grubby little hands together, as he confirms, "Red light," and the two launch out of their seats, tackle one another, and start rolling around on the floor. Tami at first shrieks for them to stop, but then goes very quiet and just walks away, calling behind her as she walks out the door that "I'll see you at home, honey!" Meanwhile, my head is exploded into a million pieces, because in case you didn't notice, Kyle Chandler and Peter Berg are rolling around on the floor together.
morning is Sunday and Tami is stalking around the house like a lioness. A lioness pissed off at her drunk-ass husband, I guess. She instructs Julie to get her coat; Julie wants to know why she has to go to church when her dad isn't. Tami tells Julie to go ahead and say that to her father, but when Gracie Belle starts whining, she has a better idea: "In fact, let's all go." They open the door to find Coach in bed with a fat lip and an epic hangover. Tami brightly says that it's just his three girls standing there wondering if he wants to go to church. Julie asks what he did to his face and he mutters that he was "defending your mother's honor." Julie: "With your face?" Heh. Tami corrects him: "No, he was acting like an idiot," and then turns to leave. She tells Julie to say goodbye to her dad, which she does, then suggests that Julie say it a little louder. Coach is just in bed, moaning and groaning, and the close-up of the side of his face in the unforgiving morning light -- well, let's just say that that looks like a hangover. As my husband's mother once said to him when she came in his room the morning after a particularly long night: "It smells like a brewery in here!"
Megachurch. Tim is there, accepting well wishes from an old rancher-looking man telling him that he hopes the Panthers get to the playoffs. Lyla comes up as the old man leaves and tells Tim that her weekend was great, that Chris was "a perfect gentleman." Well, if your version of a perfect gentleman is one who gingerly handles teacups and is frightened of physical contact. With a wide smile on her face she asks, "Are you really going to come every Sunday?" and Tim, with as equally wide a smile, says, "Yes! Whatever it takes!" and then turns to greet an old lady in a Sunday hat: "Miss McGowan, how are you?!" Tim Riggins could really make it as a televangelist. Tim invites Lyla to sit with them and she says she can't. He keeps insisting as she brushes by him, and her protestations start to look more and more like somebody who's being charmed. She makes her way over to Chris and sits down. She smiles at him, but she's clearly got something private going on inside of her. And by "private," I mean "horny." And just because if I don't say it now, I might not ever get a chance to (sniff), this episode's parallel between Tami, Eric, and Mo and Lyla, Tim, and Chris is so perfect and just makes me want more; to keep following Tim Riggins's development into a better man, and Lyla's development into a woman more in touch with her sexuality and sassiness. And Chris's moving to Dallas.
Smash sits in his room, listening to his iPod. Corinna comes in and tells him that dinner is almost ready. She notices the tears in his eyes and asks if he's okay. He says he is. She sits on the bed and tells him that his aunt called to say how proud she is of him. Corinna tells him how proud they all are of him, that he's going to college on a full scholarship. Smash still looks pretty down in the mouth, so she tells him that she knows that Whitmore isn't what he dreamed of, but that when a door closes, God opens a window. "He don't never fumble the ball, He always gets the touchdown, that's God's plan." I cannot believe this show can deliver not only the "closed door, opened window" banality but then also couple it with a sports as religion analogy, and have it come off so movingly. Corinna tells Smash that he's going to get a good education and that he's going to be the star of the team. She leaves him to mope a little bit longer. Which he does only briefly, finally swinging his legs off the bed and looking like he's ready for the challenge.
Jason sits with Erin at a pizza place. He apologizes for how he acted the other day, and she tells him that he damn well better, that she really needs that job and he was totally inappropriate coming in there like that. Jason keeps his cool and says that all he's asking her to do is to not make any rash decisions. She assures him that she's thought about it every which way, that she already feels her body changing, looking down and saying, "I mean, it sucks." Jason says he understands, and then asks her to think of it this way: "There's a little baby in there, a little person, with little fingers, and little toes, a little heartbeat." And I don't know what it is a testament to -- Scott Porter's insane charisma, yet another sentimental Wilco song ("In a Future Age") playing in the background, my extreme depression that this might be the last scene of this show I ever see -- but I actually don't want to hit him over the head with a frying pan for talking about a collection of cells like he is. He continues, asking her if she's even just a little bit curious, and proposes that their baby could be the Bill Gates, or Peyton Manning. She offers a counterproposal: "Or the Britney Spears. With a learning disorder. [pause] As if that's not redundant." Jason says that wouldn't happen on his watch. He reaches out and takes her hand and tells her that he knows this might be the most important decision either of them ever makes, and that if she gives this a chance, he will be there every step of the way. Her expression is changing, and Jeff Tweedy has hit the sharp, dissonant bridge every song of his has, and I'm all goose-bumped. Jason asks her to just give it a shot: "Please? Pretty pretty pretty please? Just give it a chance?"
And then that's it. That's quite possibly it forever. Which is sort of beautiful in some ways -- ending with Jason Street on the brink of a new life, Wilco, Smash becoming a real human being after an experience with disappointment, Lyla Garrity and Tim Riggins one step closer to becoming Tami and Eric Taylor. This is what I'm thinking of as the The Portrait of a Lady ending, one of the greatest unresolved literary endings of all time. But if this is actually all there is, it's also totally crushing -- we wouldn't see these new lives for Jason and Smash play out, we left Julie and Matt stranded on Brat Island, and the last we see of Tami and Eric Taylor is Coach in bed hungover, even the hairs on his head moaning in pain, with Tami storming out the front door. Please, NBC, won't you consider giving it a chance?