In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close.
What was saddest is not that the Panthers didn't win State this year, but that you could see them knowing they weren't going to win, once the Titans got the ball into easy field goal range. The camera panned around to everyone's face -- Coach, Tami, Julie, Joe, Tyra, Tim, Landry, Matt, J.D. -- and each and every one of them just knew, knew that despite the four touchdowns they had reached deep down and drawn out of themselves, that they just were going to come up short tonight.
J.D. gets pulled off the field by Coach after losing control over his team and bratting around about it. He's confused and grieving because Coach and Tami (after realizing that, legally, they had to) called Child Protective Services on his father. The McCoys circle the familial wagon -- Joe staring Coach down in mirrored sunglasses, Katie telling Tami that she wants nothing to do with her, J.D. lost in the middle of it, betrayed not only by his own father's physical violence, but also by what he perceives as Coach's psychological violence.
If J.D. is off the field, who's on? Matt Saracen, given a last chance to prove himself on the field as quarterback, and he does it with typical GREEK MYTHOLOGICAL PERFECTION. He and Tim Riggins get to complete a number of plays that just read as "joy" even through all the pads and face masks. This is the end for him on the field, it seems; as Julie tells Grandma Saracen, football just isn't a career path Matt wants to take. He wants to try for the Art Institute of Chicago (MATT CALL ME WHEN YOU GET HERE!); Grandma at first stands in his way (it's too far, you can't leave me, and what're you doing trying to be an artist with the what now?), but seems to be coming around by the end of the episode.
Tyra also has college on her mind. She's trying to finish her application essay, and making Landry help her with it. Landry is brutally honest: the first version (about "rolling with the punches") reads like "a five-page needlepoint pillow"; the second version puts him to sleep. It's only as Tyra drives Landry to Austin for State (he conveniently missed the bus) that he gets her to talk through what has changed in her life and what that means. She puts her finger right on it: two years ago, when Jason Street got paralyzed, her life changed. God, Tyra, you and me BOTH. She realized that life isn't fair for anyone, stopped feeling sorry for herself, and a whole world of possibility opened up. Her college essay voice over is somehow beautifully done and moving. It's what this show does; open up a little space around the totally banal and usual; that space lets it breath and become lovely.
The Playgirl Ranch is a little crowded and Lyla can't take one more day of having to lay coffee filters down on the filthy toilet to protect her bum from Billy's banana sack contamination. She tells Buddy she's coming home, and then tells us all that she's going to San Antonio State with Tim, not to Vanderbilt. Wha? Buddy doesn't really bat an eyelash. And, speaking of Tim, we end on him, taking a moment alone on the University of Texas football field after the game, laying his cleats down on the turf.
Want more? The full recap starts right below! Pep rally in the gym. Cheering, strobe lights, chaos, crowds, the boys again bearing the weight of all these expectations. Coach peers around a bit and notices Tami outside the gym in the hallway having a heated discussion with Assistant Principal Glenn. She's incredulous that, after spending all weekend comforting Katie and J.D., he's telling her that she legally has to call Child Protective Services on Joe McCoy. She tells him that she doesn't think she can do it, but Glenn tells her that she doesn't know the real situation. She thinks this is the first time, but it might not be. The only thing anyone knows is that a bunch of people witnessed this guy beating up his kid: "That's child abuse." Anxious guitars rise up in the background, overtaking the screaming of the pep rally as Tami slowly walks back into the gym and nods at Coach. Coach walks over and they confer -- silently to us -- as they leave the rally. Cut to Tami's office where Coach leans against the bright window telling her that it isn't like they DON'T have a choice. Tami tells him that she actually doesn't think they have a choice in the matter. Coach offers to "do it" but Tami, hands nervously clasped in front of her as she sits at her desk, says that she should do it. She picks up the phone.Credits. Morning in Dillon. With Little Joy's wistful and chirpy "Time Around" (a current favorite song of mine) playing in the background, Slammin' Sammy Mead narrates a bit as the camera cuts around town to various windows and signs wishing the Panthers victory at State. Sammy talks about how the Panthers are maybe about to "get their stocking stuffed" by South Texas, the biggest team anyone has seen in a long time. Cut over to Tim and Lyla in bed, Slammin' Sammy's narration blasting out of the alarm clock to them. Lyla gets up and scurries through the house to the bathroom. "Ugh" she exclaims in the bathroom, and takes a few coffee filters and lines the toilet. Cut outside where Billy opens the door to his room, wearing only his now patented banana sack, also doing the "pee pee" dance as he scurries to the bathroom. He opens the door, some yelling between him and Lyla ensues until he declares that he'll just piss in the sink. On his way over there he starts shouting at Tim to get up, and then clears some dishes out of the sink. He shouts that he has to show Tim something, Lyla shouts from the bathroom that they have school, Billy shouts back that they're just going to have to skip school: "THIS is your future." Just off frame, he apparently hoists his thing out of the sack and starts pissing in the sink. Billy Riggins. Bravo.
Cut to the Riggins and Lyla pulling up in front of a rustily-sided old shop space cluttered with trash. Tim says it's perfect and Billy says that he thinks so, too. "It was either this or a Quiznos." He says he's going to name it "Riggins' Rigs" and put a refrigerator over in that corner. "24-7. Fixin' cars, drinkin' beer. I mean, what more do you need?" Tim smiles and tells his brother that it's awesome.
Panthers are watching game tape of the South Texas Titans. In the back, an assistant coach leans over and asks Mac if he isn't worried about how good the other team looks. Mac explains his returned presence by saying that he can't afford to be worried, "Doctor's orders. Bad for the ticker." Coach tells his boys to take a good look, the other team is big and fast, and they've never played anyone like that this year. "But you know what, that's the thing, they've never played us yet either." He tells his players that it'll be a good fight.
Taylor kitchen table. Tami flips through an art portfolio, exclaiming. The drawings are simply to perfection for a high school boy -- bulbous root vegetables with faces and arms, a creepy old man, it's all very dreamcatcher/Dungeons and Dragon-y. Tami tells Matt that she is very impressed with his portfolio; Matt smiles shyly to Julie who's looking through a brochure. Matt says that it's crazy to think about maybe going to art school in Chicago. Chicago! Matt Saracen! I have a guest room if you need one! Tami asks Julie what she thinks and Julie says that she thinks it's a great possibility, in a real city with coffee shops and museums and, pause, "culture." Matt mutters, "More than here" and you can see that this is hard for Julie to think about right now.
Nice transition over to Landry, also flipping through some pages. He makes a big X through one of the pages as Tyra sits down to him. "Well?" she asks. Landry -- born teacher -- turns it around and asks her what she thinks, how she thinks colleges are going to respond to the paper. Tyra realizes he hates it, which Landry denies for a second before telling her that he really does hate it. He asks her why, exactly, every paragraph needs to tie back to Applebee's. Oh, good lord. Tyra: "Cuz I use it as a metaphor! It works!" Landry reads a bit: "Sometimes it gets busy, you have to roll with the punches, just like in life." He tells Tyra that it reads like a "five page needlepoint pillow" which, honestly, is the most perfect summation of what one often gets in student papers which are somehow always discovering that life or literature is just like they thought it always was. The circular logic of American truisms. Landry tells her that she needs to "dig deeper, and fastly."
McCoys. The doorbell rings and Joe goes to open it. He finds a sheriff and two people from Child Protective Services. Cut to a few moments later, Joe and Katie are cornered by one representative while J.D. is in another room with the other. Joe insists that he wants a lawyer, and that they can't split the family up like that. In the other room, the woman asks J.D. if his father has ever hit him before. The camera ranges around family snapshots as she asks these questions of the boy. He says he is not afraid of his father and that he just wants this to be over. J.D. gets more and more incredulous the more questions she asks, and he plaintively asks if they're going to take his father away from him. From the other room we hear Joe's voice, raised, yelling about "what country is this?" before the CPS guy tells him he needs to calm down, because they can take J.D. away from them if they want. Katie tells her husband to just shut up. "Please."
Commercials. Matt and his mom in the kitchen at the Saracen's. Matt's scrambling some eggs and breaking our hearts by brightly talking about how cool it would be to study at the Art Institute of Chicago -- "they have, like, one of the biggest Van Gogh collections in the country." Bless his brochure-reading heart. He says that Tami thinks he could really get in, and Shelby confirms as much. But Matt is worrying about how he'd pay for it. Shelby tells him that she has money saved and that she could send him money each month: "Ya know, people always need hair cuts." Grandma comes around the corner into the kitchen and catches the end of the conversation. "Where you sendin' money? Where you thinkin' 'bout goin' honey?" Matt stutters about "this art school" and that Mrs. Taylor -- "Coach's wife" he makes sure to point out to Coach-worshipping Lorraine -- thinks he could get in. Grandma remarks confusedly about how Chicago is way up in "Illi-noise" (cute!) and then tells him it's too far, what would she do without him. Shelby quietly reminds her that she'd like to stay and help out, but Grandma hisses that she made it perfectly clear she isn't living with Shelby. Matt mutters dejectedly that it was just an idea, but Grandma keeps going, "What's this about art school anyway? Isn't that a big waste of money?" Matt serves her up some eggs and mutters that it was just an idea for a minute, and Grandma -- reaching in and trying to pull out some sort of guardianship over this grandson that she raised but who is now fully HER caretaker -- remarks smugly, "Wadn't a good idea, now was it?"
Commercials. Landry rushes into Tyra's house, all atwitter that he's going to be playing in the State Championship rather than just sitting on the bench. He tells her that whatever crappy seats she has tickets for, she should chuck them, because he has tickets for slightly less crappy seats. Tyra interrupts him and tells him that she can't go to the game, she has to finish her essay. Landry pauses and tries to play it cool, telling her that of course she's right about that.
Cut to a bumping party at The Playgirl Ranch. Everybody's drunk and making out. Except J.D., who's shoved up against the wall to Madison who is jawing around at somebody. Cut to Landry commiserating with some guys about how he should be happy for Tyra that she's pursuing her dreams, but at the same time this is huge for him. The two guys he's blabbing to tell him that he's bumming them out. But Landry needs to know: "If a tree falls in the forest..." One of the guys just declares, "WHO CARES?" and then gives Landry a shot. "We're going to celebrate. To State." Landry tosses it back with them.
Cut to a huge crowd outside the high school cheering the team as they file onto the bus. Tim pins Lyla against the front of the bus in a Sexy Kiss, right to Buddy, ouch! Matt grabs his grandmother's excited hand as he passes; Julie is right to Lorraine. Coach approaches Joe McCoy off to the side. Joe is wearing mirrored sunglasses and standing with his arms crossed in front of him. Coach tells Joe that he hopes once the game is over they can get together and talk about this. Joe smarmily asks if Coach is trying to put out the fire he started. Coach responds that he isn't trying to place blame, and he's sure Joe isn't either, and that all he's talking about is helping J.D. get through all this. All Joe has to say -- totally impassive behind those glasses -- is that he's "sure" Coach is real concerned, but he can handle J.D. "He's just fine." Coach just sort of sighs and looks down, "Aright, Joe."
Inside the bus, Coach tells his gentlemen to enjoy the ride. Matt realizes that Landry isn't on the bus and starts asking around; nobody's seen him.
Phone ringing. Landry, on the floor of The Playgirl Ranch, reaches in his pocket and answers it. In his hungover fog, he wonders where the hell Matt is and Matt tells him that he's on the bus on his way to Austin. Landry better get driving to get there in time. Landry jumps to his feet and starts scrambling and shouting for Mindy, who's just come shuffling out of Billy's room wrapped in a blanket and looking green. Cut to the Collette household, where Mindy zombie-drunks inside wearing sunglasses. Landry's dealing with his hangover a little better, yelling for Tyra, who's at the kitchen table with her laptop. Mindy tells Landry to shush and then moans, "I'm gonna puke." Landry tells Tyra she needs to drive him to Austin; Tyra says she can't, she's working on this essay, and why can't Landry drive himself. Landry is conveniently pretty sure that he's legally drunk still right now, and he pleads with her. Tyra tells him that if he helps her with the essay, she'll drive him. Landry's agreement to this contract is punctuated by the sounds of Mindy, bent over the toilet (door to the bathroom totally wide open).
On the bus to Austin, an assistant coach leads the team in some military-esque call and response. We cut between the boys on the bus and shots of all the vehicles -- emblazoned with "Go Panthers" sentiments in soap and girlish bubble writing -- driving with the bus to Austin. The camera picks J.D. and Matt out of the chanting crowd, both lost in their own thoughts.
Commercials. Texas Memorial Stadium at the University of Texas. The sky is blazing blue, the field green green. Reporters are on the field -- they've got Tim declaring that he thinks they'll get "the W" today; Matt's giving the reporters examples of second string quarterbacks that also play receiver in the NFL. A momentous and sustained feedback drone plays on the soundtrack. Up in the stands, Julie and Grandma sit together. Julie's wearing sweet double french braids. Grandma asks Julie if Matthew has ever talked to her about wanting to be an artist. Julie tells Lorraine that he does love art, and is really good at it. Grandma says that she knew he was a good artist, "But he loves football, honey." Julie diplomatically tells her that she just doesn't think that football is a career path he wants. Grandma, kind of talking herself into it now, remarks that she always has encouraged him in everything. "I don't want to be the one to hold him back from anything." And then Julie, reaching into my heart and breaking it in two, quietly, as she looks out onto the field, "I know. Me neither." She reaches over and takes Lorraine's hand.
Back down on the field, J.D. does his part with the reporters, assuring them that he'll get the win for the team. Coach watches him from a bit away. J.D. leaves the reporters and Coach calls to him, "Hey." J.D. ignores him, and Coach calls again. J.D. turns on his heel and sighs exasperatedly. They come together in the middle of the enormous stadium. Coach takes a minute and then launches into his speech. He tells J.D. that he knows this is a difficult situation, that fact isn't lost on him. "This team's depending on you. That means there's a freedom. That's not pressure." Coach just dropped some wisdom right there, about leadership, I seriously love that sentiment. But the wisdom is totally lost on J.D., who Coach asks to at least acknowledge what he's saying. J.D. remains silent, and Coach once again downgrades his wisdom, this time just requesting that they leave it off the field. J.D. finally assents and they part. Wow. Wow. Coach just started out trying to impart a life lesson to this kid, but instead ended up being taught a life lesson himself: sometimes you just need to go your separate ways. That's harsh.
And here is where I die just a little bit. There are so many ways in which this show is just so smart. When Coach Taylor told J.D. that people depending on him is a freedom? And when Tyra just talked about how it feels to be on the inside, not the outside? Those sentiments are so fresh, so bracingly different from Juno indie Hollywood style celebration of being on the outside (which never feels or looks as good in real life as it does in outsider-turned-entertainment-insiders accounts of it), from misguided veneration of being "an individual" first and above all, community be damned. The show is so beautifully about being a part of something, how good that feels.
We move from Tyra and Landry in the truck to Tim and Matt strolling around in the park in front of the state capitol. Matt asks Tim if he's excited about going to San Antonio State. Tim says he figures he's just focusing on the right now, trying not to think about the future too much. There's an epic somewhere in Tim Riggins' heart. Matt sees a frisbee on the grass and picks it up. They start throwing it back and forth, and Tim calls out, "Last game, Seven" and Matt smiles: "No regrets."
Tami can't sleep in the hotel bed. Coach asks her if she's running in place or something, and she gets up and tells Coach to come with her outside. They sneak out a back door in their pajamas, and wander out onto what appears to be the roof of the hotel. Oh! Remember when they went out onto the balcony the night before State last time? And Tami told Coach she was pregnant? And his reaction was so perfect? This show is so rewarding of our time. They look out over the city, and Coach exhales, saying he has no idea what's going to happen tomorrow. Tami does (because she just does): "Well. You're gonna win. Or you're gonna lose. Either way, the sun's gonna come up the morning." Coach puts his arm around her and pulls her close, as a pretty song starts playing in the background.
Tyra starts reading her essay in voice over, over shots of Julie rocking Gracie, of Lyla driving Angela, Mindy and Billy (the latter making out in the backseat) to Austin, of Tim and Matt horsing around with the frisbee, of Coach holding Tami close. Tyra says: "Two years ago, I was afraid of wanting anything. I figured wanting would lead to trying, and trying would lead to failure. But now I find I can't stop wanting." She talks about what she finds herself wanting now: to fly somewhere in first class, to learn about the world, to define herself instead of having others define her. She says, "I want to not be afraid of the unknown" as we linger on a shot of the Taylors, considering the unknown of tomorrow while they look across the city at the blazing Texas Memorial Stadium. The camera finally lands on Tyra in her hotel room, reading the essay to Landry, "I want to grow up to be generous and big-hearted, the way that people have been with me." She tears up. "I want an interesting and surprising life." The camera pans in Landry, stunned by the essay. Tyra says it isn't that she believes she's going to get all these things, it's just she wants the possibility of getting them: "College represents possibility to me. The possibility that things are going to change. I can't wait." She turns to Landry, tears in her eyes, and he quietly moves closer to her. He tells her that he thinks the essay is unbelievable. Tyra looks down for a minute and then looks back up: "I think it's great, too." Yes, girl. Believe in yourself! And because this scene is so beautiful, because Tyra just became an unlikely narrator for the show, because I am so damned moved, I not only do not mind, but I mentally feel like "YES! This is how it should be" when they lean in and kiss.
Oh, kids. I am happy for you. Now please do not go and murder anyone.
Commercials. Game time! Bright beautiful shots of a packed stadium at mid-day under the Texas sun, but the cheers and pageantry are muted, somber instrumental music playing over. We cut into the Panther locker room, the boys jittery with nerves -- hands twitching, legs involuntarily pumping -- as Coach stands before them, his back to the audience. Coach asks them, "Can you play like champions?" and they explode into a "YES SIR!" and burst out of the locker room. Slammin' Sammy narrates us out onto the field, talking about how this looks like a David versus Goliath situation. The Titans -- team colors: black and black -- saunter onto the field, and win the coin toss. They elect to receive, and the game starts... with an immediate Titan touchdown. Oh, dear. All the Dillon folks in the stands are disheartened, but try to cheer their team on. Back to the game, Slammin' Sammy narrates that all of the Panthers' hopes are resting on J.D.'s shoulders. J.D. takes a snap, and gets sacked. Hard. snap, intercepted and run back for a touchdown. J.D. starts freaking out, yelling at Saracen to run his routes. Coach, from the sidelines, bends J.D.'s ear as he passes, telling the boy that he has to keep his eyes open. J.D. just sort of shouts at Coach about the team not protecting him.
In the stands, the McCoys look concerned. snap, huge sack. An incomplete, another sack, and over and over and over. J.D. slaps the ground in frustration and starts shouting at his team. Tim tells him to settle down, but he keeps yelling in that adolescent reedy voice of his, "C'mon you guys!" Coach calls him over to the sidelines and tells him to settle down, to stop talking to him like that. Coach tells him they've got a lot of game left and sends the kid back on the field. Last play before half-time. J.D. finds Tim in the endzone. He's in the air reaching for the ball when he gets his legs knocked out from under him, causing him to flip over and lose control of the ball. A Titan picks it up in the Panther endzone and runs it all the way down the field for another Titan touchdown. J.D. brats off the field, pushing some of his teammates and yelling at them for not giving him any protection. He flops down on the bench and whips his helmet off. Coach, sunglasses on, but hair emoting, looks confused and ready to do something drastic as he looks at the scoreboard at half: Panthers 0, Titans 27.
Locker room. It's a silent sad scene in there. Coach tells them that they need more. The offense look like they're on roller skates, they need to stay in their splits, everyone has got to come off the ball. But then some tense guitars start quietly in the background and Coach gets animated. They're going to change their approach, they're not going to allow any more big plays, gentlemen. And then the vocals to the song come in and I realize it's a song by friends of mine and my husband's ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead. Austin late 90s reprezent! Coach catches the eye of one of his players and asks what the hell he's looking at, demanding to know whether the kid wants to be out on the field. YES SIR is the reply. Coach paces some, and then declares, "J.D.? You're out. Saracen, you're in." J.D. tries to protest but Coach yells over him, "There's a fight going on out there, gentlemen. Why don't you get in it? Cleareyesfullhearts...." CAN'T LOSE. The boys bust out of the locker room, leaving J.D. behind to kick a stool over in frustration.
Back on the field, the song -- "Sigh Your Children" off of Madonna -- is mixed louder, Slammin' Sammy notes that there's only twenty four minutes of football left in the season, and everyone looks on in anticipation as the second half gets under way. The Titans kick the ball, the Panthers receive and then run it all the way back down the field. They're back in! snap, Matt gets the ball to Riggins who runs it into the endzone and then we catch him grinning behind his face mask, sauntering in slow motion as the song changes to something more swaggering and sexed up. Much jumping and clapping and smiling. Another play, another moment of awesomeness. Matt runs the ball himself into the endzone. As Sammy notes, "Coach Taylor's new old offense has his team a touchdown from the lead"-- it's 27-21 Titans.
The Titans snap the ball and drive it right into Panther arms, interception! The Panthers have the ball on the Titan thirty yard line. The snap, Saracen hands the ball off to Riggins who just rears back and launches the ball into the air, and we watch and watch and watch until the ball ends, totally improbably, in Matt Saracen's arms totally alone in the endzone. Aw, what a ridiculous play, but I don't care, because it's SYMBOLIC, see? Riggins and Matt playing football with joy, AS IF they are alone on the field, AS IF there is no pressure.
But now we get serious, the music fades out and we're left just with the noises of the game, and Slammin' Sammy cautioning us that the game is not over, despite the Panther fans cheering like they have it in the bag. There's 37 seconds on the clock and the Titans are driving down the field. And they drive. And then drive some more. And then a little more, until they get to the Panther 19 yard line, with six seconds on the clock. And now is when the somber music comes in, and Coach ruffles his hair, and we cut around to all of our loved ones, concern blazing across everyone's faces. And then, as viewers, we know. They aren't going to win. "This has been a valiant effort by the Dillon Panthers," Sammy says.
The game goes into slow motion, the boys on the sidelines hold hands in a line, the Panther flags run up and down the field as if pageantry could hold the inevitable outcome at bay. In the stands Tami knows, and so do the McCoys. Down on the field, Matt knows, and Tim knows. And Coach knows. And they can't do anything about it except watch the punted ball fly in a perfect arc through the goal posts, can't do anything about it but watch and breathe.
Commercials. Locker room. Silence. Tim and Matt stare impassively. Tami and Julie and Tyra and Lyla and Billy and Shelby are all in there with them, silent as well. Coach explains that he wanted everyone's family and friends to be in there to hear this: "I have never been more proud of a team than I am right now. I am in awe of each and every one of you gentlemen." Coach breathes heavily and audibly as he chooses the words that really don't help. He assures the boys that they played great football, and that this is the game that people will talk about for years to come. This is the game they are going to talk about. "There's not a single person in this room that's ever going to be the same. You be proud of yourselves. Cuz gentlemen, you are champions."
Tim's face does the work for us. His expression slowly changes from hard and blank to soft, the slightest smile passes his lips and we see him realizing (or at least willing himself to realize) that everything is going to be all right, and that things might actually be a little bit better now that he can leave this behind. A sweet singer-songwritery song starts playing and we cut outside to the waiting bus, the sugary bubble letters soaped onto the windows "ON OUR WAY TO STATE" looking sad and inadequate now. Tami leans against it waiting for Coach. He comes around the corner and they just look at each other, kiss and sink into one another. No words, but the look Tami gives her husband as he boards the bus is nearly too much for me: absolute heart swelling bursting love and admiration.
Coach walks onto a dark bus which brings back an intense sense memory for me of trips back from a game in the dark, everyone in their own seat, listening to a Walkman (gah! so old!), gazing out the window and imagining life as a music video. Ah, teenagers. He asks if everyone's on, Mac tells him that Riggins isn't on yet. Coach says they'll give him a minute, he'll be there soon.
Cut over to Tim Riggins, walking down the tunnel from the locker room to the field, one arm in his lined jean jacket, one arm in a sling. His cleats dangle from the extended fingers of his good arm. He makes his way onto the field and pauses. The music cuts out and we're left with just ambient noise, which of course makes it all the more raw. Tim looks at his cleats, takes a minute to turn around, looking up around him at the stadium, then kneels down, places his cleats neatly on the turf, turns around, walks off the field. The empty field, the empty night noise, and we cut to black.
Discuss this episode in the Friday Night Lights forums, and take a look back at the best and worst moments from the show!