Bon voyage to the best show on TV

So, I have watched the final episode of "Friday Night Lights," the best show on television, the one most of you don't watch.

That is a shame, but it's a story for another day. Today is time to say so long, farewell, thanks for the memories, adios. For five improbable years, "FNL" has treated viewers to smart, realistic, funny, touching television. We've witnessed superb acting, even better writing, a gritty sense of realism and a rare sight in modern network television -- realistic, deeply realized character arcs.

Other than one major exception -- the silly "murder" plot in the second season -- this show has held true to itself, felt more like a documentary than drama, and offered fans wonderful moments in American television.

Oh, how I can brag -- about Kyle Chandler's Coach Eric Taylor, about Connie Britton's Tami Taylor, about their perfectly portrayed marriage; about Taylor Kitsch, and Zach Gilford, and Jesse Plemons and Minka Kelly and Michael B. Jordan and Gaius Charles and so many other fine young actors.



But, I have to brag about the best -- Brad Leland as Buddy Garrity, the most honest and perfectly played character on the program. Every community in America has a Buddy Garrity hovering around its high school football program. You know who they are. Watching Brad's Buddy, week after week, season after season, has been a true treat.

It was a show about high school football, but then again, it wasn't. It was about life, loving your family, growing up, overcoming adversity, making choices and learning to live with them. It was good, darn good, something to be savored.

I won't give away anything about the series finale in a nod to you poor souls who have to wait for the NBC spring broadcast or the final season DVD release. Don't want to spoil it. (I saw it on DirecTV's exclusive fall broadcast.)

This show has been so awesome, so authentic, so apt for this chapter of the American experience. In case you missed it, surf now over to Netflix or Amazon or somewhere to get the DVDs, or hold tight until the NBC airing of season five starts soon.

Forgive the trite analogy, but "Friday Night Lights" has been five years worth of forward passes, all thrown for touchdowns, proof positive that terrific television isn't a thing of the past.

Savoring final season of 'Friday Night Lights'

Given that much of television is a wasteland, for four seasons now "Friday Night Lights" has been an oasis in a desert.

Nobody watches it and I don't understand why. I'm tempted to be a snob and say it's because the viewing public wouldn't know class if it bit them in the ass. Others say they stay away because everybody thinks the show is about football.

But it isn't about football. It's about family and friendship and having faith. It's about growing up. It's about navigating through the slings and arrows of adolescence.

And, as corny as this sounds, it's about heart.

The thing I love about the show is it feels so darn real. It's character driven, which makes it another TV anomaly, and for once the characters don't seem like cardboard cutouts. Other than one big misstep during its second year (involving a murder), "FNL" has stayed true to that standard.

It is playing out its last season. I'm going to be sad to see it go.

I miss the original cast, but like real life high school, kids come and go. I love the show's two stars, Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton. Their Coach Eric and Tammy Taylor play out one of the most realistic marriages ever portrayed on the tube. And, oh, that every high school football player could come of age under the tutelage of a coach with Taylor's character.

"Lights" has shown a remarkable ability to reinvent itself every other year or so. Kids come and go, but nary a beat is missed. Coach Taylor has transitioned from successful, well-funded Dillon High to the poor-side-of-the-tracks East Dillon High. His team can't get too worked up about wins. They're lining the field or replacing lights in the scoreboard the following Monday. It may be an even better show now than it was during that fantastic first season.

OK, so it's idealistic and maybe even a bit soapy. But it's well-written, well-acted and a hell of a lot of fun.

Sorry you've missed it. Shows like this deserve to be savored.

The final season of "Friday Night Lights" is airing at 9 p.m. (Eastern) Wednesdays on DirecTV's 101 Network. It will air on NBC in 2011.

'Lights' burn brightly again

Well, my guilty pleasure is back.

After a considerable hiatus (thank you, writer's strike), "Friday Night Lights," television's best hour-long drama, is back on TV. The catch is it's only on DIRECTV, so if you aren't a subscriber, you'll have to wait until the show airs on NBC early next year.

The first episode of the new season aired last night. Got distracted, so I had to click the TiVO. But, from what I saw, it looks like our old friends are back with a bang.

Early reviews suggest the show's budget has been tweaked considerably. Popular characters are being phased out or are no longer on the show.

But it's hard to complain. We wouldn't even have enjoyed a third season if not for the unique partnership between DIRECTV and NBC that gives the satellite provider exclusive first broadcasting rights to the show.

I don't know why more people haven't discovered this little gem. I think folks think the show is about football and won't give it a chance. But it captures modern day small-town life better than anything I've seen in many moons, especially on network TV. The characters feel real, not like the blowed-dry stereotypes that usually populate these kind of shows.

The only misstep in three seasons was the insane "murder" subplot that kicked off the show's second season. Thankfully, all that's behind us now, never to be remembered.

I'll post up a review of the season premiere as soon as I have time to watch it. Glad to see that those "Friday Night Lights" are burning brightly again.

Check "FNL" out on The 101 if you are a DIRECTV subscriber. Otherwise, be looking for it in February on NBC.

The best show on TV

For once, a TV drama actually, oh, takes the time to reflect modern American life.

I know that sounds simple enough. But, come on, did "Green Acres" ever really depict actual farm living? Didn't think so.

I speak, of course, of "Friday Night Lights," which is simply the best show on television. I know I've written about this before, but here's a shout out to set your TiVO or be in front of the tube at 9 p.m. (EDT) tonight for the second season premiere. You'll be glad you did.

I gave up on "Lights" early on last season. Didn't want to commit to a weekly series. But a screening of the first season DVDs showed me what I've been missing.

Everybody thinks this show is about football. Not so. It's about growing up in a small town -- and the best and worst aspects of what that means. It's about character; we see these people -- and, yes, they feel like actual living, breathing people -- change, grow, screw up and learn something about themselves.

It's honest, it's fun and it's just so darn addictive. If you watch only one network program this fall, let it be "Friday Night Lights." Saved from the cancellation axe due to under performing ratings, NBC listened to the critics -- or just realized what a gem they have here -- and brought the show back for another year. I can't tell you how badly I hope this program makes it.

OK, that's enough for now. Gotta get back to editing news copy.

Watch this show. You won't be disappointed, I promise.

"Friday Night Lights" airs Fridays at 9 p.m. (EDT) on NBC. Full episodes can be seen at NBC.com.

The gridiron disease

There is something downright spiritual about football that doesn't exist in other sports.

It isn't ethereal. That lofty aim belongs to baseball, my first and longest-lasting love. But it's different somehow, special, tough --- and a whole lot of fun.

Thought I'd had enough last night. Somewhere amid that wonderful, crazy air attack that was the Dallas/New York Giants game, I turned the TV off, took a painkiller and went to bed. Headache. Kidney ache. Kind of depressed anyway.

Started out the day at the Meadowlands. Wanted to root for former Halls guy Chad Pennington, that big blonde-headed dude who reminds me so much of his mother, and the New York Jets. Chad's boys suited up against those hated Patriots of New England.

New York fans, if this is possible, achieved a new low, though. They booed my boy as he hobbled, injured, off the field. I used to think Philadelphia fans exhibited the worst sportsmanship in sport. Nope.

I'm not just saying this 'cause I knew Chad when he was just Andrea Pennington's older brother. You should be ashamed of yourself, Jets fans. Mighty ashamed. But, then again, that would require having character and it's obvious you don't have any.

After that amazing, infuriating Tom Brady put that game away, I flipped over to our nation's capital, where the Redskins and Dolphins locked horns in one exciting battle. This one came down to an overtime field goal. Exciting. Nervous. Lots of fun. Joe Gibbs (God, is he still around?) shaking hands. Smiles amid the sea of red and gold.

J.M. kept wanting to check on the Atlanta Falcons. The greatness that isn't Joey Harrington lived up to his reputation. That guy sucks. Pretty much all you can say.

I sure don't miss Vick. He's getting his, and then some. But I bet the Falcons wish he'd never heard of dogfighting. It's going to be a long season in Fulton County.

In the afternoon, the underdog in me rooted for the hapless Detroit Lions, as they braved the insanity that is playing the Oakland Raiders on the road. QB Jon Kitna and the most talented wide receivers in the league put on quite a show.

The defense, and a couple of turnovers, blew a 17-0 lead. But the Lions showed guts. The took advantage of a couple of Raider miscues and won comfortably.

Detroit hasn't won a championship since 1957. They won't win one this year. But maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of better times on the Motown gridiron.

Tonight I'm going to hobble in front of the TV, curl up in my Big Orange blanket, forget about the kidneys and watch two (count 'em) Monday night games. Don't really care about any of the teams, so this will just be for love of the game.

Here in the South, where we manage to turn everything into an allegory, football means everything from how a boy becomes a man to defining a way of life. I'm reading Buzz Bissinger's masterpiece, "Friday Night Lights," about high school football in Texas. It's the same out there.

Funny thing, though. Bissinger finds much to indict about our football-obsessed culture. How the athletes can't seem to make it away from those bright stadium lights. How nothing, especially not academics, matters as much as the big show on Friday nights. At least until high school is over and you have to figure out how to survive. Often that means sweating in the hot Odessa sun, breaking your back in the oil fields.

And yet, Buzz finds much to love about this culture, too; how Permian football defines a town, gives meaning to bleak lives, offers an escape for the talented few.

Here in Knox Vegas, I get tired of the constant chatter about the Big Orange. Flip on the radio here in April. Nobody's talking about the Braves and Yankees. No, talk centers on whether Erik Ainge is going to play in the spring game, what the defensive scheme will be against Florida's spread offense, and whether Fulmer deserves his contract extension. Yada, yada, yada.

It gets old. And yet, last Saturday night when I felt so bad I could barely walk, a friend picked me up and carted me over to his mom and dad's house so I could root, root, root for the home team against Southern Miss.

It's a disease, I guess. My daddy instilled a love for the game in my little torso beginning in 1984, when I sat in Section NN and ate my Cracker Jacks while the Vols beat Utah.

I don't know that it really means much in the grand scheme of things.

But there it is. Give me the gentleman coach in the suit and tie, three yards and a cloud of dust, a crushing defense and solid special teams. Like so much of the things I love, though, that era is gone with the wind, replaced by more exciting but less pure short-sleeved shirts and visors, spread offenses, pass on every down, go for it on fourth and 15.

I keep telling myself it's just a game. Then I see how others, including myself, react to it and wonder if that's even the truth.

Hell, I've got friends distraught over the misfortune of their fantasy teams. Maybe I'll just turn ESPN off tonight and pick up a book.

But what would that accomplish? The book would be "Friday Night Lights."

Whatever. I give up.

Are you ready for some football?