My relationship with Friday Night Lights has been very much like Tim Riggins in a good football game: quick and dirty.
I admit I wasn’t there from the beginning. I checked out season 1 from our EW library a little more than a month ago. Since then, I’ve found myself walking into the office of our Info Center Manager, Sean, every Monday, smiling sheepishly as I ask him for the next season. I finished season 4 on Sunday. Now, it’s the beginning of the end, and I feel like I cheated myself out of the experience of watching this fantastic show in small doses.
This is unexpected, because I’m a dedicated marathoner. I love sitting down on Friday night to start a show and finishing an entire season by Sunday night in time for Dexter. But in the course of my FNL binge, I now wish I had taken it slower. It is simply too inventive and too rare to have been so gluttonously consumed.
To those of you who have loyally stuck with it, through the cancellation drama, the network hopping, and the truncated seasons, I say, you are the real heroes here. I envy (and admire) the fact that you experienced the emotional turmoil of Jason Street’s injury at a normal week-to-week pace. At the same time, I can’t imagine how you must have felt watching Landry walk into the police station to confess a murder, and then have to wait a whole week to find out what happened. Talk about television torture. But that’s the fun of it, right? READ FULL STORY