Living room, Estrangement Estates. Dawson and The Flash watch TV. On-screen, Jack says that nobody on the team seems to care what he does off the field. Yeah, as if the producers have any intention of letting Jack do anything off the field besides gel his hair into nifty shapes. The Flash seethes in Dawson's general direction. Cut to footage of the opposing team's coach saying, with a Texan accent, that he doesn't care if Jack wears lipstick and rouge to play, because their team will still "infringe on him" just like they would any other player. Whatever, Opposing Coach -- and give that accent back to Jimmy Johnson. Dawson clicks off the TV and says smugly, "Well?" The Flash says quietly that he just lost the first game of his coaching career. Oh, for Christ's sake, Flash. Get. Over. It. Dawson makes a canopy out of his nostrils and snorts, "If you say so." The Flash lays into him for interviewing the opposing coach and for taking Jack's anonymity away, and grouses that Dawson might as well have painted a bull's-eye on Jack's back. Dawson bitches that, instead of celebrating his "first professional success," The Flash insists on worrying about a football game, and The Flash tells Dawson not to make him the bad guy; he wanted to make The Flash angry, and he's succeeded. The Flash prepares to storm out of the room, but Dawson brings him up short by saying that The Flash doesn't talk to him anymore, not the way he does to the guys on the football team; The Flash tells Dawson that at least his team respects him. Good point. Dawson suspects that The Flash wishes he'd had a son more like the guys on the team, which I doubt, because if Dawson played football, they'd have to commission a special helmet the size of Epcot Center for him.
In any case, The Flash resents this and says that he reaches out to Dawson, but he also tries to give Dawson his space, and Dawson complains that when he takes that space, The Flash gets pissed off. The Flash shoots back, "No, I'm just trying to break you out of your self-centered, self-righteous fantasy world long enough to look out for other people." Well said, Flash. Dawson wonders when it became his responsibility to look out for The Flash: "I'm saying I parent you, Dad. I walk in on you having sex, I give you advice. I'm the kid around here, and sometimes I might even act like it!" The Flash stares at him, and yet again he does not pound his arrogant son into the ground with a wooden mallet, and I don't know why. The Violin Of Familial Discord sounds in the background. Dawson flares his nostrils. Stare. Flare. Stare. Flare.