Later that evening -- still light out, the days still long in (presumably) August -- Coach Taylor sits in a recliner, drained and sweaty. This seems to me to be a totally different family room set for the Taylor clan. Tami calls out from outside the frame, "Okay, I'm goin'!" and then we widen the shot to see Tami looking damn hot in a frilly teal top and snug jeans. Julie's on the couch in braids and tries once more to advise her mother against going to the book club meeting, "They're going to turn you into a pod." Tami knows it's going to suck but says she'll just go once, show them her "literary prowess" -- and on saying this makes really cute strongman arms -- and then slips a book in her big-ass leather purse. Then, the one-second pause allows me to see that her book is titled "Letters to Cornelius," which leads me on a crazy-making Google journey where I find out that this obviously fabricated book is a reference to either Pliny the Younger or Albert Einstein, and now I need to lie down because, though I may be working on my doctorate, shit if I can make heads or tails of that prop's bizarro reference. ["Sounds like a dig at Mitch Albom, but I couldn't swear to that." -- Sars]
Taylor calls his wife over in a hoarse voice (nice detail; one would be hoarse from spending all afternoon screaming like the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket), she tucks her luscious hair behind her ear and then just leans her forehead on his before giving him a really smacky kiss: "I love you." He responds, "I love you, too, babe." They're kind of hot in this sort of awesome way, i.e., not "hot" like the Leerys. Taylor stays behind, obsessively watching football tapes, and we cut to...
... Tim, alone in the locker room, obsessively watching a football tape, only for Tim, it is one particular moment during one particular game that he replays over and over. The camera drifts around him, as he sits in the dark in front of the massive screen, pausing and rewinding, his face at first a blank, and then a quick twitch of the nose and mouth as he unsuccessfully tries to hold back tears.
At the book club, the ladies toast to "the girls," the crystal clink of glasses tapped together echoing the cold, bright sounds these women make -- their metal jewelry, their heartless words, their machine-made sentiment. They all thank Tami for coming over. Tami fusses with her hair (she is, to be honest, tanned within an inch of her life) and says that she loved the book. This sends the women into contortions of laughter, hyena laughter which quickly turns to hyena eyes as they lean forward, realizing what prey they have in their midst. Nasty Real Estate Lady seems to be working on a blitz of another sort, one that doesn't involve her lonely pants, as the camera gives us a tight pan in on her hungry face. "Let's talk about what's really important," and the feeding frenzy begins: layers of voices mumble and suggest in sweet, feminine tones. Tami stutters and looks from one to the other as they stumble over one another to get a son more play, or suggest that the counters Taylor runs aren't working.