A photographer starts taking shots of Tyra and Street just as Lyla walks in. He asks Street if Tyra is his new girlfriend -- nice detail, in a world where the photographer for the local paper needs to know who the girlfriends of major football players are -- and Street manages to disentangle himself from Tyra and run up to Schmoopy to apologize. Here follows some more Schmoopy lip-pouting and chin-tucking nonsense from Lyla as Street fast-talks his way through an apology. As if he even needs to bother. Like she'd ever break up with him for anything short of a massive football career-ending injury. Ooops. Spoiler! Street does a terrible Bill Clinton impression, "Hilary, I did not have sexual relations with that woman," which is so quaint of a scandal for those Texans to still even remember.

Tyra approaches Smash, looking rather lost. She sweetly says hi and then tells him she's bored. He gives her a big smile and earnestly says he's on top of the world, picking diamonds from clouds. He asks if he can pick one for her. Now here is some buttercream frosting dialogue that works (unlike that between Street and Lyla), these two shining through their respective personas in order to make an unlikely connection. Riggins isn't too happy, though, as he hulks up (hopefully after going to the bathroom and scrubbing the creepy-old-lady residue off) and tells Smash to get away from Tyra. She asks them to stop, but they keep at it, Smash asking Rig to "bring it," Riggins telling Smash he's just a mouth.

The Kingsmen amps up in the background as we cut back to Mack Brown buzz-sawing his way through Coach Taylor's dreams. The shots are incredibly tightly framed, as Brown asks Taylor if he can bring championships home, and Taylor just sort of grimaces and furrows in reaction. Just as you want to run screaming away from the television, so trapped do you feel, The Kingsmen wail "Let's go!" and we cut to black.

Commercials. That scene was exhausting.

Wednesday. Explosions in the Sky. Melancholy. Pensive. This scene is clearly filmed in winter time -- grey light, leafless trees -- but we will forgive. Slow motion shots of cheerleaders cheering and little kids suited up on the football field. I haven't really had any firsthand experience with little kids in shoulder pads and helmets, but something about it just automatically makes me want to cry. Proud parents look on as the little boys play with the older boys, little girls play with older girls. It takes twenty seven-year-olds to tackle one eighteen-year-old. The melody propels in the background, and everyone lines up for a "team" photo, one irrepressible kid getting up and doing muscle man arms with a grin that could crack worlds on his face. Beautiful.