(You guys. I'm trying to reign it in here, but that foot, that grandmotherly foot, tapping on the linoleum floor. It's killing me.)

She tells him she only wants one tuna fish sandwich, he says she can eat just one, she wonders why he made two, he says he'll eat it after practice. At this reminder, she breaks into a smile and comes alive: "You'll be hungry. After that good ol' practice." He smiles back as he hears his ride honk for him outside. She holds out her arm, pointing at her grandson and says "You..." and then winks and smiles, "...I adore." He hugs her goodbye, his taut youth and mobility poised against her age and fleshy stillness, her pride and dependence. It's perfect. She's simultaneously vaguely threatening and totally endearing. She's a grandmother; she has nothing but love to give him, a teenaged kid who could probably use a variety of other things in a guardian.

Outside the house, Saracen pauses to straighten the tipsy sign and, on the soundtrack, a crystal guitar melody starts playing over the slate bass line. Inside an old wood-paneled station wagon, Saracen's buddy jokes: "You know, I was thinking about getting me one of those signs. It'll say 'Landry Clark: Utterly Useless. All State Jerk Team.'" Heh. I can think of some folks that belong on the All State Jerk Team, myself. Landry is a misfit-lookin' kid, that's for sure. Pale and ruddy, beady little eyes and mucklemouthed. Sticks out like a sore thumb among these thoroughbred Texans.

Saracen unfolds the sports section of the paper to reveal a headline asking "The Best Ever?" with a picture of Coach Taylor and his already-familiar stressed-out squint. The Dillon Panther Radio morning host continues blabbing in the background, going on about quarterback Jason Street's 72% pass completion rate and how that makes him the number one quarterback in the nation. Landry boils it down for us, asking Saracen, "You even gonna play this year?" He continues, telling Saracen that he can't keep driving him to practice like this, if there isn't even a hope of him playing that year. Saracen counters by reminding Landry that he's an insomniac and is up anyway. Landry: "Now, that was mean, Matt. That wasn't nice." These two have the weight of the world on their shoulders.