If the ghost of TV Future had appeared to me this summer and said, "One of the most chilling and nuanced stories on school shooting will come to you courtesy of Kurt Sutter," I'd have called Ghostbusters to rid me of such an obviously fraudulent spectre. Yet here we are, with an opening episode that shows all the little ways in which the Sons' culture of violence and thuggery enabled a sick little boy's quest to shoot up his school. The episode also works as a perfect example of well-executed Golden Age television. Let us dissect it together.

OPENING EPISODE INGREDIENT ONE: Set up the wider community event that will show how the bike club is apart from society, yet probably doing something to harm it. A child shoots up his classroom. His mother is the old lady of a guy in Nero's crew. You will recall that Nero and Jax are now running guns to his old crew, and that Nero's been wholly integrated into the SAMCRO miasma – which means that he and SAMCRO now have to work hard to sever any ties between themselves and the tragedy. And with crazy Lee Toric working any angle he can to make the Sons suffer, SAMCRO's severing job is going to be really hard.

OPENING EPISODE INGREDIENT TWO: Introduce the characters that expand the club's universe while also presenting new threats. This year, we learn that the Stockton waterfront is not only home to the lovely ballpark where the Stockton Ports play, it's also hosting a group of Iranians who like to make torture porn. We find this out because Lyla has somehow fallen sideways into this job opportunity, she barely escaped with her life, and the guilt-ridden Jax is going to make it up to dead Opie by avenging the Widow Winston's honor. This, in turn, attracts the negative attention of Robocop – I swear, I am not making this up – but his animus fades after ten minutes, and then it's all artisanal pastries and introductions to a friendly hooker who's interested in joining the Nero/Jax cathouse franchise. So now we have a new crew of ethnic antagonists, another corrupt law enforcement type and a new mistress for Jax.

(I will cop to mixed feelings on this last point. On the one hand, Jax has deliberately broken his no-ladies-on-the-side promise to his wife. On the other, his doing so heralded the return of a naked Jax Teller. So …)

Also, Tig drowned someone in a tub of pee, because if there's one thing we can count on, it's Tig impulsively killing someone who will be missed. Sheesh! Some people.

OPENING EPISODE INGREDIENT THREE: Catch us up on our characters' personal lives and resolve last season's cliffhangers so we can get on with new business. So here we go: Tig is not dealing well with the death of his daughter; Bobby Elvis looks like he's scheming to start another Sons of Anarchy chapter, but whether he's doing it for idealistic old farts like himself or whether he's the Fortinbras of this entire show is yet to be determined; Chibs works out his complicated feelings toward Juice – not with sex, all you frisky Tumblr curators – by reciting Juice's wrongs and treating him to a beating. Gemma is still ruining Nero's life in slow motion. Unser has become SAMCRO's resident lot lizard – not like that, he's just living in a parking lot, looking leathery and lethargic.

On the prison end: Clay is still alive because Lee hopes to use him to take down SAMCRO in a semi-legal way. Each morning in solitary, the guards bring Otto breakfast in bed, if by "breakfast," you mean "their penises" and "bed" is "Otto's no-no place." Tara has a new prison haircut, for reasons that have not yet become clear, and her digs are nowhere near as filled with humor and humanity as the Piper Chapman joint.

And Jax is not doing a very good job of balancing work and fatherhood, although Happy is a hell of a babysitter. Watching this episode, it's hard not to see the toddler boys and wonder which one of them will ruin their neighbors' lives. This season's going to be all about things falling apart, I can feel it.

Lisa Schmeiser is a reporter, editor and blogger living Oakland-adjacent. She tweets often at lschmeiser.