Friday Night Lights

And once again, Friday Night Lights has reduced me to a quivering mass of teary goo. Half the time, it's not even the show, it's the damn preview for next week. Pretty much all it takes for this show to make me cry is putting Connie Britton and and Kyle Chandler in the same frame. But they're not the only ones. If you would have told me last fall that a show about small town Texas high school football would turn out to be exquisite television, I would have thought you were crazy. But it is.

It just won a Peabody. The Peabody judges said this about it: "No dramatic series, broadcast or cable, is more grounded in contemporary American reality than this clear-eyed serial about the hopes, dreams, livelihoods and egos intertwined with the fate of high-school football in a Texas town."

And it's true. I love my Ugly Betty and I love my Battlestar Galactica (though it seriously fell into lameness this past season before rebounding at the end), but my love for this show is on a whole different level because it's so real. It's raw and it's painful and it's beautiful.

Drunken Bee's recaps are some of my favorites ever at Television Without Pity, and I've been reading the recaps there for a very, very, very long time. You can read them here.

You can read what one of my favorite TV writers, Alan Sepinwall, has to say about the show here.

You can watch the episodes here, or you can catch repeats on Bravo.

I don't know what else to tell you. To me, this show is perfect. There is no show that has meant more to me this season. If next week ends up being the last episode, it will break my heart.