Searching for my Tim Riggins…

Maybe there’s no crying in baseball. But there is crying in football when football is Friday Night Lights

Confession: I watched 76 episodes of Friday Night Lights in 30 days. 


If anyone has been wondering where I’ve been, emotionally, for the past month, the answer is a Friday Night Lights-induced k-hole. I’m feeling a lot of EMOTIONS right now and need to talk about it. (No spoilers here, I promise!)

For a month, Friday Night Lights became the center of my universe. To the extent that you can eat, sleep, and breathe a television show, that is what happened with Friday Night Lights over the past month. If I was in my apartment, I was watching an episode, or three. My household chores fell by the wayside. There was even a week where I couldn’t get out of bed before I watched an episode (and was subsequently late to work every day). Basically I did what I would never do in real life, which is become that girl who spends all of her time with her new boyfriend and ignores all of her friends, but in this case, my new boyfriend was Friday Night Lights and my friends are all my primetime television shows that are currently airing.

It was reminiscent of when I read the first six books of the Harry Potter series in one month in 2005 (2,800 pages – yeesh, how did I do that?!) and I felt like I was legitimately dating Harry: I had a full-time job and was studying to take the GRE, but every free moment I had, I spent it “with him.” I suppose the corresponding analogy here is that watching Friday Night Lights was like I was dating the whole football team, but guys, I’m not that type of girl!

Friday Night Lights created a world of which you wanted to be a part. The show was about football, but at the same time football was entirely besides the point. I found myself mourning my missed opportunity of being a rally girl. I wanted to live in a small town where everyone knows everyone. I wanted be the daughter of a football coach. I wanted to work at The Landing Strip strip club (just kidding!). But when you have a show with such heart, and at its heart the dynamic duo of inspiring Coach Eric Taylor and straight-talking Tami Taylor, it feels like no matter what happens, everything is going to be ok.

I loved the characters so much that I only wanted the best for them. I wanted to turn off episodes where they were making bad choices that I didn’t agree with. I spent much of the middle of November distraught over Jason Street and his future. And I was so mad at Lyla Garrity for basically everything she ever did.

love triangle

And then, casting an angelic glow over everthing, there was Tim Riggins. Dear, sweet, beautiful Tim Riggins. Sometimes I would look at him and say “He’s not that hot,” and then I would blink and realize, “He actually is that hot, I just momentarily blacked out because the way he smiled through his perpetually greasy locks gave me a mini-stroke.” He was always going to be the hero of this story.

tim riggins



Obligatory Tim Riggins photo series.

Clear eyes? Yes, except for when my eyes were obscured with tears flowing down my cheeks.

Full hearts? So full sometimes that it was bursting with affection for these characters.

Can’t lose? Your life will be forever enriched after watching this show.

clear eyes

If you haven’t watched Friday Night Lights, you should do so immediately, though maybe not as intensely as I did. And if you have, we’re going to be friends forever.

Bonus: This is a picture that I took of myself after the series finale episode was over. SO MANY TEARS. 

me post FNLThis photo was not staged.

In a Fantasy Football League of Her Own

I’m relatively new to the fantasy sporting game, but this is what I’ve figured out so far: 1) winning is awesome and 2) playing in a fantasy league is a totally bizarro way to experience a sporting season. (Yes, that’s just the first ground-breaking observation I’m about to lay on you. Buckle up.)

Last year, my first foray into football fantasy, I finished 8th out of 12 in my office’s fantasy football league, with a record of 6-7-0. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was happy with any wins that I got.

As I write this, my record is 4-0 for the season, though I fear that my streak will come to an end this week. I am currently No. 1 in my office fantasy football league and this is pretty much the most absurd thing. Mostly because I am the lamest fantasy football league owner ever. I’m not making any sort of anti-feminist commentary here; I’m just talking about me, and how I deal with the very complex feelings that go along with playing fantasy football. 

Case in point: I drafted Peyton Manning in my second round. He was very, very good to me on Game 1, Day 1, Week 1 of this season. And he’s been good to me ever since. I feel like I owe my standing to him. But do you think that, when I woke up on the Friday after Peyton tied the NFL record of 7 TD passes in a game, my first reaction was, F*CK YEAH PEYTON! THROWING IT LIKE A BOSS! PLAYA GONNA PLAY!”?

(I just heard how ridiculous those words sound coming out of my mouth. I’m happy to re-enact upon request.)

Nope. My exact words were: “Awwww Peyton! Way to go! I, like, want to send him flowers!”

I’m not even joking. My first instinct was to send Peyton Manning flowers. 

I have developed a weekly fantasy football ritual. Every Tuesday morning, I take a screen shot of the current standings, as I sit on top, and then text my brother “STILL #1!” Is this totally lame? You betcha. But every player on my team has become close to my heart. My drafting strategy was doing a lot of research, little of which I understood, and then selecting players in a panic and in vain hope that I was choosing well. But now that they’re Team Puck Bunny, I want to hug every one of them.


(Actual text conversation)

For me, the hardest part of playing the fantasy points game is that you’re inevitably rooting for at least 8 players and 1 team to perform below expectation that week. Let’s say you’re playing against Wes Welker, and he suddenly starts sucking at catching, you’re super happy. But do you stop to think about what happens to Wes Welker if he plays a mediocre game? He probably gets yelled at, guys. Shouldn’t we feel a little bit sorry that this guy has failed to do the one thing he needed to do this week?

Maybe not. I Googled Wes Welker’s wife and she’s pretty hot, so my sympathy only extends so far.

I can’t participate yet in the smack talk game because I’m still learning and I would feel badly making do by indiscriminately insulting these players’ mothers. So, apologies to my fellow fantasy football league owners for maybe not being the most engaging person to play against. But I’m having lots of fun.

And PS, I’m still looking for Peyton Manning’s favourite flower. The Internet doesn’t know the answer, and I’m no fool — my #1 status is basically all him. Thanks, Peyton!!!

Beyonce-SuperbowlRequisite Beyonce Superbowl pic.