Sandbox

I couldn’t care less about the Grammys, which actually surprised me this year by bestowing their “prestigious” Album of the Year distinction on Arcade Fire, a tremendous band represented by Durham independent label Merge Records.

But the problem with these fluffy award shows is you can catch all the interesting bits on YouTube now and avoid the soul-sucking pomp. Contrast Friday Night Lights, a television drama whose 76 episodes cannot be contained by a highlights reel. The show just aired its final episode after five seasons producing the best television around—no, I’ve never missed an episode of the overrated Mad Men.

While Mad Men offers subtle moments of tenderness amid a brooding 1960s dystopia, Friday Night Lights uses more banal conflict to color the tone of decent humanity and grace contained by its characters. The show’s pilot is inspired by the book and movie, but after that its scope diverges outwards, touching upon all topics close to the heart of America. The setting is a too-small town in Texas where the football team prays together before every game. It is a place where there are no villains. The greatest magnitude of town hero to be found is a high school counselor—and even she isn’t unanimously adored, after offering controversial advice to a student considering an abortion.

Despite the modesty of its content, Friday Night Lights captures something universal: how enormous dreams can be. It’s only a show about football in the sense that Moby Dick is just a novel about a whale.

There’s a moment in the final episode where the star quarterback pauses in reflection and says, “You changed my life, coach.” It brings to mind the lyric by legendary punk band Minutemen that’s become immortal: “Our band could be your life.” It’s a romantic idea—a mission statement, really—that speaks to the upper reaches of art’s potential. In a co-production deal with DirecTV, NBC brings season five to air starting April 15. Hopefully they can help lend Friday Night Lights some immortality of its own.