Why I Need to Stop Watching "Friday Night Lights"

or "The Tim Riggins Factor”

1). I briefly convinced myself that I saw Matt Saracen and his grandmother eating at a W.g. Grinders in Piqua, Ohio.

2). I keep ending conversations with the phrase "Texas Forever" (drawl included).

3). I assume any guy wearing a blue hat and driving an SUV is Coach Taylor.

4). I've considered using the phrase "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose!" on a classroom bulletin board.

5). Tim Riggins

6). I've asked myself “What would Tami Taylor do?” when faced with problematic situations requiring charm, poise, and tenacity.

7). I've started to take Texas seriously as a state.

8). I’m overly interested in the lifestyles of quadriplegics like Jason Street, and am terrified to have a son who plays football lest he be paralyzed like said character.

9). I've developed a special softness for washed-up has-beens like Buddy Garriety.

10).  Tim Riggins

11). I’ve attempted to use football phrases like "Are you hitting your gaps?” or "How's the route running going?" with my friends who coach our school’s team.

12). I have the desire to eat more barbecue.

13). I'm really upset that you can't buy a Crucifixtorious CD.

14). I want to hang out at the Alamo Freeze.

15). Tim Riggins

16). I’ve become more willing to accept plot gaps in stories because what has been set up before is so freakin’ good.  (This is a slippery slop to endorsing Fifty Shades of Grey as decent literature.)

17). I've started to think that drinking during all parts of the day is completely acceptable.

18). I've learned a) that after tying up a game in the final seconds of the 4th quarter you always “go for two!” and b) the innuendo factor of said phrase.

19). I've wanted to rock a pair of cowboy boots.

20). Did I mention Tim Riggins?  (I swear, when he carried the little neighbor boy Beau to bed, my ovaries skipped a beat.  And I’m not into the whole “guys who like kids are so hot” cult.  Or the Bad Boy club.  I’m a Jason Street style Soc all the way.  But, Tim Riggins in a plaid shirt and half-drunk on a Wednesday morning?  Hubba Hubba.)