Friday Night Lights

As sports books go, I've never read one as intense as H. G. (Buzz) Bissinger's Friday Night Lights. Most people have seen or heard of either the movie or TV show that bears the same name, but they both come up short when compared to the book. In Bissinger's original version, published in 1990, he follows the 1988 Permian Panthers football team in Odessa, Texas.

But the book is about more than football. It's about putting young men, kids, on a pedestal and in a spotlight so harsh that they can't help but lose focus on their priorities. School and careers and future plans can wait until after football season, because they're just distractions from the prize anyway, trivial obstacles in the way of the Texas State High School Football Championship.

The people of Odessa have turned young high school football players into idols that they worship and live through vicariously. It's sad and scary and all too real. Racism, sexism, violence, and an insufficient education system are exposed by Bissinger's honest and compassionate reporting. Friday Night Lights uses football as a backdrop, but it's really about life in a hard, tough, and true 1988 West Texas town, a 1988 America.

I've Friday Night Lights before, but this time I'll do it differently. I want to see how much I think life has changed since then. Sports is obviously more than a game, especially sports played at a high level of intensity and athleticism. Do we view sports differently now as we did then? Are athletes seen as barbaric gladiators, or just skilled professionals who give us highly entertaining and profitable games, matches, and events? How do we treat athletes who aren't as good as they once were? And why do we care so damn much about sports and teams and games, to the point that our days are ruined because our favorite team lost? Why do we care?

Recently I've been reading, rereading, and listening to the hilarious essays of David Sedaris. I had forgotten how funny they are. While listening to "Jesus Shaves" two nights ago, I had to pause the recording so I could finish laughing before he got to, in my opinion, the funny parts. Normal, simple sentences become a crack-up when read aloud by Sedaris. I may not survive listening to "You Can't Kill the Rooster" because I'll probably lose consciousness due to extreme laughter.

In "You Can't Kill the Rooster," Sedaris describes and (tries to) explain the way his brother Paul speaks, and the special yet strange relationship Paul and their father have. Both are blunt communicators, but only Paul is vulgar. Very vulgar. I have to close the book and compose myself after reading the section where Paul explains why he came to a family holiday dinner party with a black eye. Having read that essay at least ten times, you'd think I wouldn't continue to laugh with each reading. That's not the case. In fact, I laugh harder and more often now than I did at first reading.

Like the Sedaris's father, I appreciate blunt communication, even if it's overtly blunt. At least it's genuine and you know where that person stands. I curse too much myself, but I know that curse words are often stronger words and convey more meaning, although that meaning is usually inappropriate for the setting in which I use it. That's something I'll continue to work on.

And I'll also work on reading and listening to more Sedaris. I highly recommend you do too.