Dork duty calls for passing along spoilers from Season 3 of Friday Night Lights for anyone who wants 'em.
On the plus side, it's an opportunity to chew over the show being coy -- very coy! -- about the high school-aged characters' academic years.
Case in point: Lyla Garrity, Minka Kelly's character, is only now a senior in this, the third season.
That begs the question of how the lovely Lyla managed to be named cheerleading captain as a sophomore in Season 1. Also, Jason Street (Scott Porter) was a senior in the first season, when he and Lyla were serious and talking about attending the same college and getting married. She also had her own car in that season (granted, it's Texas -- you get your learner's permit down there at what, 11, 12 years old?)
In Season 2, Lyla's asked about her college plans when she's having dinner with the family of her creepy god-squadder boyfriend. That's a staple of senior year.
(Digression: Back in the day, that, "What are you thinking of taking?" question got so annoying that a couple "joke" answers were adopted as a defence mechanism. The first was, "I'm double-majoring in biology and geography, so I can finally know my ass from a hole in the ground." The other was, "Criminal justice, but I haven't decided which side of the law."
Hey, it beat admitting you knew you'd end up majoring in English.)
Tim Riggins (Taylor Kitsch) is supposed to be a senior this season, too. So the guy who was drunk off his ass half the time and had an affair with his 30-something next-door neighbour in Season 1 was only in what's known as Grade 10 in Canada? For pity's sake, at that age, most guys consider it a triumph if your unrequited crush said your name when she returned your hello in the hallway at school.
Point being, this cannot stand (although it does mean that, as any idiot could've figured out, all roads lead to Tim 'n' Lyla). There are a lot of areas where disbelief is suspended in the FNL universe. It's OK that the state champion Dillon Panthers win every other game on a last-second miracle touchdown, on a play they never practised. It's OK that it's a small Texas town, but it's big enough that reporters from three network affiliates come into the locker room after games to scrum around a 16-year-old quarterback. It's OK that the coaches don't stand watch over the proceedings and that the 16-year-old quarterback actually speaks in complete sentences when people are recording his answers. (Anyone who's covered high school sports in a small town in Canada can relate.)
It beggars comprehension that Lyla could have cracked the complicated matrix of high school cheerleading politics to become captain in sophomore year. Did Bring It On teach us nothing?
Much obliged to a fellow cynic who passed this along.