So we’re watching Chuck last night, and the going gets pretty rough. The plot holes are so enormous, you could set up camp and build a small colony of frontierspeople inside of them, except they are barren wastelands of plot uninhabitable by even the heartiest frontiersperson. I’m feeling pretty nervous about it because I know it’s a very thin line, and when he picks up the iPhone and spends the rest of the episode reading it rather than watching the TV, I know what’ll be coming once the episode ends – my husband is no longer interested in Chuck. You are a quitter, I tell him, a narrative deserter, and just because a show has gotten bad (as, oh boy, Chuck certainly has recently), it does not mean it can’t get better. His counter argument is that once most shows get bad, they do not come back, and there’s no use waiting around on the barest hope of a brighter future to come.

There are obviously examples of shows that get bad and for whatever reason, do not recover. We all know the tragic stories, the sad shambling corpses of formerly entertaining programs lingering on long past their prime like miserable shark-jumping zombies. Gilmore Girls season seven. Prison Break, Heroes, Alias, Entourage. There are a number of reasons things can go wrong, including changes in the creative staff, pressure from networks, a resistance to imaginative or risky storytelling, a concept that’s meant to be small saddled with the burden of far too much time (oh, Prison Break, you poor bastard). But I would argue that some shows can and do get better, even in the face of some dismally low points.

Friday Night Lights – This is obviously the premiere example of how rough things can get on a show and still come back for an amazing third and fourth season. It’s also a good example of how quickly terrible subplots can completely derail the rest of a show (see also: the Coma Baby plot of Veronica Mars season two). The Landry/Tyra murder plot is so, so awful and was so thoroughly panned as soon as it happened, FNL spent much of the rest of the season trying to get through that damn subplot as quickly as possible and then force everyone involved to forget it ever happened. Not only did the show manage to exit out of that dark hole of implausible violence as gracefully as one could imagine, the show has since had the excellent judgment to avoid anything similarly out of character.

Battlestar Galactica – Sure, sure, it’s great when you can get a science fiction show to speak to topical issues of morality and terrorism in a way that forces people to talk about the intellectual potential of pulp genres. But for the most part, Battlestar’s New Caprica episodes were just treading water until the characters could get back into space (and back into shape, in the infamous case of Tubby Apollo). Even worse, although the explicit references to insurgency, colonialism and prisoners of war brought the show attention for being so politically relevant, it was some of Battlestar’s most heavy-handed thematic work. Those New Caprica episodes were about as subtle as poking out an eye (whoops, sorry Colonel Tigh), but once the show got back into space and Lee Adama lost all that weight, things were back on track.

The West Wing – This one is a complicated example, but worth thinking through. The show suffered one of the worst, most irrevocable changes a show can experience – the departure of its idiosyncratic, driving creative force – and that kind of departure is almost a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s a change any fervent fan will declare to be the End of the World, and when a show then immediately proves to be much worse than it used to be, it’s easy to write off the show entirely. I understand the argument, and I also believe that post-Sorkin West Wing never reached the same heights as it did in the Sorkin years, but I also think season seven of that show was a vast improvement. It could never go back to being a Sorkin show, but it did grow into its new identity as the Santos-Vinick race overtook the final Bartlet years. It would never be as fizzy or fascinatingly idealistic as the first few seasons, but it was still miles better than the dark days of Leo’s heart attack and the overt Macbeth references, and it was entertaining television.

Dollhouse – A different kind of improvement narrative from the previous examples, but one that probably happens more frequently. Shows begin, and they’re bad. Gradually, with practice and hindsight and feedback, they get better, and the change can be so drastic that the show is nearly unrecognizable. Dollhouse falls in this category, though like so many shows, the change came too late. I’d also list Cougar Town here, as well as Parks and Recreation, Community, Fringe, Sons of Anarchy, and of course, the troublesome Chuck.

I’m not trying to argue that Chuck may not be in trouble – from what I’ve seen so far this season, things look dubious. But the beauty of television’s episodic structure is that new beginnings and fresh starts happen all the time, and no matter how serialized or intricate a show may be, the very concept of an episode promises that things can change. It’s a whole new show every week, with different writers and directors, different guest stars and returning characters, new plots and character arcs. It seems to me this is a reason fans hold onto television shows even after they’re long dead (oh Smallville, you keep on keepin’ on), because the distinct separation of each piece of narrative means it’s easier to believe that the start of the next episode is also the start of a different, better version of the same show you’ve been watching for so long.

I don’t want to chide my husband if he doesn’t want to watch Chuck any more. Maybe it won’t get better, and he’ll have saved all of that time for Boardwalk Empire or The Walking Dead or (one day, because he loves me) Veronica Mars. But I do want to explain why I’ll keep watching, and why that choice makes sense to me.

In a post several weeks ago I mentioned a few of the shows I was most excited about for this new fall season, and among that list I included Friday Night Lights. Truth is, that entry was slightly misleading – although there are new episodes of Friday Night Lights this fall, airing every Wednesday night, the chances you’re actually able to watch them are very slim. Facing the commonplace reality of terrible ratings for a stellar show, NBC made the unusual decision to seek outside assistance in order to keep Friday Night Lights alive. As a result, the show is co-funded by DirecTV, and NBC doesn’t get to air the episodes until well after DirecTV has had exclusive access to the whole season. Which means that if you have DirecTV, congratulations, you can watch the new season of this fabulous show. If not, wait until next spring and be thankful (as I am) that somehow this deal is lucrative enough to keep the show in production. All of which is to say, a new episode of Friday Night Lights aired this week, and I’m loathe to write about it because I’m sure no one has seen it. I’ll probably write about it in detail once it starts to air on NBC, but for now I think I’ll hold off. I do want to take this opportunity, however, to describe in a little more detail why the show’s great and why you should take the time to catch up for the new season next spring.

Yes. I am in love with a show about football.

The first thing I feel I have to mention about Friday Night Lights is that it is a show about football, and I assure you, in normal circumstances, there are few things I care about less than football. I have no particular issue with the sport, but have never found it at all intriguing – large men smash into each other on an otherwise lovely, manicured green field, and I am pretty much hollow inside. I am the embodiment of “meh.” I think it’s necessary to emphasize the full extent of my indifference, because I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to dismiss the show thinking that it’s merely a show about football. I dismissed it for several years under that very same impression, and if I could, I would time travel back to my four-years-ago self and attempt to knock some sense into me.

Truth be told, it is a show about football, but it’s also about American images of masculinity, poverty and betrayal, bodily power and bodily weakness, Texas landscape, youth, and maturity. In the beginning of the show, protagonist Coach Eric Taylor becomes the head coach of the Dillon Panthers, the single bright spot in an otherwise ramshackle and struggling Texas town. Several of his football players become fascinating, problematic, charismatic figures, as Coach Taylor’s wife Tami and his daughter Julie. Many of the excellent plotlines come from the players’ lives, the most heartbreaking of which include Tim Riggins, whose only caretaker is his drunken buffoon of an older brother, and the achingingly sweet quarterback Matt Saracen, who lives with and cares for his ill grandmother. The show revolves around the classic, cliché storylines that any sports fiction must – winning and losing, struggle and heroism, underdogs who pull through – but after witnessing Matt Saracen remind his grandmother yet again that he is her grandson, not her son, winning on the football field pulls an entirely different emotional punch.

Eric and Tami Taylor

The players are excellent, and supply Friday Night Lights with the persistent drama and tears of a high school narrative. But players come and go, and the show’s core will always be Eric Taylor and his family. If nothing else, watch Friday Night Lights for one of the best and most moving depictions of marriage I have ever seen on tv, and the amazing performances by Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton that make it possible. Eric and Tami disagree with each other, at times to the point of electric, wordless anger. They deal with problems that face any marriage, especially when Tami makes the decision to go back to work after working primarily in the home for many years. No matter how frustrated, though, they approach each other, quietly apologize, and move forward. Every day brings new stressors and obstacles, and they move through it with confidence that they will remain whole.

Even setting aside Friday Night Light’s gorgeous aesthetic, pleasantly melancholy score, and rich storytelling, I would watch it just to watch the Taylors be married to each other day after day. Do I sound like I want to be them? I do, a little bit. I’d probably try to do it without the football, though. In my minimal real life experience, it’s never as interesting as it is on Friday Night Lights.

As much as I’ve enjoyed and enjoyed despising summer television programming, I am plenty ready to trade the pleasure of knowing with certainty that an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie is on somewhere for the novelty of a new fall season. As Michael Ausiello (or his intern) has so helpfully compiled a list to keep everything straight, I’d like to briefly point out some of the shows I’m most anticipating.

Glee – It could be amazing, or it could crash and burn. FOX made the decision to air a pilot episode last spring, and I was encouraged by its unlikely combination of irreverence and snarky enthusiasm. I also have a particular weakness for catchy song and dance numbers, so this show has the potential to be a personal critical kryptonite. (Case in point: I watched the pilot and thought to myself, “now, how are they possibly going to maintain that tone over an entire season? And the lead guy is really not that great an actor. Also, how silly does the teacher look in this teaser?” And then I watched the final “Don’t Stop Believin’” scene like twenty times, and then downloaded “Don’t Stop Believin’” for Rock Band. Twenty one, I just watched it again on hulu.)

They just look so happy when they sing... I am a sucker.

The Office and 30 Rock – I am perpetually encouraged by The Office’s ability to develop Michael Scott’s character in a way that makes me feel so deliciously ambiguous toward him. He does something completely awful, and you hate him. Then you remember he’s essentially a six-year-old trapped in a grown man’s body, and you’re full of pity. Then suddenly he’s actually a skilled salesman, and you’re impressed. A lot of that is Steve Carrell, of course, but The Office also refuses to fall victim to the general long-lived sitcom trends. Instead of allowing Michael Scott to become a further caricature of himself, he got more complicated and sympathic. Rather than continue to play will-they-won’t-they with Pam and Jim, the writers decided they could still be funny with Jam in a stable, long-term relationship. It’s really impressive, and gives me hope for this season. As for 30 Rock, whenever Liz Lemon says something about Star Wars, I melt. The end.

Dollhouse – Shockingly, this show didn’t get cancelled, and the unaired thirteenth episode they made (starring The Guild’s Felicia Day) was truly ballsy. I am trying to have faith that Joss Whedon will make the most of this adrenaline-fueled, brush-with-death, near-cancellation experience and push Dollhouse beyond the weirdly uncomfortable and well into mind-twistingly disturbing territory.

Private Practice – Hahaha, not really. But last season ended with the practice’s pregnant psychiatrist splayed on the floor of her living room while her psychotic patient tries to cut the baby out in order to steal it for herself. C’mon, tell me you don’t want to see how that ends.

Tim Riggins

Friday Night Lights – I am happy to sing the praises of this show in any place someone might possibly hear me. The new season will only be available on DirecTV until NBC airs it in 2010, but as long as somehow this show continues to exist, I’m tickled pink. Friday Night Lights is up there with Mad Men as most visually appealing television ever produced, and I’m not just talking about Tim Riggins over there. Nothing about me makes it likely that I will find a show about Texas football attractive, but the treatment of landscape alone makes me want to pause the show and just stare. On top of that, Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton create one of the best fictional portrayals of a marriage I’ve ever seen, the writing is smart and emotionally sincere, and as long as we all pretend that crazy murder plot never happened in season two, Friday Night Lights has been consistently excellent.

This show makes Texas look so good

There are more shows to talk about and preview, but for now, let’s all take a moment to celebrate a time in the near future when Secret Life of the American Teenager is no longer the most notable new thing on television.