Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am only doing this for fun.
Author's Note: Spoilers up to and including 4.1. I haven't seen 4.2 yet, so this is speculative more than spoilery.
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"Pride goeth before the fall, Buddy."
That's what his mama used to say, in her sing-songy, kindergarden teacher's voice. In fact, if he closed his eyes right now, he could picture her saying it, standing in the kitchen, wearing the blue apron with the yellow trim.
He didn't get it back them. Of course he didn't. He was Buddy Garrity. QB1 of the Dillon Panthers. Last minute hero at State. Steady boyfriend of the prettiest girl in all of Carr County. He could see his future stretched out in front of him, longer and shinier than the string of pearls his mother always wore to her Daughters of the Republic of Texas meetings.
If the fall ever did come, he reckoned it would be a speed bump, a hiccup, a transient shower. Like a bad sales quarter at the dealership. An incidental blip. Because even if he had his weak moments, Buddy Garrity was still a God-fearing, Church-going, good Christian man who loved his wife and provided for his family.
He never expected that the fall would be a free-fall, a seemingly endless race down a bottomless black pit, watching helplessly as everything he loved was lost. First Pammy, then Buddy Junior and Tabitha. Then Lyla, temporarily to Tim Riggins' house, then more permanently (albeit acceptably) to Vanderbilt.
But through it all, Buddy always had the Panthers. And he thought he always would. He was good at being the President of the Boosters. He was the most successful alum in Dillon and the whole town knew he bled Panther blue.
Prideful, yes. He'd been plenty prideful of the Panthers. And that fall had come in the shape of an arrogant beer distributor with truckloads of cash and a son with a golden arm.
Buddy, wiped out from the divorce and with a dealership that was limping through the recession, couldn't compete with Joe McCoy. He could only stand back and watch as the new king swept in, displaced the best coach Buddy had ever seen, and set about molding the Dillon Panthers into a development squad for his son's talent.
Buddy watched, the acid boiling in his stomach, as Wade and Joe toyed with Tami like a couple of cats playing with a mouse. Goading her. Teasing her. God knows that he and Tami had their dustups over the Jumbotron, but he didn't think he'd ever treated her like they were.
When it came right down to it, football was all about heart. And Buddy's heart had always been in the right place. Yes, he'd meddled. Yes, he'd carped at coaches. Yes, he'd crashed closed practices. But only because he wanted what was best for the team.
Joe McCoy didn't have a heart. He had a bank vault and an athletically gifted kid. The Dillon Panthers were just a means to an end for him. For Buddy, the Dillon Panthers were the beginning, the end, and everything in between.
Buddy took his seat in the stands on Friday night reluctantly. The beginning of the season was always exciting but a shade bittersweet, since you couldn't help but notice the guys who'd graduated, their familiar numbers now worn by strangers.
Buddy watched Wade lead the team through their start-up huddle. Joe had said something about it being a primal, tribal thing. Buddy thought they looked like a bunch of damn apes. He missed the elegant simplicity of Clear Eyes.
That team out there might be wearing the blue and gold. Their helmets might be emblazoned with the iconic P. Their jerseys might have the right name on them. But Buddy doubted that a one of them really, truly had a heart that bled Panther blue.
The Panthers systematically destroyed their opponent's defense. JD threw for 300 yards and had an 87% pass completion rate. The Panthers won 42-3. But Buddy felt strangely empty and unsettled.
Driving home, he tuned into Sammy Mead, hoping for news of the East Dillon Lions. He'd been expecting a lopsided score, but a forfeit? What in god's name had happened on that scrubby field on the other side of town?
Saturday afternoon, Buddy grabbed his favorite bottle of Scotch and two glass tumblers, then drove over to East Dillon. He tentatively pushed open the rusty, graffiti-covered metal door and called out a tentative greeting. A familiar voice called back and Buddy followed the sound to a cramped office, where Eric was watching game film on a small television.
Eric stood up and shook Buddy's hand.
"What do I owe this surprise to?"
"Thought you could use a drink," replied Buddy with a smile as he placed the bottle and glasses on the desk.
"It's a little early for that, don't you think?"
Buddy settled into a chair. "Well, Eric, like my daddy used to say 'It's always 5 o'clock somewhere.'"
Buddy poured a generous dose of Scotch into each glass, then picked up his glass and took a slow sip, savoring the sharpish yet smooth burn.
"Eric, I know it's none of my business...."
"You're right, Buddy. It's not," said Eric, frank but somehow not unkind.
Buddy nodded and went back to sipping his Scotch. Eric looked away and sighed. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
"I got 18 kids, Buddy. 18 kids who played their damn hearts out for 24 minutes. And god love them, they didn't have another 24 minutes left in 'em."
Eric gestured out his office door. Buddy stole a look and it looked like a battlefield - blood and broken helmets, old equipment and empty water bottles strewn around the place.
"But I promise you, those kids did not quit on me and I'm not going to quit on them," said Eric, his mouth pressed in a thin line.
"So, Eric, who's in charge of the Boosters Club for the Lions?"
Eric laughed. "Team we played last night, they drove 40 miles to be here and outnumbered our supporters 20 to 1. You really think we got a Boosters Club?"
"Really? You don't have a Boosters Club."
"Yes, Buddy. That's what I'm saying. We don't have a Boosters Club."
"Well, good.....good. I can work with that," said Buddy, half to himself.
"Pardon me?"
"I can work with that, Eric. Start up your Boosters Club. Get some money in for equipment. It's probably too late to sod the field, but decent padding and helmets'll go a long way."
"What about the Panthers?"
Buddy waved a hand. "Eric, I will always bleed Dillon Panthers blue. That team - Wade and Joe's team - they're West Dillon and that makes all the difference."
"So what are you saying, Buddy? Dillon football is a state of mind?"
"More like a state of heart. And you, your team, your kids. I see a lot of Dillon football heart there."
Eric was silent for what felt like several lifetimes. Then he nodded slowly, stood up and held his hand out to Buddy.
"All right, Buddy. We can work with that."
Buddy stood up and shook Eric's hand, feeling like finally, finally, the free-fall was over.