Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t be canceled.

Friday Night Lights, the oft-loved, not-watched soap-dramedy on NBC, has been renewed for its third season. The Peacock used a partnership with DirecTV to bring back the show.

NBC has made it official — it will bring back “Friday Night Lights” for a third season, and it will do so as part of an innovative partnership with DirecTV.

Fresh episodes of “FNL” will begin airing on DirecTV in October. NBC will show those episodes in early 2009, “soon after the network’s telecast of the 2009 Super Bowl,” according to NBC’s Wednesday press release.

I don’t have DirecTV, but I sure will by October.

With FNL’s future no longer in flux, fans can turn their attention to the upcoming season. Superfans like me, however, can turn our attention to unsolicited advice to the producers and directors, assuming they read this website. They should.

Keep these storylines:

• Anything involving Tim Riggins. Riggins, along with Coach Taylor, really stole the show toward the end of season two. The Panthers’ fullback was funny, endearing, and desperate, all rolled into one big ball of bad news. He either needs to be prominently featured in every episode or given his own spin-off. Or both.
  
• Lyla and Christian Radio DJ. This relationship will end badly, probably with a DTR about personal boundaries. Personally, I can’t wait.
  
• Buddy Garrity’s appeal. Garrity went from annoying, pushy booster to pathetic, hard-luck divorcee so fast, I didn’t even have time to remember why I used to detest him. Now, he is so likable, I openly root for him regardless of the situation. Break up that marriage, Buddy. You can do it!
  
• Taylor family. Everything about the Taylor family is great, especially the relationship between Eric and Tammy. They are the Cosby’s of 21st century television.
  

Forget these storylines:

• Interracial relationships. Kudos to the FNL crew for approaching such a difficult topic. That said, can we please move on? I feel weird.
  
• Volleyball. Though the allure of Tyra in spanx is understandable, the whole idea of screen time devoted to volleyball is absurd. What’s next? Math-letes?
  

Deny this storyline ever existed:

• Jason Street and fatherhood. While we’re at it, can we have a do over on Jason Street, too?
  

Bring back:

• Football. As the backbone of the show, football should get more screen time than just a few scenes here and there. Also, I would appreciate it if every game did not come down to a last-second play.
  
• Matt Saracen and Julie Taylor. This couple was great in season one before Julie and her feelings ruined things. Can two people be more perfect for each other? Matt is an emotional mess and Julie could fly off the handle at any moment for any reason. They need to be together.
  
• Landry and geeky girl. When Landry chose Tyra near the end of season two, I was very disappointed. Not only did he take back a girl who will inevitably break his heart, he also said no to a girl who might just be his soul mate. He needs to make things right. It’s not every day you meet a girl who likes Mystery Science Theater 3000.
  

Keep away:

• Waverly. Smash’s bipolar, season-one arm-candy was a little too topical and relevant for a show about hooking up and sports.
  
• The Swede. This homewrecker was entirely forgettable as Julie Taylor’s fling. If she wanted someone with facial hair and a drinking problem, she should have taken her shot at Riggins when she had the chance.
• Landry killing people. Seriously. No more.
  

Kevan Lee: champion! B Squared: Loser.

The final score was 194-116, a glorious, wonderful, predestined 194 to a spiteful, evil, unbecoming 116. The big result says just as much about my ability at fake roster management as it does about a just and fair world. B Squared went through the entire season swindling and deceiving his way to the top of the league, and I went about my business smartly and coolly. While he was busy plotting ways to siphon points out of my weekly haul, I was planning a three-team trade so I could have the entire Patriots’ receiving corps on my team.

As the last two weeks showed, my plodding, consistent strategy outshone the Squares’ mockery of fantasy ethics. No one on my roster had breakout games that could have been chalked up to a fluke or dumb luck; instead, they all put up serviceable scores that added up to a big result.
B Squared, on the other hand, threw gameplanning out the window and put all his eggs into his cheating basket. He started running backs that were out for the year. He paid no attention to matchups or resting starters. B Squared’s entire strategy seemed to revolve around Tom Brady throwing for 400 yards and eight touchdowns and The B’s girlfriend at ESPN Fantasy fudging the final numbers in his favor.

The championship was basically sealed by the time Week 16 was over. Our two-week playoff rounds were nice inasmuch as they provided me two weeks to run up the score. I didn’t even feel any remorse; instead I was filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling, not unlike the one you get on a snowy Christmas morning sitting around a crackling fire eating cookies and opening presents. Yes, beating B Squared was a little like reliving the holidays except instead of sharing the time with family, I shared it with NFL players I have fake relationships with.

My dominating win was so fulfilling because it meant so much to me and my fellow league members. The Squared’s reign of terror was depressing and awful. We were tired of his sneaky wins and impossibly good autodraft luck. No matter what his opponent did week in and week out, there was always the possibility of B Squared pulling out a win if he wanted to. Living in fear of a man we’ve never met is a terrible way to live. You’re welcome, Toxic Treefrogs. Don’t mention it, Cali McLovin. It was my pleasure, Nebraska Football Freaks. This win was for everyone—everyone not named B Squared.

I took a great deal of personal accomplishment from my feat as well. Having an arch rival, one who stood for everything I stood against, was a thrilling experience. He challenged me to be at the top of my game every week to keep pace and keep things competitive. He made every transaction that much more meaningful, and he drove me to compulsive roster managing in the middle of the night. For 16 weeks, he ruined my life and made visiting ESPN.com a chore.

So you can imagine what a relief it was to beat him. I felt justified in all the time I wasted putting together my imperfect team. I was proud of the way I kept fighting through the cheat and lies and how I never got discouraged enough to mail in a performance or two.

I wish I could say the same about B Squared. It was obvious in our championship game that he knew he was beaten before it even began. I rode into our final on the white horse of purity, and he was nothing but a disingenuous fly on my finely combed mane. He gave up, plain and simple, knowing that he didn’t have what it took to beat me in a fair fight (or perhaps he didn’t see the point in having a fight that was fair). My football knowledge was better, my team name was more creative, my reputation was above reproach, and I smelled like success. Conceding the title was really his only option.

Cheating, as it turns out, can only get you so far.