The genius of early Eastbound is the gap . The gap between how Kenny sees himself—a world-class athlete, a sexual tyrannosaurus, a "bull-headed messiah of the diamond"—and reality—a broke, aging has-been sleeping on a beanbag chair.
The prime is when Kenny Powers was a gym teacher. When he lived in a basement. When he bullied a 12-year-old for clapping wrong. When he really, truly believed he was one phone call away from the bigs. Eastbound & Down in its prime is a comfort show for people who like their comfort served with profanity and existential dread. It’s a show about the lie of the American Dream. We all want to be Kenny Powers for five minutes: utterly unburdened by shame, reality, or social convention. eastbound and down prime
If you were alive and watching HBO between 2009 and 2013, you felt it. A shift in the cultural air. It wasn’t just the rise of premium cable drama; it was the arrival of a mustachioed, mulleted, foul-mouthed meteor named Kenny Powers. The genius of early Eastbound is the gap