A chapter closes.

We can't get going on the next chapter soon enough.

There’s a television series you absolutely love. You can’t get enough of it, from its creativity to its inimitability to the promise and boundlessness that lay ahead.

Then, suddenly — and I mean suddenly — a new writer takes over and changes everything. (See: Game of Thrones. Imagine: Breaking Bad.) The character that made your journey with the show, your allegiance to it, your love for it most worth the investment, is written out. Gone. Almost assuredly isn’t coming back.

You’re ready to give up on the show.

But even though the new writer’s new direction is plainly, mind-blowingly brutal, and the main new character he’s added is pretty clearly forced and doesn’t really fit the story arc at all, there’s also another newly introduced character who’s very promising.

You don’t give up.

Still, a season of the story, a chapter, comes to an end with a certain finality. But not before the writer, mercifully, is shown the door himself.

Still, it’s your show — more so than the transient, evanescent, disposable interim writer’s show — and you cling to hope that someone with better foresight and responsible vision will take over and build around this new character.

Because Cooper Flagg is how this thing, obviously, gets saved.