Their tight shirts and stylish hair bugged us, the name "Central Perk" bugged us, but the show had a distinct, original voice. The characters were friends, sure, but they often broke down and ripped one another to shreds. They were confident but vulnerable and utterly self-deprecating. They had weird little obsessions and were oddly fixated on bits of pop culture from the '70s. While many observers tend to focus on the colorful sets, the fashion and The Haircut as reflections of a new generation's style, the characters themselves were a far more distinct mirror of the personalities and perspectives of the times.

And then, during the second season, "Friends" hit its stride. The jokes and situations could reliably make you laugh out loud a few times each episode. The quality of writing on the show can't be denied: The stories were original and innovative, the jokes felt character-specific instead of being rehashes of the same old sitcom punch lines and, sappy or not, the drama approached the poignancy of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," but without the bitter aftertaste of loneliness, thanks to those steadfast fantasy friendships that would inspire anyone to dance, fully clothed, in the nearest fountain.

To top it off, the ensemble cast was uniformly talented, but with distinct qualities that allowed them to play off one another's strengths. Aniston quickly proved herself to be one of the most charming and talented female comedians on the air. Matthew Perry managed a flawlessly snide delivery that, in any other hands, would have been grating. David Schwimmer was reliably funny as the fumbling buffoon, Courteney Cox Arquette quickly transformed from a middling actress into an inspired performer and Lisa Kudrow nicely embodied Phoebe's odd character without retreating into a more generically adorable style.

Strangest of all, Matt LeBlanc's idiotic Joey was an absolute scene stealer from the start. Watch LeBlanc closely in almost any scene and note the originality of his delivery, or the way he makes every thought that floats through his head so vividly transparent on his face. Very few actors could not only pull off the dumb-guy role as beautifully and convincingly as he does but also milk each dimwitted reaction for so many laughs.

At this hour, when "Friends" finale hype has saturated the airwaves for months, it's far too easy to proclaim the show a big joke; a pandering, sappy mess; a shiny, happy bit of pop-cultural pap. Plus, most seem to agree that it's a horrible shame not to go out on top, as if anyone or anything that was once truly inspired, whether it's an NBA player, a rock band or a sitcom, should quit the second after that peak performance, and then disappear from the public eye forever

Instead of heaping scorn on the most talented for not raising the bar to impossible heights year after year, why not give them props for injecting some quality and originality into a culture dominated by mediocrity and imitators? Those who participated in such an intelligently imagined portrait of one generation's clumsy trajectory deserve to bask in the warm glow of our appreciation for at least a second, don't they? Yes, "Friends" was silly and sentimental and self-important and fluffy at times. But isn't that an indelible part of what we liked about it? Far more sophisticated, inscrutable, unsentimental comedy certainly exists. Still, there's something to be said for dancing around in a fountain, fully clothed, every once in a while.

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