“Be yourself.” It’s the generic advice every kid hears growing up, a broad aphorism that can apply to almost anything. But you know where it doesn’t apply? Professional football. Even before the incoming players have begun practice, the NFL wants to hammer that into their heads. These young men represent an almost centurylong history of integrity and excellence, in theory, and it’s their duty to “protect the shield,” according to the famous words of Commissioner Roger Goodell. This is easier for some players to do than others.

Aaron’s early days on the Patriots are a relatively peaceful time, though it takes Bill Belichick a while to figure out what to do with him. He’s not impressed with Aaron’s showy gag of collecting pads from the practice field while naked, and he understandably rejects the need for Urban Meyer’s babysitting advice. “This is a man’s team,” he tells Aaron. “Be a man.” Manhood, and the question of how exactly to define it, has been a central theme of this show since the first flashback to Aaron’s childhood, and Belichick’s words echo his father’s refrain.

“The Man” isn’t a bad episode of Aaron Hernandez, really; there’s nothing here as eyebrow-raising as the molestation backstory from last week. But there’s also nothing as focused, granular, and singularly bizarre as that episode’s deep dive into the NFL Draft and the Scouting Combine. It’s an average episode of this show, a general primer on this time in Aaron’s life, and it features all the usual overwrought foreshadowing and on-the-nose dialogue about how Aaron must fit the mold. But I’m really digging Norbert Leo Butz’s take on Belichick so far, which feels more lived-in and believable than most of, if not all, the other performances in this show. He’s a hard-ass, but also quirky and wry with a funny twinkle in his eye whenever he rambles about spread offense history.

Aaron continues to kill it on the field, which is pretty much the only place he can regularly feel like himself. The glory probably helps; he’s the youngest player in the League, and he deserves to do a slightly confusing “make it rain” touchdown dance if he wants. He only starts to lose his confidence when Belichick forces him to play running back, a position he’s convinced he can’t pull off. It’s a handy thematic parallel to the recurring idea that Aaron hasn’t been given the time or space to really grow up while being himself. When Belichick scolds him for boasting to the press later in the episode, he responds, “I was just being me, coach,” to which Belichick says, “Don’t be.” The message is clear.

Aaron does manage to fit a square peg in a round hole, though, for the simple reason that he’s incredibly talented. His huge run against the Broncos is a victorious moment, undercut immediately by a hard hit that leaves him disoriented, drifting in and out of lucidity even hours later. Aaron Hernandez hasn’t dedicated a ton of time to the CTE that likely played a major role in Hernandez’s downward spiral, maybe just because it’s hard to mine drama from a medical issue that went largely ignored. But this is an effective sequence with Maggie Kiley’s direction really immersing us in Aaron’s point of view. Even just the light congratulatory helmet slaps from his teammates feel explosive.

Off the field, “The Man” returns the show’s focus to Aaron’s home life. Aaron might be famous in Boston and beyond, but he’s a megacelebrity in Bristol. Inviting Shayanna to a party with the Krafts might be self-serving — he needs to prove he’s a respectable young man who cleaned up his act and is ready to grow up — but he does have a real affection for her. As they eat pizza together at an overpass and banter about rich people’s preference for small food, their connection is obvious. They want the same things, including a way out of Bristol, an opportunity to get away from family baggage and make their own way. The two of them fit together well. The only issue, really, is that Aaron isn’t all that attracted to women.

Their relationship thrives anyway, and it’s not until Shayanna hangs out with some other NFL wives and girlfriends that she second-guesses her assumptions about Aaron’s sexual appetite. Of course, Aaron is technically telling the truth when he reassures her there are no other women in his life. But if he were telling the full truth, he’d probably tell her that spending the night with Chris was the most himself he’d felt in a long time. When Chris (who also has a girlfriend now) asks Aaron if he loves Shayanna, there’s no answer.

While Aaron wants to project the image of someone who surrounds himself with healthy influences, most of his preferred support system comes from his cousin Tanya and his shady hometown friends like Carlos and Bo. That group now includes their weed dealer, Sherrod, who is very obviously bad news. The two become fast friends after an initial miscommunication, and after hearing Aaron rant about his stepdad, Jeff, Sherrod offers this poorly timed encouragement: “Ain’t nobody in charge of you.”

There’s something a little shallow about this show’s depiction of competing positive and negative influences, the latter of which will inevitably win out. But setting aside the cheesy fatefulness of the constant references to prison and the contrived nature of Sherrod repeatedly telling Aaron to put his foot down, there’s something interesting about the comparison he draws between the NFL and prison. If you’re not ready for this life — and it’s easy to see that Aaron wasn’t — the lack of freedom can be especially stifling.

When Jeff slashes Terri in the face with a kitchen knife one day, Aaron finds a perfect outlet for his anger, an ideal scenario to flex control and feel like a man. Using Sherrod’s gun, Aaron savagely beats Jeff outside a bar, threatening to kill him if he touches Terri again. It’s hard to feel bad for the guy considering what he did to Terri, but that’s beside the point. Every act of violence brings Aaron closer to a point of no return. We know where this ends.

• That opening play-within-the-show did get me for a second, which I appreciate, but it’s not exactly a compliment to Aaron Hernandez that a silly anti-drug demonstration feels like business as usual.

• Jon Bon Jovi does consider Belichick his “best friend in the game,” and the coach’s 2013 pump-up playlist did include two Bon Jovi songs, so it’s not a stretch at all that he’d loudly listen to “It’s My Life.”

• Goofy but funny appearance from Laith Wallschleger as Gronk.

• The passage of time gets a tad confusing here, but I think that ending Broncos game is supposed to be the playoff game near the end of Hernandez’s second season with the Pats in January 2012. Hernandez left the game with a head injury after an otherwise successful debut as the sole running back, then insisted, “I’m ready, baby. I feel great,” after the game was over.

• The real Jeffrey Cummings was convicted for slashing Terri in the face, though the timing here isn’t exactly right. It also wasn’t his first incident.

• The switching turn-signal image is very unsettling.