Ted Lasso

The show we didn’t know we wanted, but we needed.

I don’t like football. I definitely don’t understand the offside rule. I don’t follow the premier league but I’ve never cared more about a football club than Richmond AFC. Thanks to Ted Lasso, I’m Richmond ‘til I die. Why does this TV show transcend so many audiences and leave us bending our plans like Beckham to binge watch the next series? With Season Three striking our screens on March 15th, I take a look back on what it is about this show that makes it so brilliant.

Ted Lasso is officially categorised as a comedy show. It’s also part sporting drama, part office politics-critique, part unlikely coming-of-age story; all served with sprinklings of romance and lashings of one-liners that will have you laughing, weeping or both in tandem. The multitudinous hybridism of this show makes it addictive and enjoyed by many.

With the premise of football at the core, a girl can convince her boyfriend to watch it, then hold his hand while he cries for the first time in 3 years. (Firstly, when he discovers it’s Ted baking the biscuits in the pink boxes and then every episode thereafter). Other TV shows have even used Lasso’s common denomination as characterisation tactics in their writing. The White Lotus’ Season 2’s intelligenzia elite (Will Sharpe, Audrey Plaza) momentarily pause their snobbery while they agree with dazzling-but-dim ‘we don’t vote’ counter-parts (Theo James, Meghan Fahy) that they LOVE Ted Lasso. The genre amalgamation, loved-by-all factor is so sellable that other binge-worthy shows are doing free PR for it. As Ted would say: ‘Hi Five Tree.’

As well as the smorgasbord of genres, there is someone we all identify with and love in the show’s trope-tastic characters: the extrovert who needs to learn to introspect; the career woman exercising self-control to mask emotion; the know-it-all who needs to learn to speak up; the smarter than she appears model wanting people to take her seriously; the egotist on a journey of self-discovery; or the angry man who is one meaningful relationship away from compassion. It’s no surprise that the show’s protagonist, Ted, gets the most air time. However, all the additional characters are granted evolving narratives in harmonious equilibrium throughout the series. Whoever your favourite; rest assured they will not be left on the subs bench for long.

The costumes, setting and the writing of the show allow us to centre-spot character clichés, whilst the actors’ performances expertly humanise them with one-touch. From Lasso’s (Jason Sudeikis) dad-energy mannerisms and sneans (sneakers and jeans) to Nate the Great’s (Nick Mohammed) lack of commitment to his actions in early episodes and his continued commitment to wearing suits (tracksuits and formal); these well placed details all help us ground these characters into their souls. Phil Dunster’s Tartt-isms: (the swagger, the itching of his chin) so effortlessly craft his cocky northern boy energy, making it all the more gut-wrenching when he finally speaks his truth to Keeley Jones (Juno Temple). These ‘punch-you-in-the-feels’ moments are what make this show so god-darn wholesome. They’re everywhere. And, if you need any kind of proof of where it stands on a-wholesom-o-meter; they asked Marcus Mumford to do the soundtrack. 

The show is fictional escapism grounded in reality. We are immersed in a world which feels real because to some extent it is. This club doesn’t exist; the opposition does. This pub exists; under a different name. (I actually undertook a recent pilgrimage there last Sunday. Sat on the table next to us was an American dad with family in tow. He had a southern state accent and a moustache and that alone was enough to have me drip a single tear into my Peroni).

What’s more, every episode is peppered with references of pop culture from the last few decades. I practically squealed out loud when Harriet Walters so convincingly delivered: “Esther Perel says it takes two people to create a pattern but only one to change it. I am that change”. (Perel is a divine being who I borderline worship. I have encouraged many friends with me to the Perel-igion but I have never heard her referenced in a TV show. And yes, if she read this she’d tell me it’s bad to put anyone on a pedestal – it has a propensity for untenable long-term connection and the impending death of the erotic). Alongside this, there’s music references I grew up with (e.g. Billy Joel) and more rom-com easter eggs than you could shake a stick at. Tidbits appear from Pretty Woman; Love Actually; The Notebook; When Harry Met Sally; Jerry McGuire and my personal favourite, Ted’s explicit mention of lovers Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks.  Have you ever clocked the dating app names BOSSGIRL and LDN152 are a modern play on You’ve Got Mail!?). This show is a continual treasure-trove of appreciation for other brilliant stories. As the writers skilfully slide tackle the topic of mental health in Season 2, having these references dribbled throughout the script, balances gloomier elements of character trajectories. If 90s rom coms aren’t your poison, there’s Star Wars quotes, self-help books, musical theatre and Paul Thomas Anderson movie nods in there too. Blink a tear away and you’ll miss them. 

The last few years continue to feel like a terrifying dystopian novel: pandemic illness hits the globe, wars and natural disasters continue across multiple continents; the earth continues to overheat; all while a revolving roll-call of political caricatures step up to deliver questionable speeches addressing the state of the nation with rising costs of living. There is a looming sense of dread in the day to day. It’s no wonder audiences crave light viewing to evade our dismal reality. Although this show is not trivial. It has purpose. It teaches us lessons in each 30-minute episode (why are there not more shows of this duration? I think streamer marketing teams should add ‘Can watch on your lunch break when working from home’ as a highly-browsable category). Ted Lasso is what we need right now. It leaves viewers looking at life auspiciously.

Ted, the fish-out-of-water from Kansas, is an emblem of optimism. It’s refreshing to see someone to be out of place on screen; to bumble through their day to day, to make mistakes. To be incredibly positive but suffer from poor mental health. Everybody knows at least one Ted Lasso. Everybody at some point has felt like Ted Lasso. I felt like Ted Lasso last month when I attempted to comprehend HMRC taxes and land at my PAYE code. (It’s actually a bit like the off-side rule: you don’t understand it unless you familiarise yourself with it for 2 hours a week and even then, the professionals still sometimes get it wrong.) The show normalises failure. It emphasises the importance of attitude. It shows us what is possible with belief. (My Lasso obsession has gone so far as to install a ‘Believe’ sign by our front door. It is mandatory for all guests to touch it on exit). Ted Lasso humanises clichés. It helps us to feel, all under the pretense of making us laugh. It’ll probably make you want to relocate to a quiet and humble life in Richmond. Though, there is nothing humble about having to become a millionaire to move there.

This show shoots, scores and comes out top of the league because it recognises humanity. No matter your genre or character preferences, your reason for viewing, or if you just bloody love football, you will leave this show firstly, a broken, and then, a better human. The only thing I think Ted is wrong about is his own show. In this case: It really is the hope that kills you.