Ted Lasso: I tried but in the end I just didn’t believe

When I was 12 someone loaned me a VHS of 1980s documentary Spinal Tap. However, Spinal Tap isn’t a documentary, it’s a ‘mockumentary’. No-one told me. I was just getting into music, and when I pushed the chunky cassette into our VHS player I seriously believed I was about to watch a documentary about an iconic rock band called Spinal Tap. 

I hated it and turned off after about ten minutes, not understanding what I was watching. When I later revisited Spinal Tap as an adult I think a bit of wee came out during the ‘Stone Henge’ scene. Viewed in the correct context, it’s seminal comedy. 

Before I sat down to watch Ted Lasso I was obviously aware it wasn’t a legit documentary but I was hoping for an element of realism to back up Apple’s slick, sharp and clearly high budget show for which trailers started appearing during lockdown. Scenes were filmed at a proper Premier League ground, kits looked authentic, there was good music and oh look, the butler from Downtown Abbey is in it. We wrote about it in the pages FourFourTwo magazine, and online, interviewing several members of the cast, including Jason Sudakis.

Like so many shows it remained saved on my Apple TV+ list for a while. But gradually, the talk about Ted was impossible to ignore. People whose opinions I genuinely respected raved about this show. It was being whispered in the same sentences as Friends, Seinfeld, and The Office (all of which I adore). Finally, when I sat down with it late last year, what I watched was too contrived for me to take.

One review of the latest season said that to better appreciate Ted Lasso you need to forget everything you know about football. Bingo. 

I love the show’s sentiment (I’m generally a very positive person), a joke properly lands in almost every scene of Season One (xJ rating through the roof). But I couldn’t get over things like Juno Temple’s perma Vicky Pollard impersonation, fake crowds, scenes with hairy blokes in pubs wearing AFC Richmond scarfs shouting at televisions. The cringey, predictable thawing of ice man Roy Kent gave me back spasms. The "we can win or lose as long as we're all friends” messaging. The whole thing is so sugary it actually put me in full Ebenezer Roy Keane mode.

There's just something off. There’s no rules or boundaries. What Premier League club lets people unconnected to the club barge in off the street and into owners offices and the dressing room? What club has a haunted treatment room? (Probably Leeds). The football scenes are too clunky, extras look more Garry from accounts playing 5-a-side. (In fairness, no TV show or film has ever managed to get football scenes right apart from The Damned United, which came close). 

I’m aware I’m missing the wider point of Ted Lasso, but come on! A dog mascot being killed on the pitch during a game? That was the moment I unsubscribed. Even a fictional world has to function to a certain degree. Especially on Ted Lasso where the tone veers radically from stupidly silly to deadly serious. Too much in Ted’s world doesn’t make sense.

The plot sees Ted win players, owners and fans over. The show has won audiences and critics over (11 Emmy awards and a score of 92% on Rotten Tomatoes), and many believe it's among the best football TV shows or films ever. The cast have had an audience with President Joe Biden in the Oval Office, and AFC Richmond have been built into FIFA 23. Am I missing something? Of course, because I do have a soul, I like Ted the character. I basically pitched the idea for a FourFourTwo magazine Lasso cover because I know how loved and recognisable he is, and selling copies of our magazine helps me pay for my Apple TV+ subscription. 

I recognise too that the timing of Season One meant Ted was a warm, comforting friend to many who felt isolated or anxious during lockdown. Clearly there’s deeper themes at play than Ted tripping over the offside law, spitting out English tea (“garbage water”) and struggling with the concept of a ‘ties’ in football. Jason Sudekis’ character confronts masculinity out loud and deals with mental illness and relationship trauma in a male dominated arena. But his lessons are dialled up to 11. Which, as you know, is one louder than any other show.

I haven’t watched any of Season Three, the latest and apparently last instalment, but I hear Nate the kit man tactician is in charge of West Ham, Paul Merson has made a cameo and Ted has taken AFC Richmond on a team building tour of London’s sewer system. My brain hurts.

I know I’m not the only one who has a complicated relationship with Ted. If the footballing aspect was more authentic, would it impede the heartwarming messages and gags? I guess we’ll never know. The show is polarisng. People I know who hate niceness LOVE IT. I like niceness, but I just can’t get onboard the Ted train.

Maybe one day, when I’m older and less cynical, I’ll settle down with my grandkids and embark on a rewatch that produces a Spinal Tap-esq turnaround for me.

I feel bad for not enjoying Ted Lasso, but knowing him, I’m sure he would understand.