Ted Lasso: a Jovial Exploration into the Brutality of Sport

Part 1

A bit of cultural theory

By now, the term toxic masculinity is a familiar swimmer in our cultural waters.  And the term is useful enough.  It denotes the pathetic but violent phenomenon of boys-being-boys, men being arrogant and selfish jerks, uninspected gender narcissism and entitlement, and, deplorably, the terrorism of sexual assault.  Behaviors resulting from this mindset range from the asinine of mansplaining to the atrocity of rape and murder.

To my mind, a more useful and nuanced term for this conduct is hegemonic masculinity.  And while the word hegemony, at first blush, sounds like quite the egghead term, in fact it’s a straightforward and indispensable concept to have in your critical toolbox.  Basically, hegemony means how one person or group possesses and maintains power over another person or group.  Think of economically and militarily strong nations holding sway over weaker nations.  Think of the rich controlling the lives of the poor.  Think of bosses bossing workers, of teachers grading students, of parents disciplining children, and on and on.  Both the idea and the experience of hegemony exist everywhere in a society.

When applied to male behavior, hegemony signals that mode of maleness, within any given cultural circumstance, that is favored and thus dominates over all other forms of male comportment.  (PLEASE NOTE: gender is a complex affair that will be examined often and closely in numerous Rants, so don’t be impatient with me if I can’t touch on all of its many aspects in a single go.  Many thanks!)  What I want to stress in particular is the idea of multiple and competing forms of masculinity.  There is no single type of masculinity.  Nor is there one masculine mode that has always dominated or that will always dominate all others.  Manly ideals shift and mutate subject to time, place, and situation.  What this means is that various masculinities are always vying for supremacy, contending to be, potentially, the hegemonic mode.  These masculinities include all sorts of behaviors, some toxic and others not so much and still others not at all.

The really interesting news, then, about hegemonic masculinity is that whatever manifestation of maleness currently sits atop the heap, well, it’s temporary (although it may seem depressingly permanent and sturdily entrenched).  That dominant brand of masculinity is ever under pressure from all the other masculine brands seeking to oust and to replace it.  Given that toxic masculinity is generally seen as the current form of hegemonic masculinity, its instability should come as good news.  (Well, as good news to all but the toxically masculine, of course.)  No matter how shitty a lot of men—and women—learn how to act, it doesn’t have to be that way.

Along with hegemonic masculinity, let me add another key concept before we take a look at Ted Lasso.  The phenomenon I have in mind is called internalizing the oppressor.  It works hand-in-hand with hegemonic masculinity (as well as with many other kinds of social dominance) as a way to preserve the status quo.  Although another fancy-sounding term, internalizing the oppressor is grasped easily enough as a notion because it shapes us all.

Put simply, internalizing the oppressor means taking on the attributes, beliefs, and behaviors of the person or group who has social power over you.  As we grow up, we’re prone to emulate, before we know any better, the models of social “success” (dominance and power) we see around us.  As a result, it’s quite possible to become or to want to be, more or less unknowingly, just like the people who, in fact, control you.  If you’re lucky enough to be born into the dominant class, this process is merely taking up your social inheritance because it seems “normal” to you.  If you’re unlucky enough to be born outside of the power group, you might find yourself paradoxically idolizing the very folks who, in reality, are keeping you down.  Who might be tormenting and demeaning you.  Who could be making you doubt and even hate yourself.

Remember that clique of popular kids in 7^th grade you so painfully weren’t part of?  Gosh, you sure wished you were—right?  Until maybe years later when you saw what duds most of them turned out to be.

It’s miserable to suffer at the hands of an oppressor.  One possible solution—if you can manage it—is to become one yourself.  That way, you can finally deflect that pain and make those less powerful than you suffer.  Isn’t that what going through a fraternity initiation is all about—making that delicious transition from hazee to hazer?  Isn’t that what climbing just about any kind of social ladder largely is about?  In Ted Lasso, we see examples of this phenomenon at work in conjunction with hegemonic masculinity.  One instance in particular is agonizing to watch.

Applying this bit of cultural theory

I think it no stretch to say that the Apple TV+ series Ted Lasso is founded on the conflict of contending masculinities.  This charming dramatic comedy/comedic drama is a gladiatorial pit of manhavior.  Like the military and the boardroom, sport is a realm dominated by male dominance.  In our patriarchal and capitalist society, sport, and especially professional sport, is one of the primary cultural habitats for hegemonic masculinity.  The creators of Ted Lasso make full use of this social reality.

Like soldiers and business executives, players are expected to be cut-throat, killers, tough guys, aggressors (to include heterosexually), sure of themselves to the point of swagger, and most of all winners.  Like Generals and CEOs, coaches must be hard-ass, demanding, intolerant of weakness or mistake, daring tacticians routinely displaying brilliance, and most of all winners.  Like martial and corporate manliness, sporting manliness demands blood—a bit of your own, but all of your opponent’s.  Like it or not, the very turf of sport is one of he-man competitive brutality.

So how does a goofball like Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis) or a sweetheart like Sam Obisanya (Toheeb Jimoh) fit in?  Well, let’s survey the pitch.

The characters who most display the attributes of hegemonic masculinity are rising superstar Jamie Tartt (Phil Dunster) and filthy rich AFC Richmond owner Rupert Mannion (Anthony Head).  Jamie is a mesmerizing portrait of the stereotypical football striker: brash, supremely talented, wholly self-absorbed on and off the pitch, not too bright—in short, a jerk ingénue.  But young-bucks like Jamie score goals, so you put up with them.  In his dominant manliness, Rupert is more than a jerk.  He’s a blatant asshole, one made supremely arrogant by his wealth and position.  He connives in his business dealings and in his womanizing.  He relishes being smug and cruel to all those he considers his inferiors—which is to say, everyone.  There is nothing to recommend Rupert as a human.  He’s an insufferable asshole.  But, as often happens, insufferable assholes own sports franchises.  Thus, as a baseline for dominant male behavior in Ted Lasso, Jamie and Rupert are our Men.

Two characters clearly embodying alternative, non-dominant forms of masculinity are Ted and Sam.  Neither live up to macho ideals.  That’s why they’re so likeable.

Ted is a homespun, jokey, nice-guy who is the antithesis of the hardboiled coach.  He cares more about the development of his players as people than he does about his win-loss record.  He advocates for camaraderie over individuality, promoting in his players a belief in working for the common good of the team.  He is self-effacing, open to new ideas, and happy to give credit to others.  Geez Louise, Ted even bakes cookies for his boss.  On top of all this, Ted is respectful toward everyone—doggedly so toward women—and strives to be a devoted dad.  It’s just easy as darn pie to like Coach Lasso.

Yet, at the same time, Ted is no pure fool.  Despite being incredibly out of his depth as a college American football coach (Division II no less) come to coach actual football in the English Premier League (arguably the best professional football played in the world), Ted is no mere innocent abroad or simple foil to the ugly virility going on around him.  Ted is a savvy reader of people.  He understands how to get through to his players in order to enable them to play their best.  And he’s not above exploiting his folksy persona as a way to encourage adversaries to underestimate him, thus gaining the advantage.  In a mano a mano showdown with the male hegemon (fancy word for Top Dog) of the show, Ted humiliates Rupert at his own game of darts in the local pub (S1.E8).

Nor is Ted a flat character, just a one-dimensional Good Guy for us to cheer on.  We see Ted grappling with his own demons in the form of a painful divorce and a father who took his own life when Ted was a teen.  Clearly, Coach Lasso does not have all the answers.  In fact, he also uses his chatter-box facade as a way to deflect these dark life issues, as sports psychologist Dr. Sharon Fieldstone (Sarah Niles) uncovers in Season 2.  All of these qualities make Ted a nicely rounded and believable character.  In turn, this authenticity makes it possible for us to view Ted as not just a desirable alternative to the hegemonic masculinity of Rupert or Jamie, but as a viable alternative as well.  Much of the plotline and upshot of Ted Lasso involves Ted modeling how to be, not a perfect, but a Better Man.

And his example is working.  Sam is a key beneficiary of Ted’s improved form of masculinity.

Sam is a young and talented player, but one lacking in confidence.  As a coach, Ted immediately recognizes this obstacle and goes to work.  When it comes to making mistakes on the pitch, he advises Sam to have a memory as short as that of a goldfish (S1.E2).  More than coaching techniques, though, Sam is impressed with the way Ted goes about his work and his life.  Sam admires Coach Lasso’s kindness, his humor, his patience, his honesty.  Sam understands and can thrive in the new and collaborative team culture Ted hopes to foster at AFC Richmond.  Obviously, it’s an atmosphere opposite to the toxicity of the squad dominated by Jamie Tartt.

Yet Sam becomes no mere devotee of Ted.  Ted merely opens up space for Sam to develop into his own man.  For example, Sam returns the toy army man Ted gives him for his birthday, saying, “Do you mind if I don’t keep this?  I don’t have the same fondness for the American military that you do.”  Sam cites “imperialism” as his reason (S1.E2).  Similarly, early in Season 2, Sam goes out on his own to declare his commitment to social justice.  He instigates a player protest against Dubai Air, the corporate sponsor of the club, because its parent company is destroying the environment of Sam’s home country, Nigeria (S2.E3).  There are few moves riskier in professional sport than for a player to bite the corporate hand that feeds the team.  But Sam is on a journey to becoming his own version of a Better Man.  By the end of Season 2, Sam is very much on his way.  He rises to the status of a star player, resists the manipulative wooing of billionaire Edwin Akufo to leave AFC Richmond, enters into a mutual and caring (yet also precarious) relationship with club owner Rebecca Welton, and decides to open his own Nigerian restaurant in London.  Not bad for a nice kid from Nigeria.

Moreover, of course, extremely significantly, and without a doubt, the most telling Better Man Event taking place in Ted Lasso is the redemption of Jamie Tartt (doo-doo doo-doo doo-doooo) from woeful dipshit to thinking young man.  In this transfor-man-tion, Ted and Sam play vital roles.  Ted applies coaching tough-love to spur Jamie toward being that great player who makes the extra pass (S1.E5).  Equally, Ted puts his coaching neck on the line by bringing Jamie back to Richmond just when the team is starting to gel as a unit (S2.E3).  In that same episode, Jamie discovers, in no uncertain terms, that the Greyhound team culture has changed radically while he was away.  In Jamie’s first practice back, Sam takes out the showoff superstar with a hard tackle.  Smiling down at him sweetly, Sam tells Jamie “don’t bring that weak garbage my way.”  The Richmond pitch is now Sam’s domain.  By the end of the episode, Jamie joins Sam’s protest against Dubai Air, a gesture of solidarity that sparks the entire team to join in.  At that moment, Jamie puts himself on a path to becoming a better teammate by working to become a Better Man.

Yet Ted Lasso is not just a feel-good show about a promising New Manliness coming to the fore.  The story being told is more complicated than that.  As pointed out above, masculinity takes many forms depending on many factors.  Jamie’s is a sports and English working class variety of hegemonic masculinity that’s quite distinct from Rupert’s entrepreneurial and English upper crust hegemonic masculinity.  Ted as an American nice guy is very different from Sam as a Nigerian nice guy.  More than just Bad or Good male behaviors populate the show.

Two characters who display a noteworthy mix of hegemonic and alternative masculine traits are Roy Kent (Brett Goldstein) and Coach Beard (Brendan Hunt).  Both roles are played by actors who are also writers and creators of the show.

Roy is a footballer’s footballer and Premier League legend who is at the end of his career.  Angry and intimidating, at first look he seems the paragon of a Man’s Man.  Tough, no-nonsense, deeply competitive, Roy presents himself as a manly force of nature—one who fucking swears as readily as he fucking breathes.  But Roy harbors a softer side, too.  One that survived a rough upbringing in the poor sections of London.  One that endured the death of a beloved grandfather just when young Roy needed him most.  One that is a fierce protector and surrogate father to his darling little niece, Phoebe (Elodie Blomfield).  One that enjoys doing yoga with a group of older ladies who have no idea of his celebrity status.  One that feels a profound love of and respect for the sport of football.  This is the side of Roy that Keeley Jones (Juno Temple) falls in love with after dumping idiot boyfriend, Jamie Tartt.

In maybe the most moving moment of the first two seasons of Ted Lasso, it is this kind and gentle Roy who gives Jamie an enveloping and consoling man-hug after the young player is humiliated, in front of the whole team, by his horrible father, James Tartt (Kieran O'Brien; S2.E8).  This generous and compassionate act comes in spite of the fact that Roy dearly hates the young and stupid upstart.  When Jamie breaks into tears, Roy even relents the closed-fisted nature of the man-hug to embrace Jamie tighter and with open palms.  Very non-hegemonic-manly stuff in the sporting world.

Yet Roy is equal-part dominant-man-minded.  Nowhere is this more in evidence than when he tells Ted, point-blank, that Ted has ruined Jamie’s game.  “You made him a team player,” Roy growls.  “You’ve got him to pass and shit.  And in doing so, you’ve made him average.”  Roy knows that Jamie’s gift as a footballer is being “a prick”—that supremely talented, infuriating, selfish jerk of a striker nobody can stand unless he’s scoring goals for your side.  Roy’s coaching advice is that Jamie needs to get back to goal scoring and getting in the heads of opposing players.  When Jamie asks, hopefully, if this means he can “go back to being a prick,” Roy tempers things as only a sage veteran of the game can.  “No,” Roy explains, “I’m saying sometimes, when it is appropriate...yes, be a prick.”  Roy will give him a signal when it’s appropriate for Jamie to toggle into hegemonic prick mode (S2.E6).  As much as Ted or Sam, and maybe more, Roy is responsible for bringing Jamie toward the light of being an improved male.

Coach Beard gives Ted a similar but even harsher dressing-down.  Although Richmond faces relegation to the lower league, and although the aging Roy is underperforming on the pitch, Ted refuses to bench the team’s captain.  As is his philosophy, Ted puts caring for the personal welfare of his players above winning.  And by the end of Season 1, Coach Beard has heard enough of this approach to coaching.  “I’m sick of it,” he fumes at Ted in the pub.  “Look, I understood this mission when we were in Kansas.  But those were kids and these are professionals and winning does matter to them.  And it matters to me.  And that’s okay.”  In other words, developing fine young men is all well and good and admirable at the college level.  But not in pro sport.  That mission is different.  “How do you not get it?” truth-tells Ted’s assistant coach.  “Losing has repercussions.  We lose, we get relegated.  We get relegated, this is over and we will have built nothing.  And if you wanna pick a player’s feelings over a coach’s duty to make a point...I don’t wanna drink with someone that selfish” (S1.E9).

As if to confirm this manly display, Coach Beard’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, Jane (Phoebe Walsh), leaps into his arms as he’s storming away and coos, “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”  Obviously, the quirky Coach Beard is no lunkheaded hegemonic male.  He reads erudite books, is deep into chess, and serves as the tactical brain trust behind Ted’s unlikely venture into English football.  However, like Roy, Coach Beard understands perfectly well when it’s appropriate to “be a prick” and when it’s not.  It would seem that Coach Lasso has a thing or two to learn from this pair of hybrid-behaving males.

NEXT WEEK: To be concluded in Part 2!