The Big Dork-Dad Energy of Ted Lasso

“Good riddance, Ted Lasso!” I saw this headline in The Guardian all but guaranteeing I was going to click on it.

Over the course of its three short seasons Ted Lasso won hearts but, also, apparently, made a few mortal enemies. I shouldn’t be surprised. It was inevitable. We’re not designed to blithely embrace things because they are popular or trendy or even good for us—a principle proven out by seat belt laws. And people will find a way to deride just about anything. That viral clip of a gorilla cuddling a tiny duckling? DUCKS CARRY DISEASES! @notakaren42 type-yells in the comments section. Some days I think we deserve to be overtaken by those horrifying Boston Dynamic robot dogs.

The Guardian is known for sneering at everything with a certain amount of gusto (“Oxygen? Overrated dreck.”), but the whole “good riddance” thing in reference to a heart-warming show with America’s new, lovable favorite dad (sorry Tom Hanks!) seemed a bit aggressive, even by grumpy British standards.

The writer of the piece, Sian Cain, found Ted Lasso an unmitigated television disaster. It was an insufferable three seasons of “meaningless rubbish” with “inept plotting” and jokes that didn’t land and didn’t work. Additionally, Cain wrote, it was messy and boring and jaw-grindingly nice. Wow. I found Cain’s vitriol inspired and terribly funny. Grinches gotta be grinching and every trash can needs its resident Grouch. So committed to her dislike for the show, Cain didn’t even catch the irony: she’s exactly the kind of cynical character Ted Lasso would eventually win over with his unassuming homespun guile. I guess that messy, inept joke is on you, lady.

Ted Lasso had me at “howdy,” which is exactly the kind of cheeky reference this show would use to make you smile and roll your eyes and smile some more. This was part of the show’s secret sauce: charming dorkery. Jason Sudekis in the role of Ted Lasso made an artform of corniness that dads have been laboring over since the first caveman put a work thing before his kid’s basketball game.

As a rule, dads are notoriously uncool. Five out of five kids agree. Exceptions to this may include Bruce Willis, Clint Eastwood (he is too scary to be anything but cool), Gregory Peck, and Stevie Wonder. Stevie has nine children from various marriages and probably doesn’t have much time to fully develop his dorkabilities. There is a considerable stretch of childhood where your dad is viewed as something to be tolerated. He is a money-dispensing-ride-sharing-food-distribution unit that should not be seen or heard or consulted with in any other circumstances but the ones where he is performing his required functions.

An adolescent’s rules for fathers is as follows:

Do not talk to my friends. Do not even look at my friends. Do not exist when my friends are in a 3-mile radius. Do not try and bond with me or teach me some life lesson via one of your lame, old person hobbies like furniture restoration or grilling or playing acoustic guitar (I don’t care about whoever Rob Dylan was, God, shut up already!) Do NOT even think about trying to talk to me about “who I like” or “if we are just friends.” EVER. EW! GROSS! YOU ARE THE WORST! And if I ever hear the word “sexting” come out of your mouth in your dumb effort to “connect” or, like, whatever, so help me I will tell Alexa to change every password in this house every week from now until when I leave for college

The dad track is not an easy one to maneuver in real life or on TV. Ted Lasso took a big risk centering father-child dynamics and exploring the complicated layers of identity that comes with being a father. And it did so in ways that felt honest and real. Ted was not a perfect father figure. Over the course of the show he had to confront trauma and process profound sadness, regret, and grief. He had to reconcile the way his strengths—his capacity for empathy and compassion—also left him open to pain and criticism. By embracing his big dork dad energy, Ted made a different kind of masculinity permissible. One that centered sensitivity, emotional expression, and self-worth based on character, not arcane bullshit credos of toxic masculinity like power and dominance.

Goofy awkwardness is really just a dad’s survival strategy during that timeframe where your kid wants nothing to do with you, but you also can’t afford to take your eye off that ball of alien hormones, unfortunate fashion choices, and sharply honed arrogance. Those years when your child is Scully to your Mulder: “I want to believe, Dad, but everything you say and do is ludicrous.” In that Guardian article, the writer called Ted Lasso “unobtrusive television” and she meant it as an insult. I see it as the perfect illustration of that fine line dads have to walk between control and independence. The dorkifiable dad elements are subterfuge, a kind of fatherly invisibility cloak that allows him to pass harmlessly through your adolescent life while also being there for the crucial catch when you stumble.

I do not envy people who identify as fathers. There’s so much we don’t talk about when it comes to fatherhood. Moms get to have their struggles embroidered on tote bags and entire product lines devoted to supporting their “journeys.” Dads get something called a “man cave,” a secretive multi-purpose space like a quarter of the garage or the basement annex between the washer/dryer and oil burner where they presumably drink beer with other dads and talk about that one fishing or hunting trip or sports thing they did as a kid with their dads while trying not to make eye contact. At least that’s what a lot of books, TV, and media portrays. But now we have Ted Lasso inviting us to believe that there’s more to it all for dads and kids, that it can look a lot differently if we’re up to the challenge to make it so.  

My own dad was there and also not there. He died when I was 18, which is not a long time at all, especially when you take into account that for a chunk of those years I was very committed to the craft of being “an enormous jerk” to both of my parents. I mean, they were, like, so, stupid, and DIDN’T GET ME AT ALL! (slams bedroom door hard enough to jiggle the Phantom of the Opera poster on the wall. Who was the bigger dork in my family? Rhetorical question.) My dad was a little imposing and came off as stoic, coiled deeply within himself. He was always somewhat apart from the rest of us. He did not want to be bothered while reading the paper or watching TV or standing around near his tool bench in the garage rearranging the baby food jars of nails and screws. He was a mystery in a lot of ways, and I think that’s the bigger tragedy than losing him at such a young age.

But then there would be these moments when he’d break character. My friend and I would be playing Barbies in my bedroom, completely absorbed in all the pink and plastic and so much hair brushing. She and I would be chattering like a couple of squirrels, doing our dolls’ voices and playing out stories. Then from the doorway a baritone voice: “Ken is a dink.” And in the split second it took us to look up, my dad would have already vanished down the hall leaving no trace but the flash of a blue flannel shirt and the faint scent of Old Spice. My friend laughed because a grown-up said “dink!” I rolled my eyes. My dad. Uggh. Such a dork.

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Lens Zen!

Knock, knock! It’s the doors! And that is exactly how I would have introduced Jim and the guys on Ed Sullivan years ago. Wasted opportunity. Where is my time machine? I love doors. They have so much character and style, and they can really make a statement about the house. Windows eyes to the soul and all of that—doors are the whole house face. They are expressive, but can also feel enigmatic. What’s happening on the other side? What will I find when I walk through? Maybe a happy family or maybe a meeting between two spies! Secret knocks only! Tell no one.  

Natasha! Meet at safe house on Mulberry Lane. The one with the chips and good humus. What is that makes so tasty? Maybe bit of garlic? We discuss! Use secret knock of “Under Pressure” song by super group the Queen and David Bowie. Tell no one! Yours, Boris ©SheilaMoeschenPhotography

Boris! I am at safe house on Elm. Little Boris Jr. duckling refuse to wear cute cowboy hat for Instagram post. It is hard working with influencer! Need different costume change. No secret knock, but please to whistle theme song from beloved television show The Cheers. Tell no one! Yours, Natasha ©SheilaMoeschenPhotography

Natasha! Elm St. house wifi is down! I told we should have upgraded to the 5Gs! Meet at Cousin Ivan’s on Grove Ave. He has the HBO Max with the Sex City Just Like That show. You know from quiz I am a Miranda! No whistle, but please to recite stirring Morgan Freeman monologue from 1994 hit The Shawshank Redemption. Also bring good humus! Tell no one! Yours, Boris ©SheilaMoeschenPhotography