Vol. 1, Issue No. 1: Why can't we all just be goldfish?
How do I take my discourse? Well, normally right back to the counter because there’s been a terrible mistake.
Slight spoiler warning: If you have yet to watch the available episodes of Ted Lasso season, proceed with caution.
Cultural discourse has evolved, and it’s stupid. Particularly as it relates to cultural debates. I like debate; I encourage debate, in fact. There is no culture without debate. For a long time, we’ve called our individual culture(s) “melting pots” because they’re made up of differing opinions and are melded together by disagreements and conversations. But discourse? Nah. Leave it at the door with your shoes and attitude.
The primary problem with discourse, as there are many, is its inherent ugliness, both as an evolving word and concept. It’s never actually all that spiriting, a la even the most run-of-the-mill debates. It is, instead, often wastefully dispiriting altogether. It rarely adds anything to an ongoing conversation, unless you value relentless killjoys and their penchant for screaming in the direction of the sky, demanding answers to questions that aren’t actually questions, but are merely the airing of preference-related qualms about *blank.* When The Snyder Cut came out, the loudest voices in the room weren’t those saying “you know, you can just watch something else if a four-hour remake of an already-terrible movie isn’t your cup of kryptonite.” They were saying “ZACK SNYDER IS AN ELITIST GARBAGE TROLL WHOSE WHITE PRIVILEGE” — (this part is true) — “GRANTED HIM THE UNWARRANTED OPPORTUNITY TO RUIN CINEMA AS WE KNOW IT WITH HIS SUPERHERO CABAL, AND WHILE WE’RE YELLING, F&%@ YOU HBO MAX.” In so many words.
So, no, of course we can’t just enjoy Ted Lasso — a show about an ever-cheery American football coach who’s been hired to coach the other football, for those who don’t know — for everything that it is. We must groan about its titular coach (Jason Sudeikis) and his peers being too optimistic, and then when they are the opposite, we must moan about the show being too much of a downer. And when AFC Richmond is playing soccer, we have to drone on about how the show shouldn’t be about soccer so much. Until they’re not playing soccer! Because then, we have to lambast the writers for dissecting characters rather than reimagining an FA Cup fixture with fictional members of Tottenham Hotspur. At this point, I’m not convinced there isn’t someone hiding in the dark, dusty bellows of the internet lamenting the fact that we haven’t seen Coach Lasso enter the club’s facilities with biscuits in tow since episode two of the second season, arguing that the show’s writers are inconsiderate to those who first whipped up a pastry made primarily of sugar and flour. (For those interested, you can subscribe to my other newsletter, brettgoldsteinhatesbakedgoods.substack.com anytime. It’s $29.99/month.)
Speaking of sugar: that’s where the dIsCoUrSe begins. Some of those who have taken issue with the series’ sophomore run have knocked it for being too sweet, with the loudest voices accusing the show of leveraging the praise it built up over a magical freshman run into a pedestrian second affair that tries and fails to fly beyond the sky. In simpler terms, they see it as lacking conflict, a show that is positing relentless positivity as its sole linchpin rather than the chief calling card among many. Which, basically, is like knocking Grey’s Anatomy for taking place in a hospital while also exploring the remarkably absurd sexual relationships between its doctors, or Survivor for taking place on an island and also having the nerve to explore the dichotomy between honesty and deception.
This is to say that most critics, if not all, are missing the point — and I say that with apologies to critics, though not really, because 83% of critics, myself included, suck. If the notion that Ted Lasso S2 is conflict-less and kind to a fault, and thus a resounding failure (or, as The Daily Show writer Daniel Radosh called it on Twitter, “the steepest decline from S1 to S2 in TV history”), feels shortsighted, perhaps that’s because it is. There’s plenty of conflict in Ted Lasso, across the board. What viewers — those that are specifically discourse participants — have taken issue with isn’t something the show is lacking, but how their expectations and comfort are being manipulated.
In just its second season, the show has dealt with racism, the plights of an unintentionally absent father, protest in sport, business ethics, economic misfortune, mental health (that’s the big one), and a bevy of others. And that’s just to summarize things broadly, thematically. Plot-wise, conflicts include Richmond legend Roy Kent’s (Brett Goldstein) professional identity crisis in retirement; team owner Rebecca’s (Hannah Waddingham) dating app relationship with a mystery man (now revealed to be Sam (Toheeb Jimoh), one of Richmond’s better players); Coach Beard’s toxic relationship; and everything Ted is going through personally and mentally.
Just as your Ted Lasso viewing experience has been masterfully manipulated by the incessant optimism of its titular character, it has additionally been misdirected by how the show’s conflicts are managed swiftly and with a treasure trove of dad’s finest jokes. And admittedly, I take issue with how flippant the show can be in its management of many of these more complicated ideas — especially the team’s united protest of its corporate sponsor, a pertinent social theme in modern sport that the show acknowledges and kindly sweeps under the rug moments later to make way for a Christmas episode. But to suggest that these conflicts and points of intrigue fail to exist at all is an observational failure unto itself. Many of these complainants loved season one and itched for its giddy hopefulness when it ended. Now, they’re shocked to find that optimism reigns supreme while other themes exist secondarily? What else would you expect from a show about a chipper gaffer who believes in ghosts, but primarily hopes they believe in themselves?
To criticize Ted Lasso for staying true to its key principles and themes is like telling off a Brit for their fondness toward tea. And while “hot brown water” certainly isn’t Ted’s cup of… well, tea, you don’t see him walking around vomiting complaints into oblivion while those around him continue sipping away. Were people expecting more soccer? It’s a mistake if so; most “sports shows” (think Friday Night Lights, Glow, or even One Tree Hill, for crying out loud) involve sports, but are hardly about them. Sport is a device in those narratives, not a crutch, and the former is exactly what Ted Lasso has used it as. It’s a show that can be enjoyed even if you don’t know the first thing about English football. My mother knows that I root for Tottenham Hotspur, and my brother, Manchester United, but beyond that, she wouldn’t know West Ham from West Brom. She still texts us her weekly reviews of the show “about” AFC Richmond, most of which are laden with emojis corresponding to her feelings on that week’s episode, many of which are passionate and positive.
I asked in the title of this piece why we can’t all just be goldfish, the animal Ted loves to remind people is the happiest in the world because of its 10-second memory. That’s not realistic, as it’s simply not how the human mind is wired; we like to nurse our qualms and coax them to the point where they develop into something so infuriating we can hardly keep it in. I mean, look at what I’ve done for the last 1,000-plus words. I’ve yabbered on about my feelings on this matter, ultimately showing my hand as someone in a camp from which I am defending the show. A show that, if personified and face with opposition, would likely just offer you a hug.
Again, though: we rarely hold back, and as much as we might with our family or our peers, when it comes to feelings on something publically consumed, we rarely bottle anything up. Humans would rather scream into the ether about their comfort being warped and garner nary a response than remain silent in their own head, where at least there is one listener, nevermind that its their own self. It just so happens that Ted Lasso, somehow, became a lightning rod of popular culture. And no matter how much I preach about letting it go and basking in imperfection — being a goldfish, if you will — people will forever remain protective of their comforts, thus embarking on a (dis)course toward even a mild form of rage, just because it makes them feel uneasy, uncertain.
I like how Alison Herman phrased it for The Ringer:
[People] don’t take kindly to the suggestion that their comfort may be cheaply bought, even when the explicit message of the source is to be kind. For now, Ted Lasso is reluctant to let sparks fly. That hasn’t stopped the rest of us from picking up the slack.
And I like what The Daily Beast’s Kevin Fallon had to say, too.
Society loves nothing more than to give oxygen to the killjoys, allowing them to continue their pattern of arson, burning down all the things that people love. Success and adoration turns anything beloved into a target, and here is a show that received almost unparalleled acclaim, is about to win a truckload of Emmys next month, and, more, did all that with the audacity of being about niceness. Everyone involved might as well have poured gasoline over themselves and handed the inevitable haters their match.
With this particular entity, my match remains tucked away. There’s no justification for it to be lit, let alone unsheathed. At one point during the show’s first season, Ted asks his star player (and resident jackass), Jamie Tartt, what he would rather be: a lion, or a panda? Jamie responds, “Coach, I’m me. Why would I want to be anything else?” Ted responds, “I’m not sure you realize how psychologically healthy that actually is.” The combination of their sentiments feel particularly relevant. Why ask a show to be something it isn’t? Perhaps it can do things differently, but to your liking, or mine? It better not. It’s probably best to be a goldfish, but not if it forces you to reevaluate the benefits of being yourself. Discourse may exist no matter what, but drowning it out to preserve your natural state is the important thing.
Obviously, I’m aware of that, given the fact that I just spent an inordinate amount of words typing all about it.
Consumption Corner
I (somehow) find time to read a lot, watch a lot, and listen to a lot throughout my weeks here on the internet. Consumption Corner is where I’ll recommend some of the things I enjoyed the most. They may be old, or they may be new, but from shows to films to books, I figure the least I can do is lend some insight into the things that make me the cultured young man that I am.
What I couldn't (and didn’t) wait to read: The Roy’s Summer in Italy, by Hunter Harris (Vulture) — For one, Succession is always the best show on television whenever it’s on, and this piece on its prepatory process as season three looms was absolutely delicious. But also, for what it’s worth (news flash: a ton), Hunter Harris is a bona fide genius. You’d be doing yourself a disservice not to read it, which is why the first 20 minutes of my Monday morning were spent doing exactly that.
What I couldn’t stop watching: Mike White’s The White Lotus, which is as brilliant as it is biting. White — one of my favorite Survivor contestants in years, by the by — has a glorious little character study here. But even more so, he has a six episode tension fest where the wealthy attendees of a glorious Hawaiian resort methodically become the misfortunate, and the viewer almost immediately becomes a tourist at said resort. Only they’re merely a guest in the sense that they get to watch shit hit the fan from the bar with a drink in hand. What a life.
(Oh, that and New Girl. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a good movie, so TV has been dominating the docket. That reminds me, though, I did see Old. And as Schmidt says, “Hey, M. Night Shyamalan. I’ve got a twist ending for you: Shut up!”)
What I haven’t been able to put down: But What If We’re Wrong? by Chuck Klosterman. FYI — we are. I’m convinced because Chuck tends to have this knack for making sure we know that we’re wrong, but not letting us feel like shit after learning such information. It helps that he’s one of the better thinkers to ever put pen to page, and definitely one of the most daring to ever think aloud for millions of people to consider.
And finally… what else I’ve written lately:
How Tom Thibodeau can avoid the one-hit wonder distinction (The Knicks Wall)
What more does Kawhi Leonard have to prove? (Clips Nation)
This newsletter. Thanks, everyone. Back here next Thursday.
A goodbye tweet: