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chainofclovers · 3 years ago

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Ted Lasso 2x9 thoughts

It’s no secret that I absolutely adore Coach Beard; he’s one of my favorite characters on the show, and he’s so well-written and well-acted that somehow I tend to be both perfectly satisfied with the details we see and truly curious to understand more about the way he thinks, what’s really happening re: his professional and personal devotion to Ted, where he comes from and where he’s going. I don’t need to know his name beyond the name he wants to be called, but I want to know why we don’t have any other names for him. And I don’t need him to be a bigger focal point of every episode, but I very much needed this episode’s world-exploding reminder that every single character on this show has a rich inner life, full of joys and troubles.

“Beard After Hours” is like a movie, but one that scatters its climaxes and puts off its resolutions...because it’s not a movie. It’s episode nine of a twelve-episode season of TV. When the episode ended, I felt this almost frantic “But he needed to break up with Jane for good before the end of the episode!” feeling. I was so pulled in by the idea of being able to tell an entire story in one night, of going on an odyssey alongside a complicated hero, that watching Beard and Jane find each other in that club felt as intense as the fact that we don’t know if Ted responded to Rebecca’s voicemail and we don’t know what’s going to happen with Rebecca and Sam and we don’t know who isn’t getting married and who is having a funeral in 2x10 (I mean, I have my strong suspicions, but still!) and we don’t know if Richmond will be promoted back to the Premier League. And on and on. I didn’t mind feeling desperate for the story to resolve even though I understood after thinking about it for ten seconds that of course it couldn’t resolve yet. Or ever. Or yet.

I’m a big fan of the TL episode recaps/reviews Linda Holmes writes for NPR, and I have to quote something from this week’s directly because it so perfectly explains my feelings:

The power of the scene where Beard dances in the club isn't that it's a beautiful romantic climax. It's that it's an explanation of why he cannot seem to extricate himself from this bad relationship. What makes the worst relationships so dangerous is that they have elements that feel good that are very hard to get elsewhere. Beard knows that; he tells it to God. What's concerning isn't that Jane makes the world seem more interesting; what's concerning is she's the only thing that does. That doesn't take away from the joy of the dancing; it just tells you that even happiness is complicated.

I love Holmes’ perspective here so much, because it articulates something I was struggling to figure out: how it can feel so legitimate, like such a (temporary but nonetheless powerful) relief, for Beard to find Jane in that club and to have this moment of euphoria as his night nears an end. How it is possible to experience that relief on behalf of a character while fervently wishing it could end differently, because it’s so clear from the abusive text messages and the toxic calls and the manipulative interactions that Jane is terrible to him and they’re terrible for each other. But Beard knows this. He knows it when he hugs Higgins in the parking lot after Higgins is honest with him in a way Ted and Rebecca and Keeley have not learned how to be, and he knows it when part of his prayer includes the clear articulation that Jane isn’t the cure for what “ails me.” He’s inching closer to greater self-knowledge just as Ted is.

And the two big resolutions that really, really needed to happen did. I didn’t know I needed Paul, Baz, and Jeremy to get to wrap up their own night out on the pitch at Nelson Road, but I did. It brought actual tears to my eyes. And the other resolution was Beard showing up with the other coaches’ coffees for their meeting to watch the game film. As interesting as it would have been to see what Ted would have done if Beard hadn’t shown up, I’m so, so glad that he did. He’s got a messed-up face and some truly epic pants on, but otherwise this is just Beard showing up for work, showing up for his friends. It was incredible to realize that Beard and Ted haven’t been exaggerating when they’ve referred to his sex-and-drug proclivities in the past. The night documented in 2x9 might have been particularly scary and violent and euphoric and awful and meaningful, but this type of all-night adventure isn’t a foreign concept for this guy. In all the other episodes of this show, when we see Beard we’re seeing someone who might have been out all night, who might have spent the hours the sun was down desperately pushing himself closer to whatever edges he could find.

I don’t really want to touch upon all the allusions in this episode. They are abundant, they are well-documented, and also I haven’t even seen the movie After Hours. I enjoyed this episode for its allusive qualities and I enjoyed this episode for what it was and I feel like I have to be at peace with the fact that I’m never going to pick up on every single reference on this show and that is okay.

So, yeah, if this entry on my tumblr dot com blog seems remarkably devoid of references and allusions, it’s not because I’m not into it but because I find it too overwhelming to actually write about.

Very into the Misplaced and Discovered box at the Crown and Anchor. (That’s what Mae wrote on the Lost and Found box at the pub, right? Whatever it is, it’s so funny.)

Beard hallucinating Thierry Henry and Gary Lineker was truly upsetting and a great indicator not only of how broken things are between the Richmond coaching staff right now but also how deep Beard’s self-loathing might go. If you’d asked me before Thursday if I thought Beard loathed himself, I would say no. That deepening of knowledge alone makes 2x9 worth it.

James Tartt and his friends in the alley. Such a nightmare. I go back and forth on how much of the night was real, and part of me has decided all of it is, short of the images of Henry and Lineker. (And even that is real to the extent that it was a way of articulating what was in Beard’s head.) But watching Beard in physical danger brought on by the same abuser who had him so upset in the first place. It was a lot.

I’m so excited that Paul and Jeremy and Baz got some spotlight this episode. It was so wonderful to see them out of the pub. I love that they ended up telling the Oxford snots who they really were. They got to see Beard going to bat for them and smoothing over the situation socially, and that actually made it more possible for them to end up being truthful about themselves. Because they have nothing to be ashamed of, and they deserved the magic of that night. (And for it to end on Nelson Road. Every feeling. Oof.)

I feel like I barely have anything to say about the trouser-mending lady or the many places Beard goes or his key-dropping or the nightmarish feeling of wanting to be home and being unable to be home. It all happened and we all watched it and again, it was a lot. But I do feel incredibly moved and fascinated by the fact that Beard very obviously still hasn’t been home when he brings in the coffee. He’s had to sleep at the club for Jane- and key-related reasons in the past, and this time it’s not that he’s slept there but it still feels like a kind of homecoming he was robbed of for the entire night. Ted and Roy and Nate are there. He’s gotten their coffee orders correct. Ted is growing and evolving (he wants to learn from what’s happened, he’s insisting upon it even when the others resist) but he’s done a really perfect (almost romantic in its loveliness) thing by presumably spending his evening following a breakdown of his own speeding up the game film to 10x speed and adding Benny Hill. Ted is not OK and Beard is not OK and Nate is not OK and Roy is pretty OK but could very easily be not OK because he’s just joined a coaching staff with a whole lot of not OK. But they all showed up.

I am very into the realism of the lights being off in the club other than the coaches’ office (@talldecafcappuccino pointed this out!), and the way we’re seeing their desks from a different angle because this episode is unfocused on Ted. It really added to the mindset of being hungover and exhausted and unable to go home or even to know exactly what home should be; even this warm, familiar place feels off even as it’s a relief to be back there.

I am excited to return to our regularly scheduled programming with the full cast of characters, but I really adored this episode for what it taught us about Beard and what it illuminated about the humor, pain, and complexity of each person who inhabits this universe. Beard may not be loud about his long-standing beliefs or about the things he’s learned, but there’s a lot happening in there and I appreciated getting to spend 43 minutes with him and (in the case of the ticket he scrawls on a piece of paper so the pub guys can get into Nelson Road) the moments he sets in motion.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #ted lasso 2x9 #meta by me #a lesbian watches ted lasso #coach beard

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flowerfan2 · 3 years ago

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The Etiquette of Affection

I’ve been loving Ted Lasso lately, and when I discovered that there were not very many fics in the fandom, I decided to do my part and contribute. For your reading pleasure, have a little Ted Lasso/Trent Crimm first kiss... set mid-season two. On A03 here.

In other news, I’m working on a David/Patrick AU, but it’s taking it’s time and probably won’t start posting for at least a few more weeks.

_________

The Crown and Anchor is boisterous and crowded, and Trent has no idea why he’s here, nursing a pint in a corner. If he wanted to properly drown his post-Christmas sorrows and try to ignore the fact that he’s alone at the start of yet another new year, he could have found any number of less sticky establishments.

Trent takes out his phone, frowns at it, frowns at himself and at his pathetic situation, and tries to find something vaguely interesting to read.

His moment of peace is disrupted by a group of people coming into the pub, and Trent winces when he sees who it is - Ted Lasso, accompanied by various Richmond staff and hangers-on. There’s a cheer of welcome as they make their way in, Richmond having won its last game, appeasing the masses until the next loss.

Trent really can’t believe that Lasso has done as well as he has, despite all the odds. Trent has a begrudging respect for the man. And, if he lets himself admit it, a teeny, tiny, just barely there bit of a crush on him.

He lets himself gaze in Lasso’s direction. There’s something compelling about him that isn’t captured by his aw shucks appearance. It’s in the way he looks at you when he’s baring his heart to the world, opening up his chest to do it. The way he tries. Lasso brings earnest to a whole new level, and doesn’t flinch. It makes Trent want to cry. This, in turn, makes him want to bash Lasso over the head. Or snog him senseless. At this point, he’ll take either one.

Just then the man’s god-awful accent cuts through the clamor of the pub’s well-lubricated patrons, and Trent ducks his head. He doesn’t want to be caught looking. He doesn’t think he can take it tonight, can hold himself together if Lasso calls him over, says “call me Ted” again, and pats him good-naturedly on the back.

Trent pays his tab and takes his leave. Outside there are remnants of dirty snow clogging the streets, colored red and green by the winking Christmas lights on store windows. Trent takes out a cigarette and lights it, inhaling deeply. He’ll just calm his nerves here for a few minutes, then make the trek back to his flat.

The door opens a few minutes later, the rush of noise getting Trent’s attention. It’s Lasso - of course it is - but he doesn’t see Trent, who has flattened himself against the wall. Lasso looks around for a moment and then heads away from the pub, whistling what sounds frighteningly like a pop song from the 80’s, until he slips and crashes to the ground.

Trent is next to him in an instant, crouching down and letting his hands flutter to Lasso’s shoulders. “Coach Lasso, are you all right?”

Lasso doesn’t open his eyes, and Trent fumbles for his phone, his heart racing. But before he can dial emergency services, Lasso’s eyes blink open.

“Coach Lasso, it’s me. Trent Crimm.”

Lasso’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “From the Independent.”

“Yes.” Trent feels a traitorous beat of happiness at the worn joke.

“What happened?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you need me to figure it out.”

“But that’s your job. Investigation, and such.” Lasso struggles to sit up, and Trent wraps an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the fact that his own trousers are now soaked.

“Fine.” He takes an exaggerated look around. “I believe you fell on a patch of ice.”

Lasso starts to nod in agreement, but he grimaces at the movement. “That’s why you win all the awards, I can see it now.”

“Are you injured?”

Lasso seems to assess the situation, moving his arms and legs. “No, don’t seem to be any worse off than before I went down. At least other than a sore head.”

“You might have a concussion.” Trent helps him up, resisting the urge to trace his fingertips across Lasso’s head and check for a bump.

“I doubt it’s anything that impressive.” Lasso tries to brush himself off, but the slush has soaked into his (very well fitted) jeans, and he sighs. “Oh well, tomorrow’s laundry day anyway.” He looks at Trent, and something flits across his expression that Trent can’t catch. “Thank you, Trent Crimm from the Independent.”

Trent tries to suppress his answering smile, but he does a poor job. “It was nothing.” They stand there in silence for a strange, extenuated moment, and then Trent opens his mouth and - figuratively - leaps.

“May I walk you home?” He refrains from explaining himself any further, although the excuses are on the tip of his tongue - in case Lasso is actually concussed, to make sure he gets some safely.

Lasso’s face brightens with unaffected pleasure. “Why, that’s mighty nice of you. Thank you.”

They walk in silence towards Lasso’s flat, both of them with their hands shoved into their pockets, elbows brushing occasionally when they shift to the side to allow another pedestrian to pass. Trent knows Lasso lives near Brewers Lane, and he’s not surprised when Lasso comes to a stop a few minutes later, digging a key out of his pocket.

Trent draws in a deep breath, ready to say good night, when Lasso shoots him a shy smile. “Want to come up? I won’t make you tea, but I’ve got some hot chocolate, or pop. I’d offer you a real drink, but given what I’ve learned from far too many lectures about concussions - not my own, mind you - that’s probably off the table.”

When Lasso stops babbling Trent tilts his head and nods, and Lasso laughs. “A man of few words. I can’t imagine you’ve ever been called that before. Come on.”

Trent follows Lasso up the stairs and into his flat. It’s surprisingly nice, warm and welcoming, like everything about Lasso.

Lasso busies himself making the hot chocolate - from packets, in the microwave - and serves it with a plate of biscuits that unlike the hot cocoa seem to be homemade.

“Did someone make these for you?” Trent asks, and Lasso grins from the other side of the couch.

“Me, myself and I, I’m afraid.”

“No need to apologize. They’re quite good.”

Trent sips the hot chocolate, avoiding the miniature marshmallows. Lasso starts talking about a holiday dinner at Higgins’ home, how all the players brought their favorite foods. How he’s so fortunate to be a part of the Richmond family.

Trent finds himself wishing he could have been there.

“Why’d you leave?” Lasso asks, and Trent wonders if he missed the lead-in to this question.

“Leave where?”

“The pub. Tonight. You were there, but when I went to talk to you, you were gone.”

Trent finds himself held in Lasso’s searching gaze, and he doesn’t have any choice but to tell the truth. “You.”

Lasso rears back in mock offense. “Now, that is not what I wanted to hear. What have I done this time?”

Trent tries to answer, he really does. But Lasso is blinking at him so sincerely, he can’t find the words. Throwing caution to the wind for the second time tonight, he leans in, close, until he can feel Lasso’s breath on his cheek.

“May I kiss you?” he whispers, hardly breathing.

“Always so formal,” Lasso responds, and then Lasso closes the distance. It’s soft and tentative, until it isn’t, both of them sliding closer, Trent finally getting his hand in Lasso’s hair, trading eager kisses until they are forced to pull back to breathe.

Lasso leans his forehead against Trent’s and lets out a low chuckle. “Trent Crimm from the Independent, now will you call me Ted?”

Trent laughs too, feeling lighter than he can remember. “Yes, Ted. I think I can manage that.”

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Ted Lasso fic #Ted/Trent #rare pair right now but who knows what might happen

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primasveraas-writing · 3 years ago

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"Kent v Fucking Automobile" -Ted Lasso

This is an accompanying piece to 2 others in this series, but I consider it an AU of the first one. The subject matter is the same, but things go down differently. This one can be read on its own.

Part 1 // Part 2

WORDS: 3482

XXX

Roy Kent’s life is fucking incredible.

For one, he has a gorgeous, wonderful wife, with whom he has a fucking wonderful son, and if that weren’t enough, they’re expecting another baby in just a few short months. But, not only does Roy have a perfect fucking family that he loves, he also has one of the greatest fucking jobs in the world: coaching AFC Richmond (a career second only to being a footballer himself).

He’s headed to work early; Sam needs him for something before practice, and apparently, Roy loves this team enough to miss part of his morning with his wife and son.

It’s one of those days where he’s on autopilot, barely needing to pay attention to what he’s doing. He’s slowing for a traffic light when it turns green, and then there is a mass moving towards him, and he jerks the steering wheel, dread heavy in his chest.

All Roy knows is that he’s bracing himself, then there’s pain, then a hot flash striking his arms and face, then the world stills and he’s opening his eyes. There’s an airbag in his face and horrible pressure against his right side. He blinks, slowly, and tries to take a steadying breath. That doesn’t hurt, at least, and he looks around.

His door is bashed in, bent awkwardly into his body. He can hardly see around the airbag, but he can feel the metal against his leg- his fucking leg, as if it weren’t fucked up enough- and the other car is rammed into his own. Roy swears, loudly, and realizes that there are people starting to swarm around the wreck. He groans and curses again- he doesn't particularly fancy making the headlines with this one.

He gives one of the pedestrians a thumbs up, then fumbles around for his phone. There's no moving until the other car is gone, and even then, Roy's not sure he'd be able to climb out of his seat without collapsing. The phone rings once, twice; long enough that Roy can feel his hands shaking.

"Keeley," he says when she picks up.

"Roy," his wife answers, and she sounds startled.

"I'm okay," Roy says, staring down a bystander, who's unabashedly taking pictures of the scene. "Whatever you see, I'm okay."

"Okay," Keeley says, and there's an edge to her voice now. "What's-"

"I was in a car accident. I'm fine."

Keeley gasps; Roy wavers, suddenly regretting his bluntness. "Some wanker hit me from the side. Airbags went off but aside from being very pissed, I'm alright."

He hears Keeley breathe in and out deeply, and more anxiety bubbles in Roy's stomach. He feels hot, uncomfortably warm, and when he raises his free hand to his head, it comes away wet with blood.

"Are you sure you're alright, Roy? Did you call 999?"

"No," he mutters. "Though I'm sure someone else did." A beat, then:

"I think I fucked up my leg."

"Does it hurt?"

Roy looks down, tries to move his leg, and bites down hard on his tongue to keep from yelling. "A little."

"Okay." He can hear Keeley moving in the background, undoubtedly getting her keys. "Where are you?"

Roy peers through his cracked windshield and finds his vision is blurry. "I don't know," he whispers, and closes his eyes. "I was on my way to the pitch, but-"

"Right. I'm coming to find you."

"Wait," Roy warns. He can hear sirens approaching. "Worry about Oliver first. I'll meet you at the hospital, okay?"

"Okay." Keeley manages to sound businesslike. He knows she's trying not to reveal her worry, and that she knows he's downplaying the circumstances. "I'll see you there, then."

Roy waits for her to end the call. There's a few seconds of silence.

"You're okay, yeah?"

"Yes, Keeley," Roy promises. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay," she whispers back. "Love you."

"Love you, sweetheart."

Keeley stands in her kitchen and releases the kind of profanity only Roy is usually capable of. Her purse and keys are already gathered in her hands, but there's just one thing she has to worry about first.

"Oliver, love, we're going-" She bites her tongue. She can waste precious minutes asking the neighbor to come and watch him; if that fails, she'll have to find someone to come over and that could take any amount of time.

"We're going to the hospital!" She declares, and her and Roy's little terror sprints into the room and cheers.

Keeley scoops him into her arms, feeling incredibly unbalanced, and makes her exit, grabbing the first pair of baby shoes she can find. She's sure she's missing something, but at least her toddler won't have bare feet.

She calls Ted and Rebecca on the way there; Ted to watch her son and Rebecca to watch her. It'll make them both late to work, she's sure, but there are few people she'd trust more to support her family.

As expected, both of her friends drop everything to help her. Ted sobers up the moment after Keeley says hello; the worry in her words must be painfully evident. In turn, Rebecca vows to be at the hospital in a time that guarantees some horribly reckless driving, which is terrible, given the circumstances, but Keeley knows Rebecca and her best friend bribing her driver isn’t Keeley’s greatest concern right now.

Unsurprisingly, Rebecca is waiting at the hospital for them, Ted at her side. He’s white in the face, which confirms Keeley’s suspicions about their ride over, but he scoops Oliver into his arms, asking how his day has been and if he’d like Special Texas Pancakes for lunch. Keeley offers Ted a wordless smile in thanks before Rebecca takes her inside.

“All I know is they’ve admitted him,” Rebecca says, glancing at the receptionist. “They wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“Right, well, you can’t bribe hospital staff all too easy,” Keeley muses. She gives her name to the attendant, who, despite Rebecca’s glowering, tells them to wait, and they take a seat.

It’s only a few minutes before a nurse is pointed towards them. He smiles at them, which Keeley takes as a good sign, though she still clings to Rebecca’s hand during the whole of the conversation.

Roy is fine; he was brought in conscious, but with a severe leg injury and a probable concussion. The doctors aren’t terribly worried, but they have to act fast.

“We understand that Mr. Kent has a previous knee injury.” Keeley nods. “This complicates things. Preliminary tests suggest that there’s further damage to his knee. We still need to do an x-ray and an MRI, but it’s likely that he’ll need surgery.”

Keeley swallows, hard; the youngest Kent-Jones gives her bladder a kick, and she shifts uncomfortably.

“We’ll let you back as soon as we find a room for Mr. Kent.”

“I’d like to see him before any surgery,” Keeley asserts, but her voice is strained.

The nurse nods. “Of course, Ms. Jones.”

Soon translates to an hour, but Rebecca occupies Keeley, complaining about idiot businessmen and updates on her mum and anything else asinine that Rebecca can think of. Keeley’s leg shakes up and down, but her thoughts aren’t totally captivated by worry, and that’s good enough.

A different nurse takes her back to see Roy when it’s time, and they wind down a long series of identical hallways. The air is stale with sickness and nerves, and Keeley’s boots click on the linoleum of the otherwise silent hall. Then, they round a corner and the nurse pushes open a door, leading Keeley past curtained-off beds and finally, to Roy.

His eyes are closed. Bright red skin indicates the burn of a deployed airbag, and there are cuts on his face and arm. The hospital gown does him no favors, revealing his mangled leg and the mess of bandages covering his knee.

Tears well in Keeley’s eyes. It’s the most vulnerable she’s seen Roy, topping his last game with Richmond, his retirement conference, and his reaction to the birth of his first child. He’s pale, clearly in pain, but when his eyes open, they seize her up quickly.

She breathes out his name, moves to the head of the bed to run her fingers through his hair, and presses a kiss to the unmarred part of his forehead. His hand captures hers, gripping tightly.

“I fucked my knee,” he whispers, and Keeley nods.

“We’re gonna unfuck your knee,” she tells him, unsure of how much she means it. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Roy nods, alert, but obviously tired. His voice was shaking on their call; it’s steady now, but Roy is stuck in a grimace, and he’s barely moving as he talks to her.

“What did they tell you?”

“Not a lot. What did they tell you?”

Roy eyes her suspiciously. “Fuck all. They did a hundred fucking tests and kept their damn mouths shut.”

“Okay. Let’s wait for the doctor, then.”

“Keeley-”

They know each other so well. She’s hard-pressed to get out of this one.

She can see the argument brewing in his mind- his lips are parted, his trademark scowl graces his lovely features, and she knows that he has every right to be frustrated.

“Well, you’re not gonna lose your leg,” she informs him, and Roy snorts. Keeley bites her lip. “I think.”

“It’s fucking useless anyway.” Roy rolls his eyes. “I’m not fucking playing football with it.”

“Legs have other uses, you know,” Keeley points out, and Roy snorts again.

“Fuck that."

A smile is tugging at her lips, and Roy is about to mirror the expression despite everything fucking hurting when metal scapes against metal, and the curtains part to reveal a doctor, who smiles at them both. Roy scowls.

“You’re going to cut my fucking knee up.” He accuses, and the doctor nods.

“You tore several major ligaments and we need to prevent permanent nerve damage and limit the risk of blood clots.”

Roy’s scowl deepens, impossibly. “Fine.”

“Excellent. We’ll get prepped for emergency surgery.” She looks at Keeley and Roy, at how tightly they’re holding each other. “I’ll give you two a minute before we take you back.”

Keeley murmurs her thanks, and turns back to Roy.

“Right,” she says, brushing a stray curl off of his forehead. “You be good, and enjoy the hell out of those painkillers. I’ll see you soon.”

“Right,” Roy agrees, kissing the back of her hand. “Don’t eat shitty hospital food if you get hungry. Make Rebecca order you something fancy while you wait.” Roy’s brow creases. “Ted has Oliver, doesn’t he?”

“He does, yeah.”

“Fuck. Well, Ted can keep him when he has his massive fucking temper tantrum ‘cause of all the biscuits he’s eaten. And you fucking relax and don’t worry too much about me and my fucking knee, okay?”

“Okay.” Keeley bends to kiss him, and he smiles at her, not with his usual brilliance but something close, and that’s enough. She knows he’s in pain; she can read it in every line on his bruised face, but he’s being unflappable for her, and she can try and do the same. “I love you so much, Roy Kent.”

“I fucking love you, Keeley Jones,” he tells her. “And tell Ollie I love him too.”

“I will. He’s gonna cuddle the fuck out of you when we get home, you know that.”

“Damn right.”

Keeley stays with Roy until nurses come to take him into surgery. She watches them wheel her husband down the hall and through a forbidden set of double doors, and exhales.

She finds Rebecca quickly enough, who ensures they celebrate Roy’s prognosis and consciousness and retainment of his humor. Over and over, she repeats Roy’s words in her head: he’s going to be fine, and she shouldn’t worry too much.

Rebecca regales her with tales of the worst men she’s worked with; when that fails, they compare notes on baby names. They laugh and grin without light ever reaching their eyes and neither utter a word about it, but Rebecca confiscates Keeley’s phone when her Twitter mentions blow up. There are pictures of the accident, and of a bloodied Roy Kent being loaded in an ambulance, and Ted texts her to let her know that he’s brought Oliver inside where any nosy press won’t catch a glimpse of him. Her heart aches for her son, who would be distressed if he knew any better, and who likely won’t get to see much of his parents today. Ignorance is bliss, though, and Keeley thinks of Roy’s last smile to her, and not of his strained words when he called her, or the pictures of his totaled car online, or how fragile he looked in the hospital bed.

There’s a nagging at the back of her brain, though, of what would’ve happened if Roy couldn’t reach his phone, or if he left home a second sooner or a second later, or if she had gone with him, or if he had to drop Oliver off somewhere along the way, or if the other driver had been going a tiny bit faster or hit Roy at a slightly different angle. He’s lucky, after all, that it’s just his leg, that it’s not even broken, that their baby wasn’t in the backseat, that Roy will ultimately be fine after this, he’ll be fine, because he’s still so fucking young and his son is still a baby, really, and he hasn’t even met his second child yet.

Keeley takes a shaky breath, and Rebecca captures Keeley’s hand in both of her own. She rubs her thumb across the back of Keely’s hand, and the younger woman rests her head against Rebecca’s shoulder, and the two women stay like that for a long time.

It’s three hours before they get any word about Roy. Keeley thinks, really, that it should have been like, half an hour at most, but the nurse who talks to them says all good things, and that they’re almost done. Some of the damage is permanent, especially to Roy’s nerves, but the rest of him is fine. Walking normally will be the greatest challenge, and to Keeley, that’s a nominal problem given the rest of his prognosis.

Rebecca stews when they have to wait another couple of hours: first, the surgery has to wrap up, then Roy is brought to a recovery room to be monitored, then finally, finally, he’s moved to a private room where they can sit with him. The whole time, Rebecca lingers an inch away from total fury, but Keeley lets Rebecca be as angry as she likes, so that way, Keeley doesn’t have to be and all her energy can be focused on Roy.

It’s quieter when she sees Roy this time, more peaceful. Even Roy Kent doesn’t scowl in sleep, and despite the IV in his arm and the injuries peppering his skin, Roy appears at rest, genuinely so. Keeley waits, alone for the first time that day, for him to wake, and when he does, Roy only mumbles hi and offers a groggy smile before he’s out again. Keeley texts Rebecca and Ted an update, and that’s how her afternoon passes, her husband in and out of sleep, and not much else in the world mattering.

The next day is a flurry of doctors and physical therapists, and their three-year-old son navigating a hospital for the first time. Roy’s concussion means wearing sunglasses indoors, but Ted drops Oliver off with a matching pair for him and Keeley, and their first family picture after the accident is of them in the hospital, all wearing shades inside like a bunch of proper arseholes, Roy’s face impassive but Keeley and Oliver positively beaming at the camera. Roy learns how to navigate on crutches, as is the condition of his release, so he struggles his way up and down a short hallway, swearing all the while, his grouchy disposition only faltering when Oliver makes his opinion known about the matter (“Daddy has four legs!).

They’re sent home, donned in sunglasses and laden with crutches and high-grade painkillers, late that day, and Roy has to wonder if Rebecca’s paid off the press when he’s loaded from wheelchair to car without any twats snapping pictures of him at his worst. Later, he’ll confirm that she did, in fact, pay the tabloids to piss off, accompanying a press release along the same lines. He and Keeley are lucky to have such a friend, he knows, especially one that doesn’t believe in bullshit.

He’s absent at the next Richmond match and most of their practices the following week, in favor of sleeping frequently. Something wonderful about needing three fucking naps a day is that Oliver will nap with him, which gives Keely a much-needed break, and also there’s nothing fucking better than his baby asleep in his arms, because he loves his son so fucking much but sometimes it’s fucking nice when Oliver isn’t running around like a maniac, and Roy can just hold him.

Putting any weight on his leg is fucking hard. Showering is fucking impossible, bending down to pick up Oliver’s ridiculous toys is difficult, stairs are a fucking burden on humanity, and Roy is in so much fucking pain all the time. It gets better at a snail’s pace, and he manages to make it through a full day of work on an obscene amount of Tylenol and Ted literally cheering him on in the most annoying way possible. The only thing that pacifies him is Keeley coming in to kiss him at various intervals throughout the day, and he buries his head against her side and she runs her fingers through his hair, and their kid-on-the-way sometimes kicks against Keeley’s stomach, which never fails to be spectacular.

Roy masters crutches, even though the dumb fucking things make his armpits hurt, and a month after surgery, when Roy has endured physical therapy and public sympathy and a thousand fucking stairs, he begs his doctors to let him off them. And so, they introduce the next alternative that Roy will use for the rest of his fucking life.

A cane. Roy Kent, still fucking young, is fitted for a cane, which Ted immediately wants to decorate with lights and streamers and shit, and that Oliver tries to use as a fucking lightsaber and wack people with. It’s fucking terrible, but it’s also the first thing that makes Roy laugh after coming home from the doctor’s with his fancy new stick.

They told him and Keeley this, that first day in the hospital after the wreck. That he would never walk the same, that some of the nerves were too far gone. There’s nothing he can do, aside from physical therapy to build up some strength. It’s damning, and a hard pill to swallow, but Roy’s knee has been fucked since his last football match against Manchester, and he knows that. Keeley reminds him that his life is still pretty incredible, after all, and Roy has to agree.

His daughter is born shortly after, and Roy weeps when he figures out how to hold a cane in one hand and his precious baby in the other. Frequently, he looks like the corniest fucking dad ever, because it’s honestly easiest to carry Lily in a papoose, but Roy fucking Kent’s reputation holds up: he’s still the scariest motherfucker to ever grace the face of football. When he takes her to practice, though, he finds that this effect is somewhat diminished; he yells at one of the boys to tighten up, then his daughter gurgles, and Roy is caught gazing down at her with a dopey fucking smile on his face.

The first cane breaks when Richmond loses by a slim margin thanks to a few small mistakes. Roy is minutes into a post-match debrief when he punctuates what went wrong with the cane against the whiteboard, and the wood slams against metal and splinters into a hundred fucking pieces all across the locker room, footballers ducking for cover, Roy’s chest heaving as he surveys the scene. Then Ted sits Roy down, commends his incredible strength, and tells the team to goldfish their way through this, and that they’ll work through it during the next practice.

Oliver breaks the second cane. And the third. And then Roy concedes style to durability and gets a fucking metal cane that his kids aren’t allowed to touch.

His life is different, largely because he’s a father of two now, and stairs are fucking terrible and he hates them. But, aside from that, he’s still Roy Kent, Keeley Jones’ husband, parent to the two best fucking kids in the universe, football coach extraordinaire. That’s pretty fucking good, in his book, and in the end, there’s nothing fucking wrong with using a cane so long as Oliver doesn’t kill anyone with it.

#roy kent #roy kent fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #keeley x roy #roy kent x keeley jones #keeley jones #roy x keeley #roy x keeley fanfiction #roy x keeley fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso imagine

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sleepykittypaws · 3 years ago

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Ted Lasso: Carol of the Bells

Original Air Date: August 13, 2021 (Apple TV+) Where to Watch?: It’s an Apple TV+ original series, so should be available on the streaming service in perpetuity

Ted Lasso, the series, is one of the brightest entertainment lights to come along in a relatively dark time. Premiering mid-pandemic, the show, based on a series of not-all-that-well-known NBC soccer coverage promos, stars Jason Sudeikis as an American college football coach hired to coach British Premier League soccer (I, of course, mean, football) team, AFC Richmond.

The show, which has become something of a phenomena as it enters its second season with a record 20 Emmy nominations, has been hailed for its niceness and general likability. It's funny, sharp and, yes, sweet, without being saccharine. Bad stuff happens on, and to, Ted Lasso, just like in real life, but the characters don't let the worst parts of their lives define them.

Ted Lasso’s trick is that it manages to be both grounded and an escape from reality, into a world that's a little bit kinder and more gentle than the one we all actually live in, in 2020 and 2021.

So, there's probably no better program to offer up a Christmas special, even in August, despite the fact that I'm usually a stickler about keeping holiday content special by confining it to the season. I mean, sure I start "the season" no later than November 1, but, still, I do enjoy waiting to savor my Christmas TV, so it takes something pretty special to get me in the spirit mid-summer.

“Carol of the Bells,” the fourth episode of Ted Lasso’s second season, takes place, like most UK series Christmas specials, both within and somewhat outside the timeline of the rest of the series, and could easily be watched, and enjoyed, as a stand alone. There is barely a passing mentioning of what felt like a cliffhanger ending to episode three, when the team protested their top sponsor, Dubai Air, in solidarity with Nigerian player Sam Obisanya. But in “Carol of the Bells,” the timeline of the show has jumped ahead significantly, putting behind us the team's streak of draw matches, which had been another main focus of the season to date, via one line of exposition and a pan to a whiteboard in Coach Lasso's office.

One of the things I love about this show is that they aren't afraid to resolve a plot line mid-season. No need to draw it out for drama, or to have beloved characters backtrack, constantly recreating the same situations. I think the moment I really feel in love with Ted Lasso is when the owner-seeks-to-destroy-team-as-revenge-on-her-ex plot that launched the series was resolved, not via a dramatic reveal, but a quiet office conversation with team owner Rebecca asking, and receiving, forgiveness, from Ted, who understood her instinct to lash out, and refused to hold those worst impulses against her, knowing he had his own not-quite-pure reasons for accepting the job in the first place.

For me, that moment was when Ted Lasso went from amusing, to awesome. So, it's no surprise that the Ted-Rebecca relationship continues to bloom at Christmas, where Hannah Waddington's character absolutely sees through Ted's all-good exterior, knowing just how lonely the first Christmas post-divorce can be.

When we saw Ted drinking, alone in his apartment, and watching It's a Wonderful Life, I feared we might be in for one of those dream Christmas movie redux's with Ted learning how important his existence really is, but of course I should have known better. A huge part of Ted Lasso's charm is that show usually zigs, when viewers expect it to zag: Not giving the team the tie to keep them from being relegated, the undramatic reveal of Rebecca's evil plan to Ted, Keeley and Roy's rock solid relationship.

Instead, the show continues to demonstrate it really does have the best of intentions with Rebecca and Ted going on a Christmas Day giving spree, that feels both absolutely perfect for the pair, and helps support the very real Poverty Alleviation Charities.

Meanwhile, Roy and Keeley's Sexy Christmas is interrupted by the last minute arrival of Roy's adorable niece, Phoebe, who has received a not-very-nice gift from a boy in her class. Roy and Keeley's banter is on full display as they attempt to both revenge and reconcile the source of Phoebe's distress.

Brett Goldstein, who plays Roy and is also a writer on the show, steals almost every scene he's in, even at Christmas, and the onscreen chemistry he has with Juno Temple's Keeley is off the charts. That child actor Elodie Blomfield more than holds her own with these two is a real testament to her own, budding abilities.

The ending of Roy, Keeley and Phoebe's Christmas adventure—teased early on with the reveal of the teasing boy's name as Bernard (and if you don't get that reference Google "Richard Curtis-Bernard Jenkin") is so perfect, I absolutely did tear up.

Oh and, shout out to guest star Claire Skinner, who knows a thing or two about classic UK Christmas specials with her own from her days on Outnumbered, another of my UK faves. Gutted we didn't get to see Dr. Rogers' husband, who I kept hoping would be Skinner's real-life partner, and Outnumbered co-parent, Hugh Dennis. Really, Dennis' lack was the only real mis-step in this entire episode for me.

Meanwhile, Higgins, played so well by Jeremy Swift (the casting in Ted Lasso is across-the-board perfection), is hosting his annual Christmas open house for Richmond team members without family in town, expecting the usual one or two players to pop in. Instead, with Swift's real-life wife Mary Roscoe at his side, almost the entire team turns up ready to celebrate with the Higgins clan.

It's only at the very end that “Carol of Bells” goes traditional Christmas special, putting most of its main characters outside Casa Higgins for an episode-ending musical number that, I'm just gonna admit, while cheesy as heck, brought even more tears to my eyes, despite it still being August, and would have made me a blubbering mess in December—when I will definitely be watching this again.

From the opening scene reveal of the team's Secret Santa exchange, to the closing moments that put Waddington back on the mic, which fans have been demanding since her karaoke outing in season one, for an extra dose of Christmas cheer, “Carol of the Bells,” was, to me, perfect.

I'm not exactly sure why Apple TV+ didn't save this for a one-off November or December drop but, as I said on Twitter, it's very possible, maybe even likely, that I saw my favorite Christmas content of 2021 on August 13th. Ted Lasso: Carol of the Bells is going to be very, very hard to top.

Final Judgement: 4 Paws Enthusiastically Up for this instant Christmas classic

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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Ted Lasso Season 2: Dani Rojas Discovers Football Is Death Too

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This article contains spoilers for Ted Lasso season 2 episode 1.

In its first season, Apple TV+ comedy Ted Lasso was regarded as an optimistic breath of fresh air.

This tale of a kind American football coach in London politely asked us all to be curious, not judgmental. And in the process, it created a legion of fans excited for more of Ted Lasso’s (Jason Sudeikis) cheerful disposition in season 2. So how does season 2, which premiered this Friday, July 23 on Apple TV+, fulfill those good vibes? Why, by killing a dog, of course!

As you probably know by now, the very first scene of Ted Lasso season 2 catches up with AFC Richmond eight games into their first season in second tier English soccer league, the Championship. Things have been frustrating thus far for the Greyhounds, as they’ve rattled off seven consecutive ties, one short of the league record of eight (which is naturally a tie between Southampton and Swansea).

Thankfully Richmond has its best striker, Dani Rojas (Cristo Fernández) prepared to take a penalty kick and seal away the side’s first win. Unfortunately, that’s when “Earl Greyhound”, precocious pup and beloved team mascot, gets distracted by a pigeon and throws himself in the path of Dani’s well struck ball, killing both himself at Richmond’s chances at avoiding draw number eight. CUE OPENING CREDITS.

Why would a series that prides itself on optimism open its second batch of episodes with a grim instance of canicide? According to dog-killer innocent Dani Rojas actor Fernández, it’s all part of a larger storytelling plan.

“I still laugh, and I don’t know if I should. It’s very dark,” Fernández says. “When I read the script, I was very excited to be able to show another side of Dani and to play that and show that he can be vulnerable.”

Though “Ted Lasso as the kindest show ever” has become a prevailing pop culture meme with good reason, it’s important to remember that no story can exist without conflict. As things pick up in season 2, there is certainly no shortage of conflict surrounding AFC Richmond. Being relegated to the Championship is not a good thing. Nor is not securing a win in eight tries. An optimistic outlook on life only works when life is imperfect. And things are pretty imperfect for Coach Ted and the boys in the moment.

While Dani Rojas was perhaps the series most optimistic and unshakeable character in season 1 (“Football is life!”), the opening moments of season 2 break him away from that caricature. Dani takes the loss of Earl Greyhound hard, first trying to wash away his sins fully clothed in the shower. When that proves fruitless, his dreams are tormented by the bloody killing of a lovable cartoon dog goalkeeper. Ultimately he develops a case of the dreaded “yips,” becoming incapable of sinking a soccer ball into the net where it belongs.

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When even the mighty Coach Lasso is unable to shake Dani out of his funk, General Manager Higgins (Jeremy Swift) comes through with the wise suggestion of having a sports psychologist, Dr. Sharon (played by Sarah Niles), visit. And thus, one of the first big themes of Ted Lasso season 2 is born. Sometimes you can’t get yourself out of a mental health crisis solely through kind words and an aphorism or anecdote from a Kansan football coach. Sometimes it takes an actual professional.

“For me, it’s just genius that they brought up all these mental health issues that it’s important to talk about,” Fernández says. Sometimes it’s okay not to be okay. Sometimes it’s good to talk about it. And I think the world of sports is the best scenario to show that.”

Spending some time with Dr. Sharon (who appears to be fluent in Dani’s native Spanish tongue) does the trick. Dani Rojas emerges rested, recharged, and ready to score goals again. What did the good doctor tell Dani that helped so much, Ted asks?

“Dr. Sharon helped me remember that even though football is life, football is also death. And that football is football too. But mostly that football is life!”

That right there is a mission statement for Ted Lasso season 2 if I’ve ever heard one. Dani Rojas’s mantra of “Football is life” had a sweet, sincere, and almost child-like context in season 1. Now it appears that it’s more complicated than that. Football is life, which means it includes dead dogs and unwanted ties as well.

Ted Lasso season 2 premieres new episodes Fridays on Apple TV+.

The post Ted Lasso Season 2: Dani Rojas Discovers Football Is Death Too appeared first on Den of Geek.

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fullregalia · 4 years ago

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20/20.

This year, in hindsight, was a real write-off. I had grand plans for it, and while I ushered it in in a very low-key manner since I was recovering from the flu, I’d expected things to look up. Well, you know what they say about plans (RIP, my trip to Europe). I got very, very sick in early February, and I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t COVID. Since March, the days have been a carousel of monotony: coffee, run, work, cook, yoga, existential spiral, sleep. My Own Private Year of Rest and Relaxation, if you will. Of course, life has a way of breaking through regardless; I attended protests, completed my thesis, graduated from grad school, took a couple of road trips upstate, and celebrated the accomplishments and birthdays of friends and family from a safe social distance. It was all a bit of a blur, and not ideal circumstances to re-enter the real world, or whatever this COVID-present is.

Throughout it all, in lieu of happy hours, coffee dates, and panel discussions, I’ve turned even more to culture and cuisine to fill the the negative space on my calendar where my social life once resided. However, since a global pandemic ought not to disrupt every tradition, here’s my year-end round up of what made this terrible one slightly more tolerable.

After an ascetic fall semester abstaining from TV in 2019 (save for my beloved Succession), I allowed myself to watch more as the year wore on, and especially after graduation. I caught up on some cultural blind spots by finally getting around to The Sopranos, Ramy, Search Party, and Girlfriends. I wasn’t alone in bingeing Sopranos, it absolutely lived up to the hype and then some; this Jersey Girl can’t get enough gabagool-adjacent content, pizzeria culture is my culture!

Speaking of my culture, there was also a disproportionate amount of UK and European shows in my queue. Nothing like being in social isolation and watching the horny Irish teens in Normal People brood. I’m partial to it because I share a surname with the showrunner, so I have to embrace blind loyalty even though there was, in my opinion, a Marianne problem in the casting. Speaking of charming Irish characters with limited emotional vocabularies, I belatedly discovered This Way Up a 2019 show from Aisling Bea and Sharon Horgan. And while Connell and Marianne are actually exceptional students, I found the real normal people on GBBO to bring me a bit more joy. Baking was abundantly therapeutic for me this year, and watching charming people drink loads of tea and fret over soggy bottoms was a comfort. I also discovered the Great Pottery Throw Down, and as a lifelong ceramics enthusiast, I cannot recommend it highly enough if you care about things like slips, coils, and glazing techniques. GPTD embraces wabi sabi in a way that GBBO eschews flaws in favor of perfection, and in a time of uncertainty, the former reminded me why I miss getting my hands in the mud as a coping mechanism (hence all the baking). Speaking of coping mechanisms, like everybody else with two eyes and an HBO password, I loved Michaela Cole’s I May Destroy You; though we’ve all had enough distress this year for a lifetime, watching Cole’s Arabella process her assault and search for meaning, justice, and closure was a compelling portrait of grief and purpose in the aftermath of trauma. Arabella’s creative and patient friends Kwame and Terry steal the show throughout, as they deal with their own setbacks and emotional turmoil. Where I May Destroy You provides catharsis, Ted Lasso presents British eccentricity in all its stereotypical glory. At first I was skeptical of the show’s hype on Twitter, but once I gave in it charmed me, if only for Roy Kent’s emotional trajectory and extolling the restorative powers of shortbread. For a more accurate depiction of life in London, Steve McQueen’s series Small Axe provides a visually lush and politically clear-eyed depiction of the lives of British West Indians in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Lastly, how could I get through a recap of my year in tv if I don’t mention The Crown. Normal People may have needed an intimacy coordinator, but the number of Barbours at Balmoral was the real phonographic content for me.

Turning my attention across the Channel, after the trainwreck that was Emily in Paris, I started watching a proper French show, Call My Agent! It’s truly delightful, and unlike the binge-worthy format of "ambient shows” I have been really relishing taking an hour each week to watch CMA, subtitles, cigarettes, and all.

Honorable mention: The Last Dance for its in-depth look at many notable former Chicago residents; High Fidelity for reminding me of the years in college when my brother and I would drive around listening to Beta Band; and Big Mouth.

Music

My Spotify wrapped this year was a bit odd. I don‘t think “Chromatica II into 911″ is technically a song, so it revealed other things about my listening habits this year, which turned out to remain very much stuck in the last, sonically. I listened to a lot more podcasts than new music this year, but there were some records that found their way into heavy rotation. While I listened to a lot of classics both old and new to write my thesis (Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen, Prokofiev, and Bach) the soundtrack to my coursework, runs, walks, and editing was more contemporary. Standouts include:

Saint Cloud by Waxahatchee, which makes me feel like I’m breathing fresh air even when I’m stuck inside all day

La Bella Vita by Niia, which was there for me when I walked past my ex on 7th avenue (twice!) and he pretended that I didn’t exist

Fetch the Bolt Cutters by THEE Fiona Apple, because Fiona, our social distancing queen, has always been my Talmud, her songs shimmering, evolving, and living with me every year

Shore by Fleet Foxes, for the long drive to the Catskills

Women in Music, Pt. III by HAIM, because these days, these days...

Musicians have been reckoning with tumult this year as much as the rest of us, and the industry has dealt with loss on all fronts. I’d be remiss not to talk about how the passing of John Prine brought his music into my life, and McCoy Tyner, who has been a companion through good and bad over the years.

Honorable mention to: græ by Moses Sumney; The Main Thing by Real Estate; on the tender spot of every calloused moment by Ambrose Akinmusire; Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers; folklore by you know who; and songs by Adrianne Lenker.

Reading

What would this overlong blob be without a list of the best things I read this year? While I left publishing temporarily, books, the news, and newsletters still took up a majority of my attention (duh and/or doomscrolling by any other name). I can’t be comprehensive, and frankly, there are already great roundups of the best longform this year out there, so this is mostly books and praising random writers.

Last year I wrote about peak newsletter. Apparently, my prediction was a bit premature as this year saw an even bigger Substack Boom. But two new newsletters in particular have delighted me: Aminatou Sow’s Crème de la Crème and Hunter Harris’ Hung Up (her ”this one line” series is true force of chaotic good on Blue Ivy’s internet). Relatedly, Sow and Ann Friedman’s Big Friendship was gifted to me by a dear friend and another bff and I are going to read it in tandem next week.

On the “Barack Obama published a 700+ page memoir, crippling the printing industry’s supply chains” front, grad school severely hamstrung my ability to read for pleasure, but I managed to get through almost 30 books this year, some old (Master and Margarita), most new-ish (Say Nothing, Nickel Boys). Four 2020 books in particular enthralled me:

Uncanny Valley: Anna Wiener’s memoir has been buzzed about since n+1 published her essay of the same name in 2016. Her ability to see, clear-eyed, the industry for both its foibles and allure captured that era when the excess and solipsism of the Valley seemed more of a cultural quirk than the harbinger of societal schism.

Transcendent Kingdom: Yaa Gyasi’s novel about faith, family, loss, and--naturally--grad school was deeply empathetic, relatable, and moving. I think this was my favorite book of the year. Following the life of a Ghanaian family that settles in Alabama, it captured the kind of emotional ennui that comes from having one foot in the belief of childhood and one foot in the bewilderment that comes from losing faith in the aftermath of tragedy.

Vanishing Half: Similarly to Transcendent Kingdom, Brit Bennett’s novel about siblings who are separated; it’s also about the ways that colorism can be internalized and the ways chosen family can (and cannot) replace your real kin. It was a compassionate story that captured the pain of abuse and abandonment in two pages in a way that Hanya Yanagihara couldn’t do in 720.

Dessert Person: Ok, so this is a cookbook, but it’s a good read, and the recipes are approachable and delicious. After all the BA Test Kitchen chaos this summer, it’s nice we didn’t have to cancel Claire. Make the thrice baked rye cookies!!!! You will thank me later.

Honorable mention goes to: Leave The World Behind for hitting the Severance/Station Eleven dystopian apocalypse novel sweet spot; Exciting Times for reminding me why I liked Sally Rooney; and Summer by Ali Smith, which wasn’t the strongest of the seasonal quartet, but was a series I enjoyed for two years.

Podcasts

I’m saving my most enthusiastic section for last: ever since 2018, I’ve been listening to an embarrassing amount of podcasts. Moving into a studio apartment will do that to you, as will grad school, add a pandemic to that equation and there’s a lot of time to fill with what has sort of become white noise to me (or, in one case, nice white parents noise). In addition to the shows that I’ve written about before (Still Processing, Popcast, Who? Weekly, and Why is This Happening?), these are the shows I started listening to this year that fueled my parasocial fire:

You’re Wrong About: If you like history, hate patriarchy, and are a millennial, you’ll love Sarah Marshall and Michael Hobbes’ deep dives into the most notable stories of the past few decades (think Enron and Princess Diana) and also some other cultural flashpoints that briefly but memorably shaped the national discourse (think Terri Schiavo, Elian González, and the Duke Lacrosse rape case).

Home Cooking: This mini series started (and ended) during the pandemic. As someone who stress baked her way through the past nine months, Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway’s show is filled with warmth, banter, and useful advice. Home Cooking has been a reassuring companion in the kitchen, and even though it will be a time capsule once we’re all vaccinated and close talking again, it’s still worth a listen for tips and inspiration while we’re hunkered down for the time being.

How Long Gone: I don’t really know how to explain this other than saying that media twitter broke my brain and enjoying Chris Black and Jason Stewart’s ridiculous banter is the price I pay for it.

Blank Check: Blank Check is like the GBBO of podcasts--Griffin Newman and David Sims’ enthusiasm for and encyclopedic knowledge of film, combined with their hilarious guests and inevitable cultural tangents is always a welcome distraction. Exploring a different film from a director’s oeuvre each week over the course of months, the podcast delves into careers and creative decisions with the passion of completists who want to honor the filmmaking process even when the finished products end up falling short. The Nancy Meyers and Norah Ephron series were favorites because I’d seen most of the movies, but I also have been enjoying the Robert Zemeckis episodes they’re doing right now. The possibility of Soderbergh comes up often (The Big Picture just did a nice episode about/with him), and I’d love to hear them talk about his movies or Spike Lee (or, obviously, Martin Scorsese).

Odds & Ends

If you’re still reading this, you’re a real one, so let’s get into the fun stuff. This was a horrible way to start a new decade, but at least we ended our long national nightmare. We got an excellent dumb twitter meme. I obviously made banana bread, got into home made nut butters, and baked an obscene amount of granola as I try to manifest a future where I own a Subaru Outback. Amanda Mull answered every question I had about Why [Insert Quarantine Trend] Happens. My brother started an organization that is working to eliminate food insecurity in LA. Discovering the Down Dog app allowed me to stay moderately sane, despite busting both of my knees in separate stupid falls on the criminally messed up sidewalks and streets of Philadelphia. I can’t stop burning these candles. Jim Carrey confused us all. We have a Jewish Second Gentleman! Grub Street Diets continued to spark joy. Dolly Parton remains America’s Sweetheart (and possible vaccine savior). And, last, but certainly not least: no one still knows how to pronounce X Æ A-12 Boucher-Musk.

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waywardted · 3 years ago

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hi! firstly i really want you to know this isn’t hate at all🤍 i adore your blog and your gifs so so much but i just had to type this out because the gifset you just posted upset me a little bit ngl. rebecca was literally saying she was a pedophile and grooming sam in the scene you put next to a romance movie. again i love love love your gifs a lot but i really don’t think this should be romanticized and normalized :/ sam’s brain isn’t fully developed yet and rebecca is closer to 50 than 40. he was 19 in season 1. her first instinct was to be upset and say she was grooming him. and imo she only got with him as a trauma response. it’s just not right. again - i really hope you don’t take this as hate because it’s not at all! i just got upset seeing that scene compared to a romantic comedy and i had to say something for my peace of mind. really hope you understand🤍have a really good day or night depending on where you are💌 and thank you for all you do for the fandom🥰

Hi anon! First off, I hear ya! Thanks for being so sweet as you spoke your truth, Ted would be proud 😆 I was a bit nervous to post that set cause I know s/r is a very touchy subject for many people, but I hope I tagged it appropriately so it would get filtered out for those not interested in seeing it :) The tl;dr of this answer is that the set wasn’t intended to be shippy or anti but rather just a look at the TL storyline next to the movie it’s in conversation with—especially because of the contrast you’re talking about!

Okay long version—giffing for me is first and foremost a means of processing and analyzing the show. I was watching the movie yesterday and I just really wanted to see the “resolution” of actual You’ve Got Mail side by side with Ted Lasso’s YGM plot line, particularly because they do look SO different. (Emphasis on processing cause I still don't think I'm able to fully, conclusively articulate my thoughts on it all lol.) It’s interesting of course because the realization moment is the resolution in YGM, and the movie tells us everything will be okay now despite the obstacles Kathleen and Joe have (classic romcom move). But in TL it’s really just the beginning of this pretty messy period for these two characters, and the show presents that laundry list of the reasons it can’t work long-term right there in Rebecca’s reaction.

I wanted to use the ‘I didn’t know who you were with’ line in the caption because I think it perfectly captures in its simplicity how these relationships are even allowed to happen in both TL and YGM, and how shocking it is even to the people in those relationships that they do (God, I didn’t realize! I didn’t know—!). Without the absurdity of this (beloved) romcom scenario aka the bubble of anonymity that is their internet communication, these two couples wouldn’t have happened. In YGM, it all ends up okay because Kathleen gets who she actually wanted and she’s tearfully shaking her head at, like, the luck of that. Rebecca on the other hand is unhappily blindsided, shaking her head even more vigorously at the bad (I think she’d say in that moment) luck of it. I think the visual contrast of their reactions is so interesting, and then you have Joe and Sam both being kind of encouraging and positive about it. Interesting!

There really is so much to unpack with that storyline. I’m not gonna get into the rest of their relationship’s lifecycle, but I agree with you that girl is working through some shit as we move forward! As well as learning some important things about herself that I hope make her more ready for a healthy relationship with her own self and a healthy romantic relationship with Ted :))) I hope one day we get an oral history of the show or something cause I reeeally wanna know what those writers' room conversations were like! Anyway, I am sorry to have brought distress to your dash <3 have a great day/night/weekend/etc!!

#anonymous #sam x rebecca #lol i probably didn't need to say that much but here we are

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