Ted Lasso Season 3 Episode 2 – technically entitled “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea” but almost certainly destined to be referred to as simply “Chelsea” – is about as busy and effective an episode as the show has ever given us. And by “busy and effective” I mean it’s super-dense with plot, chock full of character development, heavy on the comedy, and as dappled with drama as a climax forest at high noon. “Chelsea” is, in sum, one of Ted Lasso‘s very best episodes. I’m kind of stunned to announce that; after all, it’s only Episode 2! The really heavy hitters are supposed to come midseason and at season’s end, right?
Well, maybe. But before we launch into the recap proper, I would also like to point out something logistical. (And darkly hilarious, if you’re a recapper.) This episode is 48 minutes long. This episode of Ted Lasso. You know – the erstwhile workplace comedy. The one whose beating heart has now taken over completely and is running the show. Ted Lasso‘s pilot episode is a half-hour long. The longest episode in Season 1 is 33 minutes. By the middle of Season 2, the average episode length jumped into the mid-40s. “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea” – which is, again, neither a jam-packed season premiere nor a super-distended season finale, but is just a humdrum old second episode – is the second-longest episode of the entire show to date.
Mind you, I’m not complaining. I think what Ted Lasso is doing with structure is interesting as hell. It’s weird that Ted Lasso episodes are now effectively Succession-length. What other comedy does that? What other comedy spends so much time being pointedly not a comedy? Plus, all intellectual investment aside, I love Ted Lasso and I want as much of it as possible. I trust Jason Sudeikis at the helm of this ship. And I now also believe that the Season 3 finale will be roughly the length of a feature film. So these recaps aren’t going to get any shorter.
Having said all of that: let’s dive in to this beautiful episode! We open in the fun-drenched offices of KJPR, where one Keeley Jones is preparing to head out and oversee the filming of a commercial for one of her clients. Because the “PR” in the name stands for “Public Relations,” and not, as I keep assuming-slash-hoping, “PRivate Eye.” Can Keeley have a post-Ted Lasso spinoff where she solves crimes? After a fulfilling, challenging day as the head of her own scrappy, delightful PR firm? I bet Keeley would be an excellent detective. She learns quick and she’s tenacious as hell. Bill Lawrence, my DMs are as wide open as Keeley’s own smile.
But Keeley’s offices are not exactly fun-drenched. Her employees are total goobers who seem incapable of interacting with her or each other. The only one of them with any spark, any chutzpah, is Barbara, the CFO, who’s only there because the yet-unseen investors who staked Keeley’s business installed her. And Barbara is not the parade so much as the cloud that rains on it. With the impatience of a harried mother talking to her middle child, she reminds Keeley that the firm is responsible for any overtime costs, so for god’s sake don’t let the shoot go on too long. Keeley is more concerned with trying to bring all of her wallflower employees together, and proposes a picnic in the conference room. What a fun little thing that could be! Naturally, Barbara says she can’t make it before Keeley has a chance to propose a date and time.
On her way out, with the sweet sounds of…nobody…saying anything…trailing after her, Keeley gives this whole ray-of-sunshine thing another go. She turns and gives her employees a big smile that they absolutely do not deserve and tells them “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” All she gets is muttering. Good God man, I thought the British were masters of the polite, strained smile. Where’s their pretense of politeness for the boss? These guys are losers and they need to be de-losified, stat.
Across town, there’s a familiar face holding court in Rebecca’s office.
Oh hey, it’s Trent Crimm! Hi, Trent Crimm! Hey everybody, remember how Trent got fired from The Independent when the paper found out he revealed an anonymous source to Ted? And so now he’s just “Trent Crimm: Independent”? He’s probably gonna kick back and live like a fat cat on all those fat cat newspaper royalties, right? And so he’s just in Rebecca’s office, chilling with her and Higgins and Keeley (Keeley, don’t you have a commercial to go oversee?) and doing nothing much in particular, right?
Well – not exactly. It turns out that Trent would really like to write a whole-ass book about AFC Richmond. Everybody who had “Trent literally writes the book on Richmond” on your Ted Lasso Season 3 bingo cards, stamp that square and take a bow. However, Trent’s access is contingent upon one thing: Ted’s OK. While Trent turns to look at Ted, Rebecca and Higgins and Keeley all do very silent, very vigorous “NO FUCKING WAY” gestures for Ted’s eyes only. What, guys, are you worried about Trent sniffing around or something? Do you think he might find out a bunch of horribly delicious information about how Rebecca had a months-long affair with one of her hot young football stars, and oh yeah that makes him her employee? Or maybe he’ll find out about Rebecca’s initial plan to hire Ted specifically for his presumed incompetence in a Producers-esque attempt at sabotaging Richmond just so she could revel in Rupert’s anger? Or about the time Beard accidentally coached a match while tripping on mushrooms? Or anything at all other than the three things I just thought of just now off the top of my head? Naah – come on! What are you guys worried about that for? Trent’s probably not even that great an investigative reporter; I’m sure it’ll all be fine HAHAHA (more full-throated laughter followed by hacking coughs).
Anyway, Ted says sure why the heck not. So now Trent is back in the fold. As a fan of both comical plot developments and amazing hair, I support this development wholeheartedly. Next order of business: Zava is leaving Juventus! But who, you ask, is Zava? It seems he’s the Ted Lasso universe’s Messi-slash-Ronaldo equivalent: a crazy talented football superstar who’s played for “14 clubs in 15 years” and is diva as hell and wins trophies and scoring titles like nobody’s fucking business. Boy, Richmond could sure use somebody like that, right? Naah – according to Rebecca, he’s too expensive a player (plus, it was only one episode ago that Ted told her he feels like the current roster is more than capable of greatness as-is).
That is, until Rebecca hears that West Ham is among the EPL clubs interested acquiring Zava’s talents. Then she does an about-face to make a drill sergeant proud. A moment ago, Zava was an overpriced hindrance; now, it’s “Who doesn’t love a handful?” (Childish aside: I giggled like a complete and total moron when Hannah Waddingham delivered this line, because I am, in fact, both childish and a complete and total moron. I may also be giggling now.) Ted has no idea who Zava is or what’s going on. Coach, I know a certain level of cultural ignorance is part of your charm, but I’m going to need you to absorb a liiittle bit more about this sport given that you coach it for millions upon millions of dollars at the very highest level in the entire world.
Trent, though, is onto Rebecca’s pivot like an osprey hunting fish. He asks her point-blank if she wants to go after Zava simply because doing so will make things more difficult for her ex-husband. Behind Trent’s back, everyone else gives Rebecca the same “NO FUCKING WAY” signs that Ted got. And, just like Ted, Rebecca does the opposite: she smiles and says “Yes.” Trent respects her game. I hope these two spar a whole bunch this season.
Downstairs, Keeley wants Ted’s advice on how to get the sticks out of her employees’ asses. He suggests a group activity outside of the office. Without missing a beat, Keeley suggests she could “hire a shaman and do a bunch of ayhuasca under a blood moon!” You’ll definitely separate the meek from the willing. And honestly, Ted’s idea – a panic room – seems kind of risky? (It’s also possible that I’ve been watching too many Backrooms videos.)
Isaac emerges. In a callback to his Season 1 request for an endorsement deal with Rollos “and none of that Sour Patch Kids bullshit,” he asks Keeley if she can help him get a shoe deal. Any brand in particular, Isaac? “No brands,” he tells her. “Just shoes.” When Keeley tells him she’ll see what she can do, Kola Bokinni goes from Isaac the Stern to Isaac the Delightful in the time it takes him to snap his fingers.
Aah, but who else should Keeley run into if not Jamie? It’s a little bit warm and a little bit awkward. Jamie says “Keey-leyh.” I remember that Phil Dunster said “pooh-payh” with the same delivery last week and am sent spiraling out into a giggle fit once more. Keeley and Roy exchange some items. It’s a little bit warm and a lot bit awkward. Isaac watches them from across the corridor with the keen insight of a detective-savant. He tells Jamie the two are broken up. Jamie is incredulous, but Isaac’s got the goods: “Kinesics,” he says. “It’s the study of body language….No eye contact. Keeley’s crossed arms. Roy’s clenched ass. It’s science.”
Jamie gets that familiar look in his eye, the one we’ve all seen in a hundred comedies and rom-coms and dumbass movies where the guy goes after the girl he used to date because it’s what the script says he’s supposed to do. So of course the doofus Mancunian takes off down the hall after…Roy? Jamie follows Roy into the equipment room? Well, but so obviously he’s going to ask Roy if it’s too soon for him to ask Keeley out. Right? Yeah? Except what Jamie does – Jamie Tartt, mind you – is ask Roy if he’s OK. Roy is, understandably, confused. “It’s called empatheh,” Jamie tells him. I would like the people in charge of the Emmys to engrave Phil Dunster’s award right now, please and thank you.
But here’s a galloping shock: it’s not Roy who Jamie should be worried about, because Roy broke up with Keeley. Jamie is, understandably, confused. But that doesn’t stop him going in for a nice comforting hug. Roy has no idea what’s happening and is on the defensive faster than a public figure dressed in blackface. “I was trying to hug you,” Jamie says. “Well, you came at me too fast,” Roy barks. “Jesus,” Jamie replies; “sorry. I forgot how skittish elderly people could be because of the war. ” I am now dead; I have died of laughter. I died happy. Roy remains unhappy; he swears Jamie to silence about the breakup. And then Jamie turns and swears Will the kitman to silence, too. Will is always back there in the kit room, you guys. But your trust in him can be just as reliable.
We have reached the Coach’s Office portion of the proceedings. Beard enters to find Ted – Ted Lasso, mind you – reading Inverting the Pyramid. Beard looks baffled. So does Ted. It turns out he picked up more football knowledge from playing FIFA with Henry than he did from the venerated text, where apparently the Table of Contents is too tricky for Ted to navigate. Guys, seriously: it’s getting weird how deficient and outright dumb you’re making Ted about the stuff he has to do for his job. I understand that Ted Lasso is a show about football the way Better Call Saul is a show about crime. But Ted’s a smart guy; is it too much to ask or assume that, over time, he would…learn? Maybe? A little?
Anyway. It’s 11:11, which as we all know is Ted and Beard’s wishing hour. And by “know” I mean we know now, since this is the first time the show has ever mentioned it. I love these little backdoor details. They give us tiny, beautifully formed, implied history lessons about the characters. And, in this case, they invite us to daydream about all the different stuff the two of them have wished for. It’s like Surprise Sandwich Day, but for magic.
Ted asks Beard what he thinks about going after Zava. Beard shrieks. He acknowledges that Zava is 100% crazy, but that he would score a ton of goals and help Richmond win a ton of games. Ted, for some reason, still can’t get past the fact that he doesn’t know who Zava is. (Schoolteacher voice: “Then pay attention, Theodore!”) Aah, says Beard, but you do know Zava. Just, not for his football skills (specifically). What Ted knows is the viral video “Veggie Dog Vigilante,” which is surveillance camera footage of a customer headbutting the would-be burglar of a convenience store while holding a veggie dog in one hand and a bunch of assorted convenience store bullshit in the other. The VDV, it turns out, is Zava. The man’s legend only grows.
But wait – a commotion! Out in the locker room, the players are hubbubing a hubbub. There is shouting and there are accusatory tones. Ted asks everyone to please not get all worked up about Zava. The team takes this to mean that Zava to Richmond is a lock. Ted tries to explain that this is not the case. The commotion grows. Ted asks if everyone is nervous about Trent Crimm writing a book about Richmond. Colin asks if Trent is writing a book about Zava joining Richmond. Ted says that the book will be about the team. Bumbercatch asks if Zava is writing a book about the team. Ted says, “No, Trent Crimm.” Zoreaux says, “WHY WOULD ZAVA WRITE A BOOK ABOUT TRENT CRIMM?!?” I die for the second time. This episode is 12 minutes old and it has killed me twice. God bless you, Ted Lasso.
But no – the rumor that got everyone worked up was that Roy and Keeley split. (Of course it’s Jan Maas who speaks the dreaded words aloud.) Beard shrieks. Ted faints. Ted faints! Beard catches him. I congratulate Ted Lasso on perhaps the funniest one minute and nine seconds of its entire run so far. At one minute and ten seconds, though, Roy Kent enters stage left. Everyone freezes.
Roy confirms that the rumor is, in fact true. Everyone is in a rush to comfort the big grizzly bear. Ted tries to send Will to his apartment so he can bring back the super secret, super special CD called “Ted’s Breakup Mix.” The plan is stymied when Will asks what a CD is.
Beard heads off instead; he’s already got one foot out the door anyway, and he doesn’t need Ted’s keys because he has his own set. Only then he stops dead in his tracks when Roy delivers this joke’s punchline for the second time: he doesn’t need comfort; he’s fine; Keeley didn’t break up with him; he broke up with Keeley.
And then, because why the hell not, we stack a little more chaos atop this Mayhem Napoleon. Who should enter the Richmond locker room but one Trent Crimm. Roy is rather less than pleased with this development. He roars (and he really does roar – Brett Goldstein has a ton of space to really unleash the beast in this episode, and he uses every last centimeter of it) that anyone who talks to Trent about anything for any reason will find themselves getting smashed by Roy’s forehead. Only this isn’t the fun kind of smashing. This is the Veggie Dog Vigilante, I-used-to-forehead-smash-professionally sort, the kind where you see literal cartoon birdies after.
From one false start party to another, we head next to Keeley’s commercial. There’s a baby lamb and it’s partying in a dance club. There’s a big crowd and a bunch of bright lights and other dance club stuff and holy crow would it be awful to have to sit there for hours while the music blares and the lights blare and the drinks are all nothing but water. The two directors are concerned about the next shot, in which the lamb is supposed to drink whatever godawful chemical cocktail the commercial is selling, and then turn into a lion. (I’m calling this a callback to Keeley’s “Panda vs. Lion” question in Season 1. And yes, I am aware that lambs and pandas are different animals. They’re both the same to a lion.) The lamb absolutely cannot drink this thing or the enzymes will kill it. Keeley says she understands. The directors whisper that they don’t think she understands. Keeley cannot catch a fucking break.
Well, OK, maybe she can catch one break: the undying, unquestioned, unquestionable friendship of one Theodore Laurence Lasso. Now that the word about Keeley and Roy is out there on the streets, Ted is become Support, bringer of Comfort:
Ted isn’t physically with Keeley to help take her mind off of this frustrating shoot, though. But you know who is? Keeley’s old friend Shandy Fine (or, as Keeley puts it, “Shandy Fucking Fine!”) Turns out the two of them (and several other women) lived together and modeled together and partied together back in their reckless era. Keeley is happy as hell to see a familiar face, but Shandy is genuinely impressed by Keeley’s legitimate (for lack of a better word) success. It turns out Keeley is the only one from their friend group to not be living the same life a decade or so later. (She also saw Keeley in Vanity Fair – with all of her clothes on.) “You made it out,” Shandy says. “All by yourself.”
Keeley is appropriately gobsmacked by Shandy’s praise and by the fact that at this particular moment she doesn’t feel like she’s made anything but a poop-load of impossible work for herself. But then one of the directors insists they need to really pack the club for the shot and have to call in a hundred more extras on the spot. Keeley, no doubt remembering Barbara’s warning about overtime pay, registers panic on her somehow-still-composed face – but then Shandy, an old pro at commercials, steps up big time. “You could just add a strobe effect in post and people cross close to camera,” she tells the director. “It’ll feel really packed and you won’t have to spend any more money.” That sounds really smart! Also simple. Like, the kind of thing maybe the professional director should have thought of first? But Shandy beat him to it, which means she’s speedy and thrifty. Gee, I wonder if we’ll be seeing more of her? Aah, but it’s impossible to predict the future; I would need psychic powers to do that.
Speaking of which, hey did you guys know that Rebecca’s mom Deborah sees a psychic on the regular? What a fortuitous transition! Also that she is played by Harriet Walter, who is always appropriate in every setting?
Harriet Walter is a goddamn international treasure. When I realized that it’s the same woman playing Rebecca’s mother on Ted Lasso and Roman and Kendall and Shiv’s mother on Succession I nearly fainted with glee. You could have told me Roy and Keeley broke up and I wouldn’t have been able to react more strongly. God bless you, Harriet Walter; that’s all I’m trying to say here. Also that Deborah is calling to let Rebecca know that Tish, Deborah’s psychic, has agreed to meet with Rebecca. Rebecca scoffs at the idea. And that’s probably all that’s going to come of that. Rebecca would never see a psychic. Ted Lasso is known for its throwaway gags and scenes that go nowhere, and they absolutely would have brought Harriet Fucking Walter back for a quick unimportant cameo. It’s the sort of thing a slapdash production like this does as a matter of course. (WINK)
In more tangible matters, Higgins informs Rebecca that Zava has zero interest in meeting with her or anyone else from Richmond. In the words of Zava’s unseen representatives, “It would be a waste of time.” Rebecca assumes this means she’s not only lost the Zava Sweepstakes, but that she’s lost to Rupert a-goddamn-gain. But no – Higgins informs her that Zava intends to sign with Chelsea. When his boss is skeptical, Higgins now quotes Zava himself: “I will not sign with West Ham.” But this only convinces Rebecca that Higgins, who I really wish she would refer to as “Higgledy-Piggledy” in scenes like this, has jinxed the whole operation and that fate will intervene on Rupert’s behalf.
Another character who could use fate’s intervention? Mr. Trent Crimm, now so independent that he might as well be one of the 400 ghosts haunting Richmond’s training room. To the dulcet tones of the Kinks’ “A Well-Respected Man,” Trent takes the walk from the training facility’s front doors to its locker room – you know, the one we’ve seen Ted take loads of times, smiling and greeting everyone by name as he goes – without a soul willing to talk to him. Even Jamie, who at first seems poised to make a cheeky remark, thinks better of it, saying “No; no” and wagging a finger at himself as he heads off.
That’s OK, though, because Trent is nothing if not the keep-calm-and-carry-on type. And it turns out he’s well-positioned to learn about the team’s inner-workings regardless: Ted has given him Nate’s old desk. Which means Trent gets to share an office with Roy!
LOL Roy hides his feelings so well. Trent apologizes for the awkward arrangement, because of course he does. Then he gets a phone call from his editor. While Trent talks onscreen, the offscreen Roy reaches past the breakup sympathy cards – including one from Liza, the Richmond fan who congratulated Sam after his Season 2 hat trick, then snuck a cheeky selfie with him when his back was turned – and teddy bears and other post-Keeley gifts with which his desk is positively festooned so he can grab a balloon. He grabs a balloon so he can POP it with enough force to make Trent jump. Roy pops another balloon. It sounds like an M80 in a coffee can. He pops another balloon and I almost choke on my beverage from laughing. Trent gets the message and goes to take his call elsewhere. Roy, an instant away from popping the fourth balloon, looks almost tranquil.
Elsewhere in Brand New Office Buddies, Keeley and Shandy are hanging out on Keeley’s office couch and acting like no time has passed between them. In this scene, the role of Roy Kent is played by Barbara, who is less than enthused to see an interloper infringing on her boss’ precious time. Keeley introduces Shandy as KJPR’s newest employee. And what will her job be, exactly? Well, that’s easy: “She will be consulting…for affiliate…management…[extra long beat here]…and…[dawning realization] client relationships!”
Barb is…not pleased. The way you can tell is she sits down, addresses Shandy like a feudal lord talking to a supplicating tenant farmer, and establishes in the span of three questions that Shandy has no experience in this business, no university degree (or studies), and that her last job before Keeley was as a model. Oh – and that Shandy’s job doesn’t exist.
It’s about as deflating a dressing-down as you can imagine. After Barb (really want to call her “Babs”; maybe in the next recap) returns to her office, Keeley apologizes to her friend and promises to fix this. And she starts to do exactly that the old-fashioned, straightforward way, by chastising Barbara Barb Babs for talking to someone in a manner that you simply can’t. But just as Keeley told Rebecca last week that she has to let Ted be Ted and that sometimes Rupert’s gonna Rupert, Keeley lets Keeley be Keeley when she gets derailed by a (literal) shiny thing that she manages to turn into a moment of true empatheh and a lesson for the both of them. Because almost as soon as she starts in on Barb, Keeley gets distracted by the massive snow globe collection on the table behind her CFO.
It is impressive, as snow globe collections go. Barb manages to respond to Keeley’s legitimate curiosity with a little legitimate humanity herself. “The firm sends me from company to company,” she explains, “and – yeah, wherever I go, I just…buy a snow globe. It’s silly, really.” Does Keeley Jones find Barb’s snow globe globetrotting silly? She does not – she finds it charming as can be. Keeley does remind Barb that she “cannot speak to people” the way she did to Shandy. But her friend is “smart, she is eager” – and, most importantly, Keeley believes in her. “Like the firm must believe in you to send you all over the world, to all those wonderful places.” And just like that, Keeley has begun winning her own locker room over to her way of thinking. Remember how, back in Season 1, Ted told Beard that if he won over Roy, he would get the rest of the team in turn? Now do you see what I did up there, comparing Barbara to Roy? Pretty slick, eh? Yeah, I know it’s not. It’s a lonely life, you guys. We’ve got to take our little joys where we can find them. Oh, and also Barbara comes up with Shandy’s new title: “Client Relations Coordinator.” Not bad, Babs.
At the end of the day, as Roy walks to his car, Trent hits him up in the parking lot. He tries to pull a Keeley by empathehsizing with Roy a little bit, then asks him to at least give the ole Crimm a chance. Roy: “…Fuck. Off.” Nice try, Trent. Maybe if you bought Roy some balloons.
And just like that, it’s Match Day! Fans are filing into the stadium! Arlo White and Chris Powell are talking and making lots of terrible jokes! The Crown & Anchor is full! Baz and Jeremy and Paul are happy! Paul brought them fancy hats!
It’s the opening match of Richmond’s season, but it’s not the club’s home opener. They’re playing at Stamford Bridge, Chelsea’s home stadium. Because everything in this episode revolves around Chelsea (until it doesn’t). So Rebecca and Keeley aren’t in the standard owner’s box; they look to be seated sort of roughly in front of the Stamford Bridge owner’s box? They’re way the hell up in the upper deck, though. I can’t tell if these are supposed to be good seats. They don’t seem bad, but they’re not offset and prestigious (like the owner’s box at the Dogtrack) or close to the action.
In any case! Keeley gets a message from Shandy and maybe thinks about dialing back some of her workplace enthusiasm for her new hire.
But that’s not the truly juicy stuff. Higgins scurries over with the latest Zava gossip (“Gossava”) – he’s definitely signing with Chelsea. Totally. A hundred percent. How does Higgins know? I’m as glad you asked me as he surely is that Rebecca asked him: “A friend of my wife knows an agent whose masseuse moonlights as an airline steward on private jets. Now – she wasn’t working today, but her co-worker – who can read lips – he saw Zava mouth the word ‘Chelsea.’ A lot!”
I can’t get enough of Hannah Waddingham’s face in this scene. She looks like a mother listening to her teenage child try to explain why it’s actually not a big deal that they took the car without permission and then lost it in a pie eating contest. Needless to say, Rebecca is not impressed by Higgins’ network of spies. And she informs him that by telling her once again Rupert has no chance at signing Zava, Higgins has now doubled down on his Zava-jinxing. She doesn’t end the scene with “Good day!” but she might as well have.
One person for whom it’s supposed to be a very good day is Roy “What’s the Frequency, Kenteth” Kent. Chelsea, you will recall, is the club for which Roy played immediately before finishing his career at Richmond. Today’s match is his first time back at Stamford Bridge since his retirement. He comes out of the tunnel alone during warm-ups and greets an usher, Bruce, with real warmth. Roy smiles and everything! Then Bruce says he’s sorry to hear about Keeley and that he can’t believe Roy broke up with her, and that smile goes right back into hiding.
But as he walks away muttering “Fucking Bruce,” the fans start to notice Roy. Then they start to cheer. Roy sits and ignores them, but before long there’s a whole passel of folks doing the famous Roy Kent Chant. And then the whole goddamn stadium is doing it, shouting out “HE’S HERE, HE’S THERE, HE’S EVERY FUCKING WHERE” and it really is a marvelous thing to behold. Roy stands to acknowledge the cheers and sees that they even hung a big-ass banner in honor of him. Look at that awesome banner!
It really is a very nice and lovely moment. In the club-seats-slash-cheap-seats-whatever-they’re-supposed-to-be, even Keeley smiles a small, happy smile. But this moment is immediately supplanted by another, bigger one when a mysterious sunglassed beanpoleish fellow wanders out into the upper deck one section over. This, Arlo White informs us, is the great Zava.
Maximilian Osinski, the fellow playing this mysterious footballing superstar, does a great job even at an immediate remove of playing lithe pomposity combined with the casual arrogance every gifted athlete displays by simply moving about in a space. It’s Zava! He basks in Chelsea’s adulation. I’d imagine a fellow like Zava has been basking for his entire adult life.
And if he’s signing with Chelsea, he probably feels alright about the decision. At the half, the club is up 1-0 over Richmond, who managed to hang together decently enough but who appear disorganized and outclassed. They’re about the last thing on Rebecca’s mind, though. Because now Rupert has also arrived at the stadium, and he’s got nothing better to do than stand next to Zava’s seat and lay it on as thick as a butcher cutting his family’s bacon. So to Keeley (and anyone who noticed that Richmond’s owner is hanging out with no entourage and wanted to eavesdrop), Rebecca explains exactly why she’s so hell-bent on not letting Rupert win. And she does it by way of the long-awaited, much-anticipated Rebecca And Rupert Back Story. (! [!!])
It seems that years ago, Rebecca was a bartender in a posh private club. One night, Rupert came in (with his then-wife) and smiled and glad-handed and bought everyone drinks and generally made himself the life of the party. A week later, he came back – alone. He tried to get a date with Rebecca, because of course he did. And Rebecca turned him down, because of course she did. So Rupert proceeded to come back to her bar and sit and drink and chat with her every evening, all evening, for six weeks. He told her, “It doesn’t matter if you ever go out with me – it’s just worth it being here to get to know you.” Go ahead, swoon a bit; that’s a great, great line. Rupert is still an an unending, limitless asshole. Both of those things can be true.
After a month and a half of this, Rebecca finally caved. Because of course she did. She is a human being, and Rupert is a 31st century hell-bot designed to charm humans to death. (It’s just what he does!) But what’s really heartbreaking is Rebecca’s description of why she started seeing him: “At that point, I just felt so lucky. Because he wanted me. He made me feel special. Chosen.” And so that is why she’s now completely, unshakably convinced that Rupert will win Zava, too.
You know who could use Zava right now, though? AFC Richmond, who are down in their cramped little locker room and threatening to fall into complete disarray. Ted calls their first-half performance with its lone (accidental) shot on goal straight off of Dani’s face “less offensive than a Hallmark Christmas movie.” Unfortunately, as with his crack about Field of Dreams, no one on the team understands what he means. (Are Hallmark movies not a thing in Britain? Because this team sure as hell knew a ton of rom-coms in “Rainbow.”) Jamie starts to offer a game plan, but then Trent Crimm enters and everyone clams the hell up. Well, this situation is untenable. And Ted knows it, too. In a rare moment of force, he asks Roy to please step aside into the group shower for a talk.
In an equally rare move, Ted comes right to the point: “I don’t know what your beef with Trent is, but I’m gonna need you to start ordering off the vegan menu right now and squash this.” And he gets a vegetable joke in there too! Ted is back, baby. But the line in this scene that’s (understandably) getting the most attention is Ted’s explanation, offered in a gentle, conspiratorial whisper and without a single word of prompting from Roy, of exactly what a Hallmark Christmas movie is.
And Hallmark Christmas movies are films that feature women from the big city falling in love with their childhood crushes. It’s usually some fella that owns a Christmas tree farm. Sometimes he’s also Santa Claus or a prince. [Roy nods.] They suck, but they’re great. [Roy nods.] But they also mostly suck. But they’re also kinda great. [beat] They’re good with the sound off.
This is the best definition of a Hallmark Christmas movie that it is possible for a human being to give. Ted Lasso, take your bow.
And after that, Roy confronting Trent is just a fait accompli. He barks at Crimm to join him in the shower, then confronts him with his own little origin story. Roy pulls a well-worn newspaper clipping from his wallet and reads it to the bewildered reporter. It seems that the first write-up Roy ever got after his first big-time professional football match called him “overhyped” and a “so-called prodigy” and a “profound disappointment” and even more, equally unflattering things. “I was seventeen years old,” Roy says. “This fucking wrecked me.” (He never says that Trent wrote it or makes Trent say he wrote it, though. All Roy does it ask “Do you know who wrote this?”)
Trent tells Roy he was also a very young, very green journalist trying to make a name for himself and doing so by looking for the worst in people. He apologizes to Roy. Roy says, “It’s all right.” And that’s that. It does make sense, that that is how Roy Kent would accept an apology. Neat, tidy; let’s move on. Roy walks back into the locker room and announces, “You can talk around this prick, now.”
Back in the stands, Zava has disappeared with Rupert and Higgins is flailing about for fresh intel. He starts to take us down the rabbit hole – “I just got off the phone with my son’s karate teacher, who used to date the woman who runs Zava’s avocado farm” – but Rebecca cuts him short. She decides to get in the game, and heads down the swanky, dimly lit exclusive corridor where the Zavster was last seen. It’s probably the first private room Rebecca hasn’t been able to enter in years. There’s even a bouncer out front who insists, with a straight face, that Zava isn’t seeing anyone – even though, as Rebecca points out, she just saw someone leave with Zava. And then she hears a familiar voice say her name.
That is the look on Rebecca’s face when she hears Rupert. All the pain she’s endured, all the emotional abuse and manipulation – it all comes running out. And it’s exacerbated in this case because here she was trying to run a sneak attack on him and he managed to literally sneak up behind her and rattle her. God, the chokehold this man has on Rebecca. Drawn and quartered is too good for Rupert.
Rebecca tries to make something like a pitch to Zava, but it’s clear that Rupert has already won. He tells Rupert “See you soon” and Rupert says “Can’t wait.” They sound like lovers. To Rebecca, Zava says “It’s an honor for you to meet me.”
Then just like that, he’s off, and it’s just Rebecca and Rupert standing there surrounded by the whole unaddressed wreck of everything. At least, that’s what surrounds Rebecca. Rupert couldn’t be less bothered. Rebecca tells him she was surprised by his purchase of West Ham, given that before their divorce he’d been Richmond ’till he died. (Not soon enough.) “Guess I’m just like any man,” Rupert replies. “Just get bored with the same old, same old.” Jesus christ almighty, what a fuckin asshole. (Also, Rupert, the next time you feel obliged to speak for all men: don’t.)
And then Rupert peaces out with his dumbass cape billowing out behind him, looking for all the world like a pre-hemorrhoidal Darth Vader.
It’s going to be glorious when Nate’s redemption arc destroys Rupert. He can turn into an emotional self-destruct sequence; he can get thrown into a Death Star infrastructure pit like Emperor Palpatine and disintegrate into a little plasma fart when he hits bottom. I’ll be happy either way! Oh – and the way I know Rupert is going down hard is Rebecca, far from disintegrating herself in the face of Rupert’s gentle, pointy daggers, stalks off toward the men’s room. Where Zava is at a urinal, pissing with no hands. She calls him “fucking chickenshit” for signing with West Ham, where the team is already loaded and things will be easy and Zava can just coast on past glories without ever having to challenge himself or find out whether he’s really as good as he thinks he still is. (If Zava has played for 14 clubs in 15 years, and if we take prodigy Roy Kent’s debut age of 17 as a standard, then the Zavster is definitely looking up the hillside at his career’s back end.)
Ted Lasso Season 3 Episode 2 is all about origin stories and moving forward, but it could just as easily be all about Hannah Waddingham’s facial expresses. Here she is calling Zava a chickenshit phony!
And here she is telling him that he eats “too much fucking asparagus!”
But seriously, Zava, that was an impressively long piss. It’s no Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own, but it’s a strong contender to the Piss Throne.
OK – now back to the pitch, where a recomposed Richmond is just looking for the leveler. Colin brings the ball forward and passes to Jamie. Jamie sends it across to Sam. Sam takes the shot – and it’s just high, striking the crossbar with tremendous force. Enough tremendous force to ricochet from the crossbar to Dani’s face and back again for the goal! Dani is ebullient: “My face scored a goal! My face scored a goal!…Do you think Zava saw?”
And thus does Richmond snatch decency from the jaws of defeat, coming away with a 1-1 draw to start the season. Then we move to what Chelsea’s management thinks is the real highlight of the day: Zava’s signing ceremony. The Zavster emerges in this surprisingly dingy, drop-ceilinged and weirdly low-ceilinged room (Zava’s head is maybe an inch and a half from scraping against it), sits down, and announces that he doesn’t want to go to Chelsea. Well, that’s no surprise to Rebecca, who starts to leave with Keeley and Higgins in tow. (And it’s no surprise to us, since we already saw the episode title.) No, what Zava wants to announce is that Zava will play…for Richmond.
RECORD SCRATCH – Rebecca comes rushing back down the hall to where this miracle is unfolding on television. The Richmond three shriek with joy. The Greyhounds roar with delight from their locker room. Zava asks Chelsea’s owner, whose beautiful contract will remain forever unsigned, “May I keep the pen?” Rupert, watching the press conference from his dumb phone in his dumb car, gets really mad. It’s awesome.
Rupert throwing his phone across the seat is almost a callback to Rebecca tossing her phone across her office last season after sending her daring little dating app messages. Except that that was fine, and Rupert is dumb. I repeat: HA-HA. The only other fly in the ointment comes from one Jamie Tartt, who has been more than a little put out by Zava’s superstardom this whole time, and who says to himself, “Fans are not gonna like this.” (Then we cut to the Crown & Anchor, where Richmond’s Zava-mad fans are juuust a little bit elated by the news.)
And so: we have reached the final scene of this master class of an episode. Back at Richmond HQ, everyone’s getting ready to call it a day. Ted wouldn’t mind a celebratory drink, but Beard’s off to catch Jane’s friend’s immersive theater show about the menstrual cycle. (Ted: “Well, I hope you’re not late.”) Before he leaves, Beard also mentions that Jane finds his relationship with Ted “threatening.” Since Jane is the exact opposite of Ted in almost every way, that’s almost kind of sweet. Jane is Bizarro-Ted. If you combine Jane and Ted, you get Beard. Hey, there’s a Ted Lasso time travel prequel-sequel I’d watch.
Roy bids Ted and Trent a good night, and Ted asks him how it felt to be back at Chelsea, where he’s still revered and beloved. Roy says that it was kind of…sad. Ted wonders why. Roy takes a long, every-fucking-where-sized pause. He looks at Trent. He sighs.
Papa Roy tells us all the story of the time during his last season at Chelsea when the team played Arsenal. “And we fucking murdered them.” Trent remembers: it was a 3-0 win. But Roy remembers that he played like shit. Ted’s a bit incredulous, so Roy turns to Trent for verification. And Trent, after wisely equivocating, nods a very small nod of agreement. “I did,” Roy says. It was the very first time in his entire career that he ever thought, “I can’t keep up anymore. I’m not good enough.”
So Roy decided, as so many great athletes do, that the way out was not through but away. And the end of the season, Roy bolted Chelsea – respected, a team that regularly contends for the Premier League crown – in favor of Richmond, a team so steeped in mediocrity its starting eleven might as well have been the cast of Modern Family. The knowledge that “it was only gonna get worse,” the fear that he might become “one of them broken-down footballers, just taking up space” – these were Roy’s sole considerations.
But now, a few years removed and ensconced firmly in a whole new career, Roy allows himself the merest sliver of doubt. Part of him wonders what it would have been like if he had…stayed. And “…just…fucking…enjoyed myself.” Roy says “enjoyed” like a child choking down greens. His face is the face of a child whose dinner and dessert are both about to come right back up the wrong pipe. Somehow, Brett Goldstein manages both of those expressions at the same time. It’s the tenderest we’ve ever seen Roy, and maybe the sweetest, and definitely the most vulnerable.
But Roy did not do those things. That Roy Kent was incapable of them: “That is not who I am,” he says. He adds, “I guess.” So the door is maybe, possibly, potentially open for a little bit of…growth, we might say? And of course Ted points out that if Roy had never come to Richmond, the two of them would probably never have met. Ted makes eyes at Roy and they are so ridiculous that I had to resist the urge to embed the photo right here for a second time in this article when it’s already the hero image up there at the very top. Don’t go scaling this mountain to look at it just yet, though. It’ll be weeks before you make your way back down.
So Roy bids a good night, and Trent bids a good night, and Ted sits in his office a moment, alone, while the soundtrack comes in all gentle and caring with Andrew Bird’s “Night Falling,” itself all gentle and caring and ruminative in the way of all Andrew Bird songs. Maybe Ted thinks about whether he’s capable of staying somewhere unusual and just enjoying himself. Maybe he thinks about what it means if night’s falling but he’s not alone, about what it would mean if he weren’t alone.
Believe it or not, I think that that is probably enough words for now. As always – if you’ve read this far, or even if you only read a little bit and then skipped to the end, I appreciate you.
