Ted Lasso

Welcome to London Heathrow.

For your security, do not leave any personal items unattended.

This is the final boarding call for flight 822 to Kansas City.

Final boarding for flight 822.

Paging passenger Lasso.

Report to the ticket desk.

Paging passenger Lasso. Please report to the ticket desk.

Buddy, we gotta roll. Come on. Let's go.

Your mom sent you a text.

Come on, go.

Henry Lasso. Passenger Henry Lasso. - Hey, we're here. We're here.

Sorry about that.

We got distracted.

Little guy was trying to unlock Princess Peach on Super Smash Bros.

Totally understand.

I once held an entire flight to Sydney hostage

until I finished the final level of Breath of the Wild.

Hmm. Feels like a potentially troublesome sentence to say in this setting,

but, hey, I appreciate you.

Hello, Henry. It's nice to see you again. Are you excited to head back home?

To all my toys? Yes.

To my country's political landscape? Not so much.

Mmm. Yeah.

Well, I have a tendency to doze off with CNN on.

All right, big guy. Let's get you all set up here.

IPad's all loaded up with a bunch of movies,

so no need to watch your neighbor's screen, okay?

Less movies about clowns in sewers, the better, right?

Amen, Big Ben.

Mmm. - Oh, here.

Dad, uh, I made you something. - What you got?

Oh! Hey.

A little tiny Premier League trophy? All right!

I can't wait to drink champagne out of this sucker, you know?

I mean, it's just to have until you win the real one.

Oh, well, hey. You never know, right?

I'm sorry, Mr. Lasso, but we are pressed for time.

Uh, of course. Of course. Okay.

Whoo! Six weeks goes by real quick when you're having fun, don't it?

Hey, do me a favor. When you get home,

will you give your mom a big squeeze from me to let her know I love her? Yeah?

But until then, here, you bring it in. Come on.

All right.

Mmm. Okay. Okay. Hey. I love you, buddy.

I love you too, Dad.

Yeah. All right. Okay. Get out of here.

Come on.

Passengers on Flight 2492...

With service to JFK airport, we are now boarding.

...to Amsterdam has been delayed

and will now be departing from Gate 17.

We apologize for any inconvenience.

Good morning, Ted. - Hey, Doc.

How're you feeling? - Yeah, no. I'm fine. Yeah.

So, how did the drop-off go?

For me or for him?

'Cause I think those are two very different answers.

But no, I'm fine, I think. I don't know.

I just feel kinda guilty about the little guy

flying all by himself again, you know?

I understand, Ted. But children are resilient.

And a sense of autonomy at Henry's age is good for him.

No, I know. That's true.

I remember being left at school when I was Henry's age.

I ended up helping our custodian, Mr. Maher, clean half the school

until my dad remembered to come pick me up.

He gave Mr. Maher cash for babysitting me.

I showed up to school the next day

and Mr. Maher gave me the money as payment for the work I'd done.

So then I used that money to buy him a thank-you gift,

but never got the chance to give it to him,

'cause, well, he ended up getting hit by a train.

Oh, wow. I didn't see that coming.

Yeah, well, neither did Mr. Maher.

How are things at work?

Are you feeling good about the upcoming season?

Oh, yeah. Uh, sure.

Well, I guess I do sometimes wonder what the heck I'm still doing here.

I... I mean, I know why I came,

but it's the sticking around I can't quite figure out.

You don't quit things, Ted. - Right. Right. Yeah.

But, hey, maybe my being here

is doing more hurting than helping at this point, you know?

Well, as the man once said, "Doubt can only be removed by action."

Ooh, I like that. - I thought you would.

We only have a couple of minutes left. - Ah, okay.

Hey, you still cool with me asking you some personal questions?

For now, yes. Go on.

Hey!

Holy smokes, I love that hat.

I recognize you from that show Leaky Diapers, don't I? Huh?

Okay, let's see. You dating anyone? - Pass.

Ooh! You usually say no to that one.

What team you with right now? - Can't say.

Okay. All right. Well, what sport? - Can't say.

Uh-huh. How many Australians you got on the team?

Nine. - Oh, rugby. Mmm. What a game.

It's like American football and sumo wrestling gave birth to a baby

with huge muscular thighs all caked in mud.

Okay, Ted. I need to go.

Okay. Talk to you later, Doc.

Goodbye, Ted. - All right now.

You finally got off.

Not yet, I didn't.

Bloody hell!

All of them. All of them have us finishing last this season.

Mmm. It's really rather annoying, isn't it?

Every newspaper, every television pundit,

every lonely middle-aged sports-blogging loser writing in his mother's basement.

Oh, you know, Rebecca, that stereotype really isn't true anymore.

For example, our ten-year-old, Terry, started writing a sports blog

in our kitchen, which we now call his home office.

For tax purposes.

Right, well I apologize for the generalization.

Where does your son have us finishing?

Hey, y'all. - Hey, Ted.

Good morning, Ted. - Mmm.

Oh. No rhyming salutation. Something wrong?

Way to notice, Amos Otis.

Yeah. Henry went back to Kansas this morning.

Oh. Thank you. - Mm-hmm. Yep, yep.

Dropped him off at the airport a little bit ago.

Now he's up in a plane, 10,000 feet in the sky.

I think they fly higher than that. - Definitely.

Yeah, well, I'm down here on Earth checking my phone every ten minutes,

watching his plane get further and further away.

Yeah.

But, hey, I didn't mean to come in here and tinkle on y'all's toenails.

What's the buzz? Tell me what's happening.

Well, apparently, everyone alive has picked Richmond

to finish in 20th place this season.

Hmm. - Except the Daily Mirror,

which has us finishing "twenty elf."

An adorable but devastating typo.

Hmm. Okay. Well, you know what?

I predict all their predictions ain't gonna come true.

So, it looks like we got ourselves a prediction Mexican standoff.

Or as they call them in Mexico, a prediction standoff.

Well, the worst part is that

they've picked Rupert to finish in the top four.

Rupert's gonna play this year?

What? No.

Oh, so you mean West Ham?

Precisely. Everyone thinks he's better than us.

They. Everyone thinks they are better than us.

Yes, that's what I said. They.

So, what's the plan? How are we gonna beat him?

Them. - Exactly.

Oh, boy.

Mmm. You know, this might be a good time

for us to update our roster. Put some more firepower in the team.

That is a great idea, Leslie.

Let's put some feelers out, shall we? Ted?

Well, I know Roy and Coach Beard

are working on some new tactics.

And, you know, the fellas we got are already gelling real nice.

I think we're gonna do fine this season.

Ted, this team doing "just fine" is a far cry

from you telling me we're going to win the whole thing.

Whoa! - Whoa, did I really say that?

Yes, you did. Over there after the Man City loss.

Just before you blasted half a liter of Pellegrino in my face.

Oh, right. - Wait, what happened?

That is the Ted Lasso I want coaching my team this season.

The one who's willing to fight.

Understood? - Yes, ma'am.

You watch, from now on,

I'll be floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.

Except I won't die immediately after using my stinger.

I plan to float and sting for the entirety of the whole season.

Excellent.

Right, if you'll excuse me,

I have a very important lunch meeting with one Ms. Keeley Jones...

Ooh! - For some much-needed girl talk.

Hey, tell her we said howdy and...

Yo.

Okay.

You say "yo"? - Yeah, I know. It just popped out...

Oh, no. I'm not judging. I loved it.

I wanna make sure I heard right. - Okay. Yeah.

But I... But I feel like... - Yeah.

That makes sense, right? I could put my...

What? Another one? Dead last. -

Dead last? Who wrote that?

Fucking everybody, bruv.

Glenn Hoddle, Graeme Souness, Jermaine Jenas...

Maybe they're trying to motivate us.

Yeah. Thank you very much, Dani.

I had a woman accost me on the street,

telling me I should fake an injury this season

so I wouldn't have to deal with the misery.

Did you tell her to piss off?

No, she was a nun. - Oh.

Wait, a nun? -

They must get Sky Sports in the monasteries.

Hey. Hey, hey, lads. Hey.

We ain't gonna get relegated 'cause we're together.

And together, we got me.

Statistically speaking,

most teams who get promoted are relegated the very next year.