Where Is This Mythical Workplace?

Where, exactly, does one find a Ted Lasso workplace? Must we go to England? Does such a thing exist only in the imaginations of former SNL and The Simpsons writers?

Is it a magical made-up spot like the Nutcracker’s Land of Sweets Midnight Ballroom, the fabled glittery underground where twelve princesses secretly dance each night?

Regardless, can we work there? Shouldn’t everyone experience a workplace with supportive co-workers, aw-shucks attitudes, and a colleague who delivers homemade biscuits to our desks each morning?

Never once, in twenty years of corporate, has someone said, “It’s okay. We all make mistakes. Be a goldfish.”

There are the boys, a group unlike any other, hmm?

Sassy’s not wrong when she says Ted’s a mess, but only in the best way. Life has kicked this guy around, but he gets up each day determined to be the light in the room, the jolt of joy and the lifter of spirits, despite the puns. Even Coach Beard–what’s the attraction?–oh, there it is, would be a delight to share a workday with. If Roy Kent’s growl is as bad as it gets, count me in. Please.

These men make us remember why we liked men. But it’s the ladies, my dolls. The ladies give way to the culture of The Dog Track.

Keely, the darling. What would you give to have that ball of happiness zipping around the office each day, seeing you, recognizing you, and lavishing zero judgment on any error?

Rebecca–our goddess Rebecca. Give this middle-aged bombshell another biscuit–she’ll actually eat it. First thing in the morning. And strut away in four-inch heels that make her legs look fantastic. That too. Don’t say you don’t care what you look like- of course you do. Liar. Have you not yet learned that we are not judged simply by our talents? Be realistic.

You know by now we have to possess bigger skills and soccer balls than any man we’re up against; do it in a killer suit and heels and still be able to have a martini at day’s end with our enemies. Facts of life. Her magic skill? Other women. Women are neither combatants nor competition. Her competition is herself, her improvement, her mastery. How jealous are we?

Her ire is directed exactly where it should be–at an asshat ex-husband and his obsession with besting her. Does it get to her? Damn right. Does she get mad? Damn right. Does she wish for his doom? Double damn right.

Cross her at your own peril. This woman has been through it and was determined to be the villain. Instead, surrounded by those who lift instead of tear down, she flourishes. Ted’s not wrong when he says, “She’s got some fences, alright, you just gotta hop over ’em.” Add cookies in a little pink box? C’mon!

If there’s a job on this side of the pond boasting curiosity over judgement, fostering greatness from those both above and below you on the food chain, giving grace to human behavior, and recognizing the value of cookies at work, point us in that direction.

Until then, staff will cling mightily to WFH. The world can beat the snot out of us anywhere. Why add the office to the list?

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