Imagine a man who calls my beloved tea ‘pigeon sweat.’ In one of many atrocious puns, he thinks ghosts ‘need to believe in themselves.’ And he says we should all act like goldfishes, because they only remember things for ten seconds. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.
Now that I’ve got some of you riled up, let’s do a little context. ‘He,’ of course, is Ted Lasso, the fictional American coach from the eponymous television series, a comedy containing all sorts of pithy life moments and lessons built in (sometimes a little ham-handedly, TBH). The unlikely premise of the tale is that Ted is brought to the UK by Rebecca Welton, the new owner of AFC Richmond, a professional soccer/football club she got in the divorce settlement from her unfaithful husband, Rupert. Rebecca knows the club was something Rupert loved above just about everything else, so in classic Shakespearean mode (hell hath no fury like a woman scorned), she decides to run the club into the ground, and this is where Ted comes in. To start, he’s an American college coach for American football… and hasn’t the slightest clue about how to play ‘the beautiful game,’ as soccer is referred to by millions of aficionados around the world. Rebecca is counting on his bumbling ineptitude to destroy the team from the inside out. However, in an improbable turn of events, Ted and his coaching staff manage to avoid complete disaster, and Rebecca finds herself reluctantly coming around to root for his success.
My focus today isn’t really on the series, it’s on the man. Ted Lasso. The protagonist. I suggested this series to my wife after we’d just finished watching Silo, and she in particular was in need of something a little lighter. (My viewing tastes tend to lean more towards dystopian science fiction, I confess, but my gentle wife really prefers things a little more uplifting, with a good dollop of redemption. We both really enjoyed Silo, but a laff-riot it most definitely is not… in fact, a number of its themes hit perhaps a little close to home in our current real-life dystopia, as our battered rock hurtles through the inky vastness of space on its journey around the sun. So, as I said, she was looking for something a little lighter. I knew very little about Ted Lasso other than it was a comedy and had been recommended to me, but was willing to give it a go.)
So… protagonists. Let’s talk about the Goldilocks protagonist for a bit… you know, the sweet-spot guy or gal with whom you can identify… or at least cheer on unabashedly.
I have to be honest here, in my hot take for the day: I find Ted very hard to take at times. Never mind the folksy charm, the awful puns, and the thick, cornpone southern accent, it’s his constant, relentless cheerfulness in the face of Will’s slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, his unfailing ability to forgive all manner of slights and betrayals by friend and foe alike, that just… grates on me. Now, before you interject by asking me just who peed in my breakfast cornflakes today, I’m fine with cheerful people. Really. Well, generally. (Though certainly not first thing in the morning, because I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a morning person, and Hopper was spot-on when he said mornings are for coffee and contemplation.) But Ted… at times, it just goes a little too far. He’s like the porridge that was too hot.
By contrast, the anti-Ted has to be that damsel of dudgeon, that mountain of misery… yes, Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay of Suzanne Collins’ blockbuster Hunger Games trilogy. Quite honestly, I don’t like Katniss very much, either. She’s sullen, apathetic, allows herself to be swept along by events and manipulated, and by trilogy’s end… I’m not sure there’s been very much character growth at all. And she shows no interest at all in being the Katalyst for change, which is part of every protagonist’s duty. (Sorry. Awful pun.) Now, I actually get that part: most of us don’t really see ourselves as heroes, or cut out for doing the heroic thing. When confronted by a horde of snarling, murderous orcs, most of us don’t just smile quietly, raise our sword in quiet salute, and allow the hobbit to escape while we face almost certain death. (Though we do have plot armour.) So Katniss is like the porridge Goldilocks found too cold.
Funnily enough, I came across a meme on Twitter earlier today from someone called Literary Gems, who said, “You don’t always need to make your protagonist likeable. You just need to make their choices interesting enough that readers want to see what they do next.” I mention it because this is relevant to the point I’m trying to make with this epistle: with all due respect to Literary Gems, whomever they are, I respectfully disagree. Sure, as a writer, you need to make the protagonist’s decisions interesting enough that the reader keeps reading. And you certainly don’t want to make the protagonist so saccharinely perfect that they have no flaws whatsoever… because who the hell among us can relate to that?
But I think you need to make the protagonist (at least mostly) likeable. They must have flaws, of course, because we all have them (alas). But as readers, we’ll pay more attention to the story, and relate better to the protagonist, if we like them. Continuing my obligatory LOTR reference for the day, I’d say Frodo makes a pretty darn good protagonist, because he’s the porridge that’s just right. He doesn’t really want to take the Ring to Mordor --- he’s pretty aware that, in all likelihood, it’s a suicide mission --- and he’s scared spitless… but he’s prepared to step up, meet the challenge, and do what needs to be done. Gamely. Resolutely. Without being whiny or miserable about it.
So look for that Goldilocks protagonist in your writing. Not too hot. Not too cold. Juuuust right.
Yum.
Now that I’ve got some of you riled up, let’s do a little context. ‘He,’ of course, is Ted Lasso, the fictional American coach from the eponymous television series, a comedy containing all sorts of pithy life moments and lessons built in (sometimes a little ham-handedly, TBH). The unlikely premise of the tale is that Ted is brought to the UK by Rebecca Welton, the new owner of AFC Richmond, a professional soccer/football club she got in the divorce settlement from her unfaithful husband, Rupert. Rebecca knows the club was something Rupert loved above just about everything else, so in classic Shakespearean mode (hell hath no fury like a woman scorned), she decides to run the club into the ground, and this is where Ted comes in. To start, he’s an American college coach for American football… and hasn’t the slightest clue about how to play ‘the beautiful game,’ as soccer is referred to by millions of aficionados around the world. Rebecca is counting on his bumbling ineptitude to destroy the team from the inside out. However, in an improbable turn of events, Ted and his coaching staff manage to avoid complete disaster, and Rebecca finds herself reluctantly coming around to root for his success.
My focus today isn’t really on the series, it’s on the man. Ted Lasso. The protagonist. I suggested this series to my wife after we’d just finished watching Silo, and she in particular was in need of something a little lighter. (My viewing tastes tend to lean more towards dystopian science fiction, I confess, but my gentle wife really prefers things a little more uplifting, with a good dollop of redemption. We both really enjoyed Silo, but a laff-riot it most definitely is not… in fact, a number of its themes hit perhaps a little close to home in our current real-life dystopia, as our battered rock hurtles through the inky vastness of space on its journey around the sun. So, as I said, she was looking for something a little lighter. I knew very little about Ted Lasso other than it was a comedy and had been recommended to me, but was willing to give it a go.)
So… protagonists. Let’s talk about the Goldilocks protagonist for a bit… you know, the sweet-spot guy or gal with whom you can identify… or at least cheer on unabashedly.
I have to be honest here, in my hot take for the day: I find Ted very hard to take at times. Never mind the folksy charm, the awful puns, and the thick, cornpone southern accent, it’s his constant, relentless cheerfulness in the face of Will’s slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, his unfailing ability to forgive all manner of slights and betrayals by friend and foe alike, that just… grates on me. Now, before you interject by asking me just who peed in my breakfast cornflakes today, I’m fine with cheerful people. Really. Well, generally. (Though certainly not first thing in the morning, because I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a morning person, and Hopper was spot-on when he said mornings are for coffee and contemplation.) But Ted… at times, it just goes a little too far. He’s like the porridge that was too hot.
By contrast, the anti-Ted has to be that damsel of dudgeon, that mountain of misery… yes, Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay of Suzanne Collins’ blockbuster Hunger Games trilogy. Quite honestly, I don’t like Katniss very much, either. She’s sullen, apathetic, allows herself to be swept along by events and manipulated, and by trilogy’s end… I’m not sure there’s been very much character growth at all. And she shows no interest at all in being the Katalyst for change, which is part of every protagonist’s duty. (Sorry. Awful pun.) Now, I actually get that part: most of us don’t really see ourselves as heroes, or cut out for doing the heroic thing. When confronted by a horde of snarling, murderous orcs, most of us don’t just smile quietly, raise our sword in quiet salute, and allow the hobbit to escape while we face almost certain death. (Though we do have plot armour.) So Katniss is like the porridge Goldilocks found too cold.
Funnily enough, I came across a meme on Twitter earlier today from someone called Literary Gems, who said, “You don’t always need to make your protagonist likeable. You just need to make their choices interesting enough that readers want to see what they do next.” I mention it because this is relevant to the point I’m trying to make with this epistle: with all due respect to Literary Gems, whomever they are, I respectfully disagree. Sure, as a writer, you need to make the protagonist’s decisions interesting enough that the reader keeps reading. And you certainly don’t want to make the protagonist so saccharinely perfect that they have no flaws whatsoever… because who the hell among us can relate to that?
But I think you need to make the protagonist (at least mostly) likeable. They must have flaws, of course, because we all have them (alas). But as readers, we’ll pay more attention to the story, and relate better to the protagonist, if we like them. Continuing my obligatory LOTR reference for the day, I’d say Frodo makes a pretty darn good protagonist, because he’s the porridge that’s just right. He doesn’t really want to take the Ring to Mordor --- he’s pretty aware that, in all likelihood, it’s a suicide mission --- and he’s scared spitless… but he’s prepared to step up, meet the challenge, and do what needs to be done. Gamely. Resolutely. Without being whiny or miserable about it.
So look for that Goldilocks protagonist in your writing. Not too hot. Not too cold. Juuuust right.
Yum.
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