Season 3 of Apple TV+’s Ted Lasso premieres on March 15th, and I couldn’t be more excited. From the very first episode’s Sex Pistols intro and playful digs at British culture, I knew I was going to love this show, but there’s something much deeper happening in Ted Lasso. I’ve written a lot in the past about toxic masculinity, and this show not only tackles that topic, its whole thesis seems to be that masculinity can in fact be nurturing and tender and supportive.

This post discusses a few plot points from seasons 1 and 2 of Ted Lasso but will attempt to avoid any major spoilers.

The show’s first episode introduces us to Rebecca Welton (Hannah Waddingham), who now owns the AFC Richmond Premiere League soccer team as part of the terms of her divorce. Rebecca’s ex, Rupert (Anthony Stewart Head), ticks all the boxes of a classic toxic man; he’s manipulative, controlling, chauvinistic, womanizing, and utterly obsessed with sports, so of course, Rebecca wants to run Rupert’s beloved team into the ground to make him suffer. As such, Rebecca hires Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis), an American college football coach with no understanding of soccer who, coincidentally, couldn’t be more different from Rupert. As a coach, Ted believes that helping his players to become better people will also make them better athletes, so he is relentlessly encouraging, optimistic, and kind in every interaction. While much of the show’s humor revolves around the contrast between the folksy Ted and his more reserved British contemporaries, Ted’s positivity proves infectious, and this is where things get interesting.

Many of the AFC Richmond players and staff present exactly the type of masculinity the show critiques, and in the first season especially, it’s clear the team members have been conditioned to put on tough macho fronts.

For example, team captain Roy Kent (Brett Goldstein) speaks in constant snarls punctuated by the F-word, but then we see him reading to his niece and volunteering at her school. Roy’s angry no-nonsense image is a front he’s adopted to protect himself in the peacockish world of professional soccer, and part of Ted’s mission is to help the foulmouthed midfielder explore the kind of person he really wants to be.

Then there’s the egotistical rising star Jamie Tartt (Phil Dunster) who’s desperately clinging to his successful image and superficial relationships to avoid asking deeper questions about what he really wants from life. While Jamie’s a superb athlete, Ted seeks to help him embrace teamwork and authenticity— skills which will help him off the field too.

And that’s just two examples! I haven’t even touched Ted’s relationships with Rebecca, Nate, Keeley, Higgins, Coach Beard, Sam, Dani, Isaac, Trent Crimm, The Independent…

Of course, the twist here is that, while the compassionate coach encourages others to live authentically and move on from bad experiences, Ted himself struggles with acknowledging and addressing his own pain. While Ted teaches a more nurturing and positive masculinity, he falls victim to one of toxic masculinity’s classic pitfalls: keeping emotions bottled up. The very first episode teases Ted’s rocky marriage, and we later see Ted grapple with increasing anxiety and panic attacks (and, for the record, the show’s portrayal of panic attacks is spot on). Yet even here, the show provides hope, as Ted finds healing through increasingly deep relationships, especially with his coaching staff and with Rebecca. Ted lives into the image of a wounded healer, learning to bind up his own wounds as he goes to care for others.

There’s a lot of optimism in Ted Lasso, and it’s often described as a “feel good” show, but its characters aren’t perfect. Plenty of them mess up, and across the first two seasons, there are multiple falls from grace (including a dramatic heel turn in the second season which will almost certainly be the central conflict of season 3). But one of Ted’s most endearing qualities is his willingness to forgive, learn from the past, and then move into the next chapter.

There is so much toxic masculinity in our culture right now— in our movies, in our politics, in our churches. We need shows like Ted Lasso which can critique toxic masculinity’s hollowness and harmfulness while also presenting an alternative: a masculinity which nurtures and encourages, a masculinity which can be competitive without being cutthroat and can be assertive without being abusive, a masculinity which fundamentally values and respects all people. That’s what Ted Lasso seems to be teaching, and I’m excited for more.