Low diatribe

"I'm not a sports guy."My stock response. That was my stock answer whenever someone recommended Ted Lasso. I saw the hype, saw the world was Ted Lasso crazy, and paid no attention. I wasn't a sports guy. Multiple friends had told me that it really wasn't a sports show and I would like it, often adding that I reminded them of Coach Beard. Each time I waved it off with the same line, rebuffing their attempts to share and connect out of stubbornness. I was actively resisting giving it a chance based on my assumptions that it was a sports show, and I wouldn't like a sports show, because I'm not a sports guy. This pattern lasted for the entire run of the show.

The winter after season 3, during a quarterly planning session at Big Book Company, my new boss brought up Ted Lasso. When I gave him my standard "I'm not a sports guy" response, he said what everyone else had said. "It's not really a sports show." and "You remind me of Coach Beard." But then he added, "It's a good thing." He was paying me a compliment that I only then understood, and I let my guard down. Alone in a hotel room in New York, I decided to give it a shot. I watched the first episode, then the next. Then a blur of the entire first season in one night. I was instantly hooked. For months afterward, I wouldn't stop talking about it. I was possessed by the zeal of the converted.

The Coach Beard identification made sense. Beard is the quiet enabler. Ted gets the spotlight, but Beard provides the foundation that makes Ted's approach possible. The steady presence who clears the space for others to succeed. That quiet strength mirrors what I've come to believe about leadership. Lead quietly. Grow imperfectly. Build the conditions where others can shine.

Seeing myself in Beard made me realize something deeper about my own arc. When I was a young hacker, I wanted to be Han Solo. The rogue who does things his own way. In my early leadership years, I thought I was Obi-Wan. The mentor with hard-earned wisdom. But today I see myself more as Uncle Owen. A gruff steward who gives strength and guidance, fortunate enough to have found a wife as strong as Beru. The one who creates the foundation that others can build upon. It's not the hero's role, but it makes heroes possible. Beard is the Uncle Owen archetype in action. That shift from wanting to be the protagonist to accepting the role of enabler is at the heart of how I now see leadership.

The show captures themes that align with Low diatribe. Quiet leadership through genuine care. Vulnerability as strength. Creating conditions where people can be their best selves. Leading with curiosity instead of judgment. Believing in people before they believe in themselves. It's also the 8th Habit in action. Helping others find their voice through consistent, authentic presence.

Ted Lasso also opened a door I never expected. After listening to me gush about Ted this and Beard that, my wife asked me, "Since you love Ted Lasso so much, do you think you would want to watch an actual soccer game?" I asked her, "You mean football?" This achieved the kind of eyeroll that Beru would be proud of. "You know what I mean." She pressed "Would you want to watch it?" I hung on the question. The answer I had always used "I'm not a sports guy" felt... limiting. So I said I would give it a go. The next Sunday morning, I woke up ridiculously early to watch a Premier League match. West Ham versus Arsenal. Since West Ham were villains in the show, more or less, I rooted for Arsenal. To my amazement, I was hooked. Not on Arsenal, but on the game itself: the flow, the strategy, the artistry. It pulled me in immediately and never let up.

By a meaningless coincidence, that same evening the American Super Bowl was being played. We usually have a little family get-together to watch the commercials, but this time I decided to pay attention to the game itself. Maybe I was a sports guy after all? The game was fine, but it didn't hold me. American football felt slow and stilted compared to what I had seen that morning. I realized the truth. I wasn't a sports guy. I was a Beautiful Game guy.

This was reinforced when a colleague suggested I watch the NCAA women's tournament in response to my blathering on about the weekend's Premier League matches. Caitlin Clark played home games a half an hour from my house. It was convenient, culturally significant, and logical. I tried a few games, but it didn't land. Not the way that first PL match did. Authentic influences don't arrive through obligation or proximity. They strike when something truly resonates.

Even choosing a club to support followed the thread back to Ted Lasso. The next match I chose Wolves over Spurs, for a friendly rivalry with another colleague who supported Tottenham. But later I rooted for Chelsea against Manchester City, again because of show allegiances. But the real turn came when the camera panned the sidelines, stopping on Man City's manager, Josep "Pep" Guardiola.

Pep makes a cameo as himself in episode 11 of season 3, "Mom City." At the end of a match where Richmond beats Man City, Ted shakes Pep's hand, saying "Hey, I gotta be honest with you. You're a tough guy to beat, man." Pep replies "Don't worry about the wins or losses. Just help these guys be the best version of themselves on and off the pitch. This, at the end, is the most important thing." Ted responds, "I couldn't agree with you more, coach." Those lines stuck with me, bookending the series in a poetic callback. Seeing Pep on the sideline of a real match connected fiction to reality. That sealed it. I was a Pep fan, and by extension, a Manchester City fan.

From there the influence deepened. I devoured books about Pep by Martí Perarnau and Guillem Balagué. The Pep portrayed in biographies is a little more focused on winning than in the cameo, but his philosophy and style mirror a practical application of what the show had taught me to value. I read Balagué's work on Messi and Ronaldo before branching out to Johan Cruyff, Alex Ferguson, and Carlo Ancelotti. Football became another lens for exploring leadership itself. How do you develop talent? Build culture? Sustain excellence across seasons and generations? The questions echo what drives the exploration behind Low diatribe.

One influence cascaded into another. Ted Lasso led to the Premier League. The Premier League led to Pep Guardiola. Pep led to football literature. Football literature led back to leadership philosophy. A simple recommendation I once resisted became an entire framework for understanding how to create conditions where talented people naturally do their best work.

It started with "I'm not a sports guy." What it revealed was something deeper. I'm a Beautiful Game guy. More than that, I'm a student of how authentic influences, when they arrive at the right time, don't just change what you enjoy. They reshape how you see leadership, growth, and the work of helping others thrive.

Now when I catch myself or others using identity as a shield against new experiences, I pause. What assumptions are we protecting? What possibilities are we closing off? The goal isn't to like everything, but to stay curious about what might resonate authentically. As a leader, this means creating space for people to discover their own unexpected connections rather than assuming what will or won't work for them. I've learned to be delighted by the surprise.