Ted Lasso: it's time to hold Rebecca accountable for her relationship with Sam
on the overlooked flaw of Ted Lasso's second season
Ever since its first release in August 2020, Ted Lasso has been revered as a positive, uplifting, wholesome and hopeful dramedy with basically zero flaws. While it is undeniable that the show masterfully portrays the dynamics of chosen family, deals with trauma and growth in a mature and refreshing way and contains some of the sweetest fictional relationships and friendships to have ever graced a screen of any size, the show’s second season presents an important flaw that tends to be overlooked by most of its fans.
After their rejection of Dubai Air’s sponsorship led by midfielder Sam Obisanya, AFC Richmond partners with Bantr, a dating app on which people don’t share photos or their real names, so they can get to know each other through only their personalities. Two users of this app are Sam and Rebecca Welton, his boss and owner of the club, and in the eighth episode of the season, Man City, it is revealed that the two have actually been talking to each other all along. Early in the episode, they agree to meet at Le Tucci, an appropriately fancy restaurant; for the occasion, Sam gets his one-per-season haircut from Isaac, while Rebecca stresses until the next minute, but finally walks into the restaurant with Keeley’s encouragement. Inside, Sam and Rebecca instantly recognize each other, but it takes them a few minutes to realize that the other’s presence isn’t a coincidence, but rather they are there to meet each other.
Rebecca is at first horrified by this. “I’m your boss,” she cries out. “You are way too young! I mean, you’re what, like twenty-four?” Sam answers that he is twenty-one, armed with his usual innocent, endearing smile. “Oh my God, I’m a pedophile,” Rebecca frets, “I groomed you!” Sam reassures her that she didn’t, as they didn’t know who the other was. Now, that might very well be true: Rebecca didn’t know it was Sam and Sam didn’t know it was Rebecca, but surely either she did look for men as young as twenty-one on the app, or Bantr presents the fatal flaw of having a complete lack of age restrictions in its matches.
Either way, Rebecca starts to leave in a huff until Sam stops her, proposing that they still have a nice dinner. Rebecca not-so-reluctantly agrees, and we are then presented with a supposedly sweet montage of the two eating dinner and enjoying each other’s company, after which Sam walks Rebecca home and charmingly proposes they not do this again. “I’m going in alone,” Rebecca says, and Sam respectfully steps back.
An over-enthusiastic young boy, inexperienced and innocent, with a crush on a powerful woman is nothing new, nor is the young boy’s attempt to pursue something with said woman. Let’s just look at Ted Lasso co-creator Bill Lawrence’s previous filmography—what do you think Cougar Town was originally about? But even in the first season of the comedy show—the only one in which Courteney Cox’s character actually acts as a cougar—the problems of such a big age gap are discussed, the men she dates are usually older than Sam, and they are never Black or her employees.
At this point of the episode, Rebecca should stand by what she said and walk into her house alone, and neither of them should mention this incident again, if not for the sake of hilarity, nor attempt to pursue anything further, as Sam is not only over half Rebecca’s age, but also her employee. Instead, Rebecca leans in and kisses Sam, then, wacky as ever, repeats that she can’t do this and bids him goodnight. The camera follows her inside and we linger as she leans against the door and sighs. We don’t follow Sam or see the aftermath of this wildly problematic kiss from his point of view, nor do we see anything on this entanglement until she eyes him, unwavering and unsmiling, as he nervously gives an interview after the disastrous Man City match.
Afterwards, Rebecca is back home watching Sam’s interview and once again initiates things between them, texting him to ask, “Are you around?” He texts her his address and she rushes off to meet him, only to find him already at her doorstep, cheekily saying he sent her his address for next time. After her worries of being a pedophile or a groomer just a night earlier, Rebecca seems curiously rid of any doubt and ready to jump into bed with a man only two years out of his teens, who is—let’s not forget—a Black man, and who has recently moved across the world to work for her. All hold-ups regarding the numerous power imbalances in their relationship seem to disappear from her mind as she lets him in and has sex with him.
The next time we see Sam and Rebecca, they are in bed together at the start of episode ten, No Weddings and a Funeral, and some time has presumably passed. “Should we tell people about us?” Sam asks. He doesn’t seem to quite gauge the inherent problems of their relationship—after all, why should he? It should be Rebecca’s responsibility, as a white, middle-aged girlboss who signs his paychecks not to get involved with Sam, for whom it is much more understandable to be unable to look past his own immature lovesickness. Rebecca predictably replies that she enjoys the secrecy—another red flag. “Doesn’t it feel scandalous and fun?” she asks between kisses. “No,” Sam replies, “it’s so stressful.” Rebecca skillfully avoids the topic, which he breaches again in the kitchen before they are interrupted by Rebecca’s mother, there to announce the death of Rebecca’s father.
For Sam, his relationship with Rebecca is scandalous, but not in the flirty and fun way Rebecca sees it as. For her, submerged in white and rich privilege, it is a fun and secretive tryst, which she is quite clearly in control of at all times. For him, a Black man whose livelihood currently depends on her, there is not much control to be had. If the relationship were to be discovered without any input from him, and even if he did attempt to control the narrative, he would likely be portrayed as a deceptive Black man who gained his success not for his skill, but by sleeping with the boss. Would she be seen as a predator? Would anyone tell her, “Hey, this is your young employee, and you need to stop this right now?” An optimist might say, “Yes, of course, as soon as anyone finds out, they’ll tell her to put an end to this, no matter how much fun she’s having,” which is where I still hoped the story might go when the episode aired.
Instead, all Rebecca receives is support. At Rebecca’s dad’s funeral, Keeley and Sassy try to find out who Rebecca is secretly shagging, and get their answer thanks to Rebecca’s mother, who prefaces it by saying that “it’s good.” When they get his name, no one expresses any concern over the age difference or the overwhelming power imbalance; rather, they scream excitedly and congratulate her. The next time the subject is brought up, Rebecca is telling Keeley and Sassy that she needs to break things off with Sam, which rather than relief inspires shock and disappointment in her friends, because what possible reason could she have to not see Sam? “It’s not the age thing, right?” Sassy asks, as if it would be preposterous for a middle aged woman to not date a man solely because he is over half her age. “Are you worried about press stuff?” Keeley asks, to which Rebecca replies, “Maybe,” once again showing negligence in realizing the very real and important implications of what she is doing. Then Sassy graces us with a subtle yet obvious display of racism: “I know,” she wittily says, “penis is too big.” They play the old talking about Black men like they are sexual objects trick, complete with the stereotype of Black men’s penises being “too big”, and this cheery group of powerful white women thoughtlessly laughs about it.
Rebecca sets off to find Sam and when she finally finds him it’s because he pulls her into a closet to do something he’s wanted to do all day: he hugs her, sweet, thoughtful and gentle as ever. Once again, the camera focuses on Rebecca for most of it: we see Sam’s face for about four seconds of the duration of the hug, and Rebecca’s for about twelve—that’s three times as much. Once again, the narrative is visually centered on Rebecca, just like it has been in every other way: she said they couldn’t have a relationship, which he accepted, then changed her mind and he of course followed her lead; she said they couldn’t tell anyone about their relationship, then proceeded to tell four people with no warning to Sam, and now she decides to end it, but not for him—the writers happily clarified that for us: this is for herself, as the entirety of their relationship has been.
So Rebecca breaks up with him by saying, “You could really hurt me.” With a simple phrase, she shifts the power dynamic and makes it sound as if she, the white woman, the older person, the boss, could potentially be a victim in this relationship. Of course, in the show this serves as a way to show that Rebecca is scared of feeling and pursuing real love, and the whole storyline serves as a way to push her plot forward. But how thoughtless is it to choose Sam of all people for her to have this realization with, if it is never even acknowledged that the relationship is incredibly problematic and imbalanced and she holds the responsibility for that?
The only character who seems to show a slight apprehension is Ted, who all but quickly concludes that he thinks it’s fine, and swings to the end of excessive support, then advises Rebecca not to listen anyone, not even Sam—one of two parties in the relationship that we are now told is not ended, but in a limbo—but instead listen to her gut and her heart when confronted with the possibility of Sam leaving to follow Edwin Akufo to a team he’s intending to fill with the best African players. So Rebecca elects to wait outside of Sam’s house and, when he shows, tells him she knows she can’t ask him not to go, but hopes he doesn’t. Let’s face it: she might as well have asked him not to go; that is basically what she did, though she reworded it slightly.
Thankfully, we do see Sam make his own choice with the help of his dad and be seemingly unaffected by Rebecca’s preferences. At the end of the last episode of the season, Inverting the Pyramid of Success, he goes to Rebecca’s office to announce his decision, and does so in the presence of Ted, confirming that he isn’t staying because of his feelings for her, but because it is the best thing for him and his personal journey. This marks the end of Sam and Rebecca’s storyline in the second season, and we can only hope for the rest of the show.
It is blatantly obvious what the purpose of this storyline was: if Rebecca can’t be happy and not scared with someone as sweet and kind as Sam, that is a clear sign that she needs to learn to trust and love people far more and better than she does. Sam is the polar opposite of her ex-husband, Rupert: where Rupert was older, Sam is younger, where Rupert was selfish, Sam is selfless, where Rupert had all the control, Sam has almost none. Therefore, we are meant to see this plotline, find them cute, even, because of Sam’s admittedly adorable flirty quips and undeniably charming personality, not focus on what lies beneath—the racism, the power imbalance, the fact that the show never focuses on Sam the way it does on Rebecca during the course of the relationship—and then be glad for her when it’s over, because it shows that she is growing and learning.
Couldn’t the show have achieved the same objective by putting Rebecca in a relationship with a man her age who isn’t her employee? Couldn’t it at least have put her with someone younger or an employee, but white, so as to avoid the racism it leans into all too comfortably? Couldn’t it even have done this, put Rebecca with Sam, but actually addressed the inherent problems of this choice?
In the restaurant scene, they have Rebecca throw around the words pedophile and grooming, then wash their hands of it, as if saying it so mindlessly and then having it be excused in the next line is enough to erase the fact that the relationship is indeed problematic. A lot of TV writers love to do such things: it’s an easy out; you basically say, “Hey, we know this thing is supposedly problematic,” and therefore expect to be absolved from having to actually address it. Community is a masterclass in this: in nearly every episode someone reminds the audience that Pierce is canonically recognized as overtly racist and homophobic, and since they say it, the audience is now allowed to laugh at his racist and homophobic jokes. Rebecca worries that she has been grooming Sam, who points out that she didn’t know, so she is now considered exempt from any responsibility regarding their age difference, her white privilege or the power she holds over him, and the audience is exempt from worrying about it.
If the show really thought no one could do the job of moving Rebecca’s character development forward but Sam, then they should have at least had her quirky friend group of girlbosses show some maturity and hold her accountable for what she was doing; they should have had Ted, who is constantly concerned with the well-being of his players, show some concern about Sam’s position in all of this. Instead, everyone roots for Rebecca and her happiness and no one worries about the more vulnerable party in the dynamic.
We can only hope that, if the third season of Ted Lasso chooses to further explore this dynamic, it will be to outwardly discuss its unhealthiness and how unfair it has been on Sam since day one and finally hold Rebecca accountable for her actions. Even so, that would not excuse the way it has been portrayed in season two, and the fact that we, as an audience, were all but formally invited to laugh along with an assortment of middle-aged white women and men as they discussed a young Black man’s body and feelings without his knowledge, his consent and with no regard at all for him or his well-being.