a. the Hotel [ Not all that long ago, during a particularly rough bout of insomnia, Ted spent one night at Beard's flat and β to the surprise of neither of them β talked until sunrise. About sleep, mostly, and dreams of the unconscious and conscious kind, and Beard told Ted all he knows on the topic.
For a soccer football coach, he sure does know a lot.
But that's the case with many, many subjects, and Ted's gotta be honest, he's a little envious of Beard's sponge-like capacity for learning pretty much anything.
Anyway, one of the things Beard taught Ted that night is that the falling sensation you get when falling asleep is called a hypnic jerk, and it's caused, maybe, by all sorts of things. "Probably anxiety, in your case," he had said, making Ted frown. Because yeah, probably. "But," Beard added, "It happens to everyone, so, y'know, don't go feeling special."
What he meant was: Don't use this as a(nother) reason to be hard on yourself about your feelings.
So Ted is a little confused when he doesn't wake up from his latest hypnic jerk, and instead finds himself... somewhere, wrapped in sparkly ribbons, his face mere inches from the pavement.
Huh.
Some time later, after he's been brought up to speed (sort of; he barely remembers a thing he was just told on account of the whole you're stuck here message overriding everything else) and ferried to the swankiest hotel he's ever seen, he finds himself standing in the lobby, fingers flexing, looking bewildered.
If there's a good time to catch his attention, it's now. ]
b. the hospital
[ Chaos falls from the sky, literally, and Ted finds himself booking it toward the hospital. He's a lover, not a fighter; the best he can offer right now is several years' worth of first aid experience β and while holding a dislocated shoulder in place or bandaging a split forehead or finding a tooth lost on the field pitch isn't quite the same as whatever the fuck (ope, pardon the French) is happening here, it's still something.
Plus, if he focuses on helping others, he doesn't have to think too hard about the very real, very unfortunately not-a-dream, very terrifying events unfolding around him, and as far as he's concerned helping others is always preferable to having a nervous breakdown. ]
I'm not a doctor β [ He says to the first person he almost literally runs in to when he makes it inside, if they can make out his words through all the panting. ] β but I can help. [ A pause. ] I think. Gimme somethin' to do, I'll figure it out.
ted lasso | the very same
[ Not all that long ago, during a particularly rough bout of insomnia, Ted spent one night at Beard's flat and β to the surprise of neither of them β talked until sunrise. About sleep, mostly, and dreams of the unconscious and conscious kind, and Beard told Ted all he knows on the topic.
For a
soccerfootball coach, he sure does know a lot.But that's the case with many, many subjects, and Ted's gotta be honest, he's a little envious of Beard's sponge-like capacity for learning pretty much anything.
Anyway, one of the things Beard taught Ted that night is that the falling sensation you get when falling asleep is called a hypnic jerk, and it's caused, maybe, by all sorts of things. "Probably anxiety, in your case," he had said, making Ted frown. Because yeah, probably. "But," Beard added, "It happens to everyone, so, y'know, don't go feeling special."
What he meant was: Don't use this as a(nother) reason to be hard on yourself about your feelings.
So Ted is a little confused when he doesn't wake up from his latest hypnic jerk, and instead finds himself... somewhere, wrapped in sparkly ribbons, his face mere inches from the pavement.
Huh.
Some time later, after he's been brought up to speed (sort of; he barely remembers a thing he was just told on account of the whole you're stuck here message overriding everything else) and ferried to the swankiest hotel he's ever seen, he finds himself standing in the lobby, fingers flexing, looking bewildered.
If there's a good time to catch his attention, it's now. ]
b. the hospital
[ Chaos falls from the sky, literally, and Ted finds himself booking it toward the hospital. He's a lover, not a fighter; the best he can offer right now is several years' worth of first aid experience β and while holding a dislocated shoulder in place or bandaging a split forehead or finding a tooth lost on the
fieldpitch isn't quite the same as whatever the fuck (ope, pardon the French) is happening here, it's still something.Plus, if he focuses on helping others, he doesn't have to think too hard about the very real, very unfortunately not-a-dream, very terrifying events unfolding around him, and as far as he's concerned helping others is always preferable to having a nervous breakdown. ]
I'm not a doctor β [ He says to the first person he almost literally runs in to when he makes it inside, if they can make out his words through all the panting. ] β but I can help. [ A pause. ] I think. Gimme somethin' to do, I'll figure it out.