Jason Sudeikis Reveals the Secret History Behind 'Ted Lasso's' AFC Richmond

The history of a fictional soccer club became real enough to matter
Sudeikis explains how the creative team's invisible work building AFC Richmond's backstory gave the show its emotional foundation.
Mark

When you're building a fictional soccer club, why does its history matter if most viewers never learn the details?

Mimi

Because the actors have to believe in it. If I'm standing in a locker room scene and I don't know what this club has been through, what it's lost, what it's fighting for—that shows in my face, in how I carry myself. The audience feels it, even if they can't name it.

Mark

So it's not really for the audience at all.

Mimi

Not directly. It's for us, the people making the show. It's the foundation. You can't build a convincing world on nothing.

Mark

Did you find that the invented history changed how you played Ted?

Mimi

Absolutely. Ted isn't just an optimist dropped into a random situation. He's walking into a specific place with specific wounds. That specificity is everything.

Mark

What surprised you most about how detailed the backstory became?

Mimi

How much of it never made it to screen. We developed decades of club history—rivalries, legendary players, financial crises—and maybe five percent of it appears in dialogue. But that ninety-five percent is what makes the five percent land.

  • Ted Lasso had become a cultural phenomenon, but its emotional power rested on something audiences felt without quite seeing — a fully invented history for a fictional soccer club.
  • Sudeikis pulled back the curtain during a rare on-set 60 Minutes tour, revealing the granular, behind-the-scenes world-building that most prestige television keeps hidden.
  • The creative team had constructed AFC Richmond's past with deliberate layering — triumphs, failures, and institutional memory — so that actors and writers had something solid to inhabit.
  • The tension between a thin premise and a rich world was resolved through invisible labor: the difference between a show that merely looks real and one that genuinely feels it.
  • The segment landed as a quiet argument for the craft beneath the craft — that the best storytelling lives in the spaces no camera ever captures.

In 2022, Jason Sudeikis invited a 60 Minutes camera crew into the world behind Ted Lasso — not just the physical set, but the invisible architecture that made it feel real. What he revealed was something storytellers have always known: that a fictional world earns its weight not from what appears on screen, but from the deliberate, unseen history constructed beneath it. AFC Richmond, a soccer club that never existed, had been given a past thorough enough to make its present matter.

In 2022, Jason Sudeikis walked a 60 Minutes crew through the soundstage where Ted Lasso was filmed, and somewhere between the locker rooms and the pitch, he revealed something the show's writers had built with unusual care: the invented past of AFC Richmond, the fictional English soccer club at the heart of the series.

By that point, Ted Lasso had grown into a cultural phenomenon — a comedy about an American football coach hired to manage a struggling Premier League team. But what gave the show its weight beyond the premise was the world constructed around that central absurdity. AFC Richmond wasn't just a name on a jersey. It had a history, and Sudeikis explained how the creative team had developed it with the kind of granular, invisible work that audiences rarely see but always feel.

A soccer club needs a history the way a person needs a childhood. You don't see most of it on screen, but it shapes everything that follows — the way players carry themselves, the weight of expectation in the stands, the stakes that feel real even though nothing about the club actually exists. The writers had chosen to build outward from a foundation, giving their fictional world the texture that made you believe in it.

What the 60 Minutes segment offered was something rare: a glimpse into the conceptual work beneath the story. Not special effects or editing, but the decisions about what AFC Richmond had been, what it had lost, and what it was trying to become. For anyone paying attention, it was a reminder that the best storytelling often happens in the spaces you don't see — and that a fictional soccer club, invented by writers in Los Angeles, became real enough to matter because someone had taken the time to make it matter.

In 2022, Jason Sudeikis walked a 60 Minutes camera crew through the soundstage where Ted Lasso was filmed, and somewhere in that tour—between the locker rooms and the pitch—he peeled back the curtain on something the show's writers had built with unusual care: the invented past of AFC Richmond, the fictional English soccer club at the heart of the series.

The show itself had become a cultural phenomenon by that point, a comedy about an American football coach hired to manage a struggling Premier League team, played by Sudeikis himself. But what made Ted Lasso work, what gave it weight beyond the premise, was the world it had constructed around that central absurdity. And AFC Richmond wasn't just a name on a jersey. It had a history.

Sudeikis explained to the 60 Minutes correspondent how the creative team had developed that backstory—the kind of granular, invisible work that audiences rarely see but always feel. The club's fictional past wasn't thrown together. It was deliberate. It was layered. It was the sort of thing that allowed actors to move through scenes with conviction, that gave the writing room something solid to build on, that made the stakes feel real even though nothing about the club actually existed.

This is the work of prestige television that often goes unexamined: the architecture beneath the story. A soccer club needs a history the way a person needs a childhood. You don't see most of it on screen, but it shapes everything that comes after. The club's triumphs and failures, the way the players carried themselves, the weight of expectation in the stands—all of it rested on decisions made in writers' rooms about things that happened before the cameras rolled.

What Sudeikis was describing, in effect, was the difference between a show that feels real and one that merely looks real. Ted Lasso could have been a thin premise—American optimism crashes into British cynicism, hijinks ensue. Instead, the writers had chosen to build outward from a foundation. They had given their fictional world the kind of texture that made you believe in it, even as you were watching a comedy about a man who knew nothing about soccer being hired to coach a professional team.

The 60 Minutes segment offered viewers something rare: a glimpse into how that sausage was made. Not the special effects or the editing, but the conceptual work. The decisions about what AFC Richmond had been, what it had lost, what it was trying to become. These were the threads that held the show together, the invisible scaffolding that allowed the comedy and the heart to land.

For anyone paying attention, it was a reminder that the best storytelling often happens in the spaces you don't see. The history of a fictional soccer club, invented by writers in Los Angeles, became real enough to matter because someone had taken the time to make it matter. Sudeikis, walking through that set, was essentially showing the audience the blueprint of how you build a world that feels true.

The creative team developed the fictional club's backstory with unusual care, giving it the kind of texture that made audiences believe in it
— Jason Sudeikis, during 60 Minutes set tour
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