Work Text:
The main reason Trent Crimm became a journalist was to always be the interviewer and not the interviewee. He resented being asked the same questions clearly asked to write juicy headlines and not to bring any value to readers.
And yet here he is, sitting at the wrong side of the table, with someone else holding the recording device, aimed at him. The list of people he’d do this for is very, very short.
“So, Trent, it’s been a year since you left The Independent, how’s solo life treating you?”
This is the mundane question they all start with, of course. So he gives his mundane answer that he can recite in his sleep: life as a freelancer is great, he doesn’t miss it at all, he loves what he’s working on right now. This is only part true, but he found out the hard way that is what people want to hear, so that’s what he started saying.
The interviewer smiles. He’s a short man, maybe ten years younger than Trent. They must have assigned someone he’s never worked with directly to this piece for objectivity, or at least for perceived objectivity. His smile seems polite but fake; Trent has seen hundreds if not thousands of these polite work smiles over the years and can recognize them in a heartbeat.
“What is it that you’re working on now, Mister Crimm?”
Another groundbreaking question. “I’m afraid I can’t say at the moment,” his go-to answer. Keeping the mystery alive and the buzz around the circuit going, rather than face the truth: he hasn’t written anything new in weeks, maybe months. He tells himself it’s natural, after a big project like that, to take a break, but some part of him knows that’s not it.
It’s hard, writing about someone so complex and interesting for three months, and then moving on to examine other people. There’s something so… ordinary about them. There’s nothing wrong with being ordinary, most people are. But it’s difficult to bounce back after having dedicated so much of your time, so much of your energy, so much of yourself to someone who isn’t.
But he can’t say that, so he smiles politely. The interviewer relaxes a little, and Trent wonders whether he knows his smile is fake, and whether that even matters.
He keeps answering the same boring questions he could have anticipated. Questions about his previous job (which he deflects politely, as he has no interest in talking about his time at the paper, which in hindsight feels a little wasted) and the circumstances under which he left it (which he deflects a little less politely, as he has no interest in sharing that particular story with the world). A few questions about his personal life, his daughter, his relationship status. He knows he has to answer those, even though he’d prefer not to.
“What’s your favourite part of the book?”
That’s a good question: it comes from the repetitive pile, sure, but it’s one he likes to answer, one he can actually go on about for a few minutes.
“AFC Richmond is a club so beloved by their community, and getting to dive deeper into that relationship was fascinating. It was truly an honour to be invited into the inner sanctum at Nelson Road, where I spent a majority of the past year, to really examine those relationships - between players, between the club and the fans, between members of the team. There’s a saying, of all the unimportant things, football is the most important , and I think that’s especially true in Richmond. They’re really leveraging the game to bring forward the most important issues and strengthen those relationships and all the individuals in them, and that’s a very unique thing to observe, not to mention get to be a part of.”
The reporter is only slightly taken aback by this answer. Most interviewers are shocked to find the big, scary Trent Crimm sharing kind words about anyone, not to mention an American coach of a local, well-established team. Not this guy.
“Can you talk a bit more about your relationship with the club? And more specifically, your relationship with their coach, Ted Lasso?”
Suddenly Trent misses the boring pile. He’d take any other question over this one. “What do you mean?”
The reporter smiles again. “You first met at the Richmond press room on his very first day, and have taken quite a liking to him since. I would love to hear about that journey for you.”
Trent has to stop and think, considering his words carefully. He can’t let much slip. “Coach Lasso has more to him than meets the eye. I actually wrote an article about him when he just started at Richmond, and like most, I was of little faith. And, also like most, he has since proved me wrong.”
He hopes that would be enough. It isn’t.
“I imagine you had to get, let’s just say, up close and personal, to write this book. Get to see another side of the coach we might not all get to see. How would you describe him?”
“Coach Lasso is an open book,” he tries, “different people interpret him differently, but I can’t say he’s anything other than who you know him to be, not even behind closed doors.”
“You did see him behind closed doors, though,” the interviewer presses, like they often do when they’re angling at a specific answer, when they know what they want to hear but need you to say it for the quote, “what was that like?”
Trent sighs. He knows this method well. They have to sell papers somehow, and when you’re not very good at your job, you resort to inquisitive, inappropriate questions to get it done for you.
He isn’t going to make it easy on him. “It was interesting, to be sure,” he said, “the whole team at AFC Richmond is really committed to being the best they can be, on and off the field. It’s an outstanding group, with an outstanding fan base, and it’s inspiring to be part of, even for a little while.”
“Would you say you find Ted to be inspiring?”
There’s no way to get out of a question like that other than to agree. “There’s no other way a team could get promoted and win the FA Cup with a coach that isn’t even familiar with the sport. I believe he has to be inspiring.”
“What else do you believe about him?”
Trent pauses for a minute, again, wondering what this guy read into the book, what he’s reading into him now. Were his feelings this obvious? But he can't ask without showing his cards, too. And more annoyingly, he knows the more he deflects, the more the reporter will press on.
He opts for something true but vague. “I believe he has a very, very, very good heart,” Trent says, “and that means that he possesses some sort of magic.”
The reporter looks at Trent, with a smile that almost looks genuine. He nods, like he got what he wanted. “Trent Crimm, it has been an absolute pleasure talking to you today. The Lasso Effect is out in stores next Friday, and will be available as an audio book in the fall, trust me when I tell you it is not one to be missed. Thanks for listening to Balls to the Wall , support us on Patreon for an unedited version of this conversation!”
From that point it ends pretty quickly - this is the last interview he has scheduled today, and the reporter can probably sense just how little Trent would enjoy post-conversation small talk, so with a quick thank you and a handshake he tells Trent the podcast should come out by the end of the week and leaves.
Trent doesn’t let his guard down until he is in the car, ready to drive back. He takes his phone off silent mode and clicks number eight on his speed-dial list, but gets his voicemail.
“Hey babe, I know you’re probably in training so I won’t leave a long message, just wanted to let you know the interviews went well. I think I managed to hide the fact that I’m madly in love with you in four out of the five, so you owe me a tenner. See you at home.”