Stick, the latest feel-good sports dramedy from Apple TV+, is an obvious Ted Lasso clone and it wears its formula on its moisture-wicking sleeve: Down-on-his-luck coach? Check. Gifted but rough-edged young athlete? Check. A found family forged through roadside mishaps, minor betrayals, and slow-motion golf swings? Triple check. You see every plot beat coming from the first tee to the final putt.

 

And yet … Stick works.

 

Despite having all the subtlety of a sand trap, the show is warm, funny, and surprisingly effective. It’s a shaggy dog tale about the family you make – not the one you’re born into. And, for a tale that may be messy in execution, it ultimately lands somewhere between “comfort food” and “quietly moving.”

 

Owen Wilson stars as Price Cahill, a washed-up golf pro now hustling unsuspecting customers at a dusty course and sleeping in his ex-wife’s house (uninvited). Wilson doesn’t stretch far from his usual lane. He plays Price with that familiar burned-out surfer-dude charm, equal parts “wow” and wounded. But he’s perfectly cast here, bringing enough grit and grace to make Price’s redemption arc feel, if not fresh, at least earned.

 

Price’s life changes when he spots a lanky 17-year-old named Santi Wheeler (Peter Dager) sneaking onto a course and smashing drives like a young Tiger Woods. Santi’s no country club kid – he bags groceries by day and has brassy teenager attitude to spare. But Price sees potential, and soon convinces Santi and his skeptical but strong-willed mom Elena (Mariana Treviño, who occasionally teeters on stereotypes) to hit the road with him in hopes of cracking the amateur circuit.

 

Along for the ride is Mitts, Price’s cranky former caddy, played to scene-stealing perfection by Marc Maron. Maron is the show’s secret weapon – snarky, gruff, and perpetually unimpressed, he becomes both the Greek chorus and the reluctant conscience of the group. He delivers every “this is a terrible fucking idea” quip with just the right mix of exasperation and reluctant affection.

 

Also joining the crew is Zero (Lilli Kay), a trans teen who quickly bonds with Santi and eventually becomes his partner, both emotionally and, occasionally, in one of Price’s ill-conceived golf cons. Zero’s storyline isn’t revolutionary, but it is quietly radical for being treated with care, normalcy, and dignity. In a show full of tropes, this feels like one of the few places Stick takes a genuine swing at something new.

 

There are, to be sure, plenty of clichés. The music cues are lifted straight from the Spotify playlist of every movie and TV show from the last two decades. “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” “Where Is My Mind,” and “Sabotage” all make obligatory appearances. 

 

The story beats hit like clockwork: the failed con, the climactic tournament, the surprise appearance of an absentee dad. But even as you roll your eyes at the predictability, you find yourself smiling anyway. Because Stick isn’t trying to be subversive or revolutionary – it’s just trying to make you feel good. And on that front, it lands the shot.

 

Showrunner Jason Keller (Ford v Ferrari) keeps things clipping along with just enough grit and heart to keep it from going full Hallmark. The writing is solid, if not spectacular. The performances are a mixed bag. But the real glue is in the ensemble’s chemistry. They bicker, banter, bond, and somehow coalesce into a team you want to root for.

 

Stick doesn’t quite reach the rarified highs of Ted Lasso. It lacks that show’s sharpness, its tonal tightrope act, and its genuine emotional curveballs. But it does find its own rhythm. It’s the kind of show that you put on thinking you’ll half-watch it while scrolling, and by episode three you’re googling whether there’s a real amateur golf tour and debating if you, too, could live out of a 2006 Winnebago with a ragtag crew.

 

Messy? Sure. Cliché? Absolutely. But also: warm, funny, and totally worth your time.