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You made it through all ten episodes of Netflix's The Hawk, which means you've watched Will Ferrell's Lonnie Hawkins throw a full tantrum over a three-foot putt while donning a pair of visually-assaulting plaid pants. Now the show's over, and you find yourself craving more washed-up athletes, delusional egos, and the kind of comedy that happens when grown men take playing with their balls way too seriously?
Well, good news: television loves a jock in crisis. Here are the shows to line up after you’re done with The Hawk. Some are sweet, some are nasty, and every one of them gets the joy of an athlete who refuses to quit.
'Stick' (2025–Present)
If The Hawk left you wanting more golf but fewer people you want to strangle, Stick is the gentler side of the green. Owen Wilson plays Pryce Cahill, an ex-pro whose career fell apart two decades ago and who now sells clubs at an Indiana sporting goods store, at least until he gets fired. He pins all his hopes on Santi (Peter Dager), a moody 17-year-old phenom, and appoints himself the kid's coach, manager, and unlicensed life advisor. Marc Maron shows up as the world's grumpiest caddie, Timothy Olyphant swings by, and real PGA stars like Max Homa and Collin Morikawa pop in to lend the Apple TV series some authenticity.
Where Ferrell's Hawk is a tornado, Wilson's Pryce is more of a warm front. This is a hangout comedy that happens to take place on driving ranges, and it's more interested in the found family assembling around Pryce than in who wins the tournament. Think of it as the well-adjusted cousin to The Hawk. If you are burned out from chaos, it's the palate cleanser.
'Ted Lasso' (2020–Present)
You knew this one was coming. Jason Sudeikis plays an American college football coach hired to run a Premier League soccer team he knows nothing about, a premise that sounds like a one-note fish-out-of-water bit and instead became the streaming era's most beloved feel-good machine. Ted's relentless optimism disarms a locker room full of egos, a skeptical owner, and eventually millions of viewers who came for the sports and stayed for the therapy talk.
The connective tissue to The Hawk is the ensemble. Both shows understand that a sports comedy lives or dies on its bench, and Ted Lasso built one for the ages: Roy Kent's (Brett Goldstein) grumpiness, Keeley's (Juno Temple) relentless cheer, Coach Beard's (Brendan Hunt) eerie silences. Where Ferrell mines laughs from a man who refuses to grow, Sudeikis mines them from a man determined to help everyone else grow instead. It goes down easy, and it's the antidote if The Hawk left a bad taste.
'The Fall and Rise of Reggie Dinkins' (2026–Present)
Tracy Morgan stars as Reggie, a former running back whose career imploded in a scandal twenty years ago and who is now dead set on rehabbing his image. His plan: hire an award-winning documentarian, played by Daniel Radcliffe, to move into his mansion and film the comeback. What Reggie wants is a puff piece. What Arthur keeps catching on camera is the truth. Morgan is a live wire here, fueled by bluster and wounded pride, and pairing him with Radcliffe's buttoned-up British earnestness is the kind of odd-couple math that just works.
The mockumentary format lets the show pick at Reggie's delusions, which is what The Hawk builds its funniest moments from, as Lonnie's ego writes checks his golf game can't cash. Critics adored it and NBC fast-tracked a second season, so you can binge knowing there's more coming.
'Chad Powers' (2025–Present)
Glen Powellburies his movie-star face under prosthetics and a wig for this one, and somehow, he’s still a damn delight. He plays Russ Holliday, a hotshot Oregon quarterback who torpedoed his own career eight years ago with a showboating fumble at the goal line. When a small Georgia school holds open tryouts, Russ builds an entire new identity on the back of a bad wig, worse teeth, and the alias "Chad Powers," walking on undercover to finally get his shot at redemption.
The bit is drawn from a real stunt Eli Manning pulled in 2022, which gives the premise a wink of sports-nerd authenticity. Steve Zahn is having a ball as the beleaguered coach, and Powell commits to the disguise with just enough deranged sincerity to help its tougher moments along. Like Lonnie Hawkins, Russ is a man who can't let go of the game that made (and unmade) him, chasing one more chance to prove the doubters wrong. The difference is he had to invent a whole different persona to do it.
'Brockmire' (2017–2020)
Hank Azaria has never been better than he is here, as Jim Brockmire. He plays a legendary baseball announcer who suffered a spectacular on-air meltdown after discovering his wife's infidelity, then spent years drinking his way across the globe before crawling back to call games for a minor-league team in dying-industrial Pennsylvania. The voice alone, a sort of golden-age broadcaster purr narrating his own rock-bottom, is worth the price of admission. Brockmire shares The Hawk's appetite for messy, unlikable men. It's raunchy and rude and genuinely sad underneath, tracking an addict who happens to be very funny.
Amanda Peet is terrific as the bar owner who takes a chance on him. If you liked that Lonnie was allowed to be an actual jerk, Brockmire is your guy, but there's a whole reservoir of pathos beneath the profanity that Ferrell's golfer never really swung for.
'Eastbound & Down' (2009–2013)
Before Ferrell was headlining a golf comedy about a fading athlete, he was producing this one and popping up as a car-dealership king with a rat tail. In Eastbound & Down, Danny McBride stars as Kenny Powers, a washed-up MLB relief pitcher with a legendary fastball, a bottomless ego, and zero self-awareness, who slinks back to his hometown to teach middle-school gym and plot an impossible return to the majors. Kenny is a monster. He is also, unfortunately, hilarious.
This is the meanest, most quotable entry on the list, and it's a direct ancestor of The Hawk's sensibility. Powers is a Southern-twanged peacock who believes his own hype long past its expiration date. McBride plays Kenny with such total conviction that you almost root for him, even as he insults everyone within a fifty-mile radius. If Lonnie Hawkins felt a little too unlikable for some viewers, that's the whole point here, just with the jokes cranked to eleven.
'Ballers' (2015–2019)
Dwayne Johnson swaps the wrestling ring for a financial manager's office as Spencer Strasmore, a retired NFL linebacker trying to build a second career looking after the money and messes of active players in Miami. The show is a glossy, sun-soaked look at what happens to athletes when the cheering stops and the bills keep coming, wrapped in the easy charisma that made Johnson a movie star in the first place.
The overlap with The Hawk is the after-life of a sports career, the part where the trophies are on the shelf and the man has to figure out who he is without the game. Ballers plays it slicker and flashier than Ferrell's version, trading the driving range for yacht parties, but the anxiety underneath is the same.
'GLOW' (2017–2019)
Set in 1980s Los Angeles, GLOW follows a scrappy troupe of women who answer an open casting call and end up reinventing themselves as the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. Alison Brie plays Ruth, a struggling actress who finds her calling in the ring, and Betty Gilpin is a revelation as her former best friend turned in-ring nemesis. The show turns a low-rent syndicated wrestling event into a stage for reinvention, ambition, and some truly great body slams.
What ties it to The Hawk is the sport-as-showmanship of it all, the understanding that athletics is at least half the performance. Marc Maron, playing the burnt-out director shepherding this circus, gives the whole thing a cranky comic engine. The comedy comes from a bunch of misfits taking something ridiculous deadly seriously, which is also the energy Lonnie brings to every putt.
'A League of Their Own' (2022)
Prime Video's series reimagines the 1992 film, following the women of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League during World War II while widening the lens to the stories the movie couldn't tell, like queer players hiding in plain sight, or a Black pitcher forced to chase the game on her own terms. Abbi Jacobson and Chanté Adams anchor a cast that balances the comedy of a ragtag team with the weight of what these women risked to play.
It's the most tender show here, and the least interested in a punchline for its own sake, but it belongs on the list because it gets the core appeal of The Hawk right: people who love a game enough to make it their whole identity. Where Lonnie is fighting time, these women are fighting the world, and both are chasing that same impossible high of getting to play. There's plenty of humor in the dugout banter, and the baseball itself is a joy to watch.
