Since the premiere of Ted Lasso in 2020, Apple TV+ has built up quite a stable of successful comedies about, as a friend of mine describes them, “upbeat white men with problems.” The formula worked well for Shrinking, Platonic, Bad Monkey, and The Studio, but the streamer’s streak ends with Stick. The golf comedy, created by Jason Keller and starring Owen Wilson as a disgraced pro who discovers a teenage prodigy, is listless and uninspired despite its likable cast. 

When we first meet Pryce “Stick” Cahill (Wilson), he’s working at a sporting goods store, using his gift of gab to talk customers into buying clubs they can’t afford. Once a Ryder Cup-winning pro golfer, Pryce lost it all after a public meltdown during a PGA Tour event in 2009. Since that outburst — which we later learn was tied to a tragedy in his past — Pryce has languished in a kind of self-induced emotional stasis. Today, he’s perpetually short on cash and is about to be evicted from the home he shared with his now ex-wife, Amber-Linn (Judy Greer), who’s tired of waiting for him to move on with his life.

One day while giving a golf lesson, Pryce spots a kid named Santi (Peter Dager) pounding balls past the 200-yard marker on the driving range. Galvanized by the teen’s preternatural talent — and hoping for a way out of his emotional and financial slump — Pryce convinces Santi’s protective mom, Elena (Mariana Treviño), to let him coach her son. After recruiting his cantankerous former caddy, Mitts (Marc Maron), to join them, Pryce hits the road with Santi and his mom in hopes of helping him qualify for the US Amateur Golf Championship. “Maybe it’s a chance to leave something behind other than a YouTube clip of the worst day of my life,” he tells Mitts.

Pryce needs a win, and Santi — who has a complicated relationship with golf due to his absentee dad — needs a mentor and a father figure. Can they heal each other through a mutual love for the game? It’s a standard set up for this type of inspirational sports tale, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But Stick is handicapped by predictable story beats that viewers will see coming from hundreds of yards away. It usually goes something like this: Pryce makes a questionable (though well-intentioned) decision; inevitably, his scheme is found out, and then someone (usually Santi) feels betrayed.

It all wouldn’t feel so dull if Stick allowed us to connect with its characters. “From the home of Ted Lasso,” boasts Apple TV+ in the trailer, and on the surface, Stick shares a few things in common with that international hit. It’s got the folk-rock theme song (performed by the Ohio-based band Caamp); a hero driven by tragedy; and an uplifting, root-for-the-underdog storyline.

The one thing Stick doesn’t have, however, is heart. We’re told why we should care about these characters — Pryce’s past, Mitts’ isolation after the death of his wife, Elena and Santi's lingering scars from his emotionally abusive dad, Gary — but none of it makes it off the page. There’s a kind of emptiness to the writing, as though someone typed “inspiring sports comedy + golf” into Chat GPT. The character of Santi’s friend Zero (Yellowstone's Lilli Kay) — a gender-fluid bartender who rails against things like “late-stage capitalist ideology” — truly seems like it was generated by an algorithm.

None of this is the fault of the cast. Wilson deploys his laid-back charisma effectively as Pryce, and Dager brings a relatable blend of charming insouciance and adolescent anxiety to Santi. Though Maron is basically playing a version of the same hyper-articulate grouch he always plays, his Mitts is the only character who consistently made me laugh, whether spoiling the end of Turner & Hooch or attempting to scare off a bear at an RV campsite. But a handful of chuckles over 10 episodes isn't enough to put Stick on the comedy leaderboard, even in the "upbeat white guy" division.

The first three episodes of Stick premiere Wednesday, June 4, on Apple TV+.