impossible

Rhea Seehorn possesses what Vince Gilligan calls “Jumbotron face.” As the creator of “Pluribus” and (with Peter Gould) “Better Call Saul,” Gilligan has relied on Seehorn’s ability to broadcast what her characters are thinking and feeling without saying much of anything. Gilligan loves silences and uses them in long stretches, allowing — or, perhaps more accurately, demanding — his audience to figure out what’s happening on their own.

And in Seehorn he found someone who, with a mere sidelong glance or knitted brow, can let you in on Gilligan’s secrets.

But Seehorn carries this ability wherever she goes, she tells me. People take a look at her and make assumptions. She’s 5 foot 4, lean and seems athletic, though she says she’s “the least athletic person that anybody knows.” That hasn’t stopped her from being cast as a golf instructor in the upcoming second season of the Owen Wilson comedy series “Stick” and a track and field coach in a movie she’s shooting right now called “Running.”

“I do not run,” she told the movie’s director, Gavin O’Connor. “I can tell people to run, but you don’t want to see me running.”

It’s not just work, though, where these deductions are made. Up until a few years ago, when people started recognizing her for playing poker-faced attorney Kim Wexler on “Better Call Saul,” Seehorn would be standing in a store and customers figured she worked there. Shopping at the Gap, she’d be asked if a T-shirt comes in medium. In Target, she’d be queried about where to find the Christmas decorations. Even on set, a background person would approach her, wondering if there’s any more plain bagels at craft service.

Why do you think this happens? I ask her. Because, even with her fame and her Golden Globe win for playing Carol, a sad woman forced to save the world from happiness and the hive mind in “Pluribus,” Seehorn, 54, says this still takes place on a regular basis.

“I’ve asked my friends, and apparently my daydreaming or thinking face looks focused,” she says. “I guess my interior monologue is highly interpretable to people, and if you’re standing in a store and you see somebody really thinking and thinking, they’re like, ‘She must be restocking the shelves.’ When in reality, I’m probably thinking about what I said wrong to somebody at a party in the ’80s.”

Rhea Seehorn as Carol Sturka in “Pluribus.”

(Apple TV)

Seehorn bursts out laughing, which she does often and with great gusto throughout our conversation. We’re at The Times, nine years after her last visit to our offices, which I know because she shows me a photo on her camera roll of her youngest stepson, McLain, taken when we were downtown and he was 9, young enough to still be thrilled about being in a “newspaper building.”

This prompts another take-your-kids-to-work memory.

“I brought him and Gray [the other stepson she shares with her partner of 12 years, real estate agent Graham Larson] to the set of ‘Better Call Saul’ when they were 7 and 9, and the thing they were most excited about was signing an NDA,” Seehorn says. “Everybody in the production office made a huge deal of it, pretending like they were spies, because I knew they’d think that was cool.”

Seehorn played Kim opposite Bob Odenkirk on “Better Call Saul” for six seasons, creating a character that evolved from a minor role to what Gilligan calls the “backbone of the series.” Dazzled by her versatility, Gilligan wrote “Pluribus” for Seehorn. But he didn’t want to tell her about it until he had a script and not just an outline. He asked “Saul” executive producer Melissa Bernstein to act as a spy and tell him if Seehorn was close to taking another job. One day, during the show’s final season, Bernstein told him he’d better pounce.

“I didn’t want to miss my opportunity,” Gilligan says over the phone. “That would have been a bummer. Rhea is the manager that makes the show work.”

(Ian Spanier / For The Times)

Where Kim Wexler was a composed and poised overachiever, suppressing her emotions when things (as they often did) spiraled out of control, “Pluribus’” Carol Sturka lets it all hang out. She’s volatile and angry, drinking heavily to obliterate her regret and rage. The characters share a fierce drive to fight for what they believe is right, which, for Carol, means maintaining her autonomy and resisting the good-vibes group contentment of the Others. A hero has never been more reluctant than this curmudgeon.

Seehorn is the ultimate professional: pleasant, quick to credit her colleagues, a team player. So Carol’s bitter fury feels distinct from her friendly personality as well as anything we’ve ever seen her do onscreen. But it’s not entirely foreign. Talking about the “Pluribus” season finale, she said that while she’s never murdered anyone, she has felt out-of-control rage.

When did this happen?

“I’m not going to tell you that!” she answers, laughing.

I’m just trying to picture it, I tell her.

“I know, because a lot of people are like, ‘I’ve never seen you mad,’” Seehorn says. “I suppress. I suppress too much. That’s something I work on with my therapist. I used to scream and yell as a teenager. That’s how I fought. And I just decided in college one day — I think I had an out-of-body experience — that I don’t want to be this person. And it probably moved the needle too far the other way. Now, when I’m angry, often I withdraw and get very quiet. I say everything is fine and then I’m never speaking to you again.”

That could have made playing a highly reactive character like Carol therapeutic. Instead, it did a number on Seehorn’s body.

(Ian Spanier / For The Times)

“Unlike Carol, I cry often when I’m extremely angry and in the middle of trying to tell someone how upset I am,” Seehorn says. “Like the anger disturbs my body so much that it makes me cry. No matter how much I tried to unplug from Carol, my body didn’t understand that I was pretending.”

We start talking about relationships and unhealthy withdrawal and letting things fester to the point that when the emotions come out, it feels abrupt and the other person has no idea what’s going on. And out of nowhere, Seehorn gives me a taste of Carol, growling the words, “Can you just get it?” with such ferocity that I’m almost physically blown back in my chair.

“God, you scared me with that,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” Seehorn says, beaming.

Because she’s a (generally) well-adjusted human being, Seehorn has developed ways of dealing with the terror and flop sweat that comes with playing the lead on an expensive, highly touted TV series, one that earned 18 Emmy nominations, including one for her lead turn. She converted the garage at her home into what sounds like a veritable wonderland. In one corner, there’s a tiny gym. There’s a place to record voice-over work, not a proper booth, which she’d like someday, but close. There’s a space to be quiet and read scripts. There’s an area where she can paint, sculpt, do jigsaw puzzles, Lego sets, embroider — all the things that ease her anxiety but also help her work through creative blocks.

“If I have too much of a vice grip on a scene and I can’t figure it out, I’ll do a jigsaw puzzle or draw while running the lines,” Seehorn says.

She loves creating things, but she also loves projects that involve following instructions. That soothes her. In the middle of enthusing about a cross-stitch embroidery project, she says, “Don’t roll your eyes at me!” Which I most definitely was not doing. That was my daydreaming, thinking face.

(Ian Spanier / For The Times)

Sometimes these projects make their way inside the house, where Seehorn might turn on the television and watch what she calls “murder TV,” sitting under a big, curved metal dome lamp that feels like an interrogation spotlight. There, her brain still working on what she was doing in her office, she’ll lose herself on multiple fronts as she wrestles with a scene.

Seehorn loves watching shows like “Dateline” because they provide a sense of order in a chaotic world. Bad guy. Bad guy gets caught. Bad guy goes to jail. All is well. But it goes beyond that. As an actor, she loves watching people trying to lie — and failing. She can’t believe how bad people are at not telling the truth.

“Every single time, I’m like, ‘Dude’s lying,’” Seehorn says. “Women too, where I’m watching an interrogation scene and thinking, ‘There’s a zero percent chance you did not know someone was going to break in and shoot your husband.’ It’s funny because as actors, whenever we’re playing criminals that are lying to the police, we’re really good at it.”

Does that mean Seehorn is an adept liar? Yes and no. You’ve seen her act. She can make you believe anything. But when she does lie, she is compelled to confess, even when the fib is innocuous.

“I’ll be in a conversation where there’s a bunch of cool people talking about a movie they saw, and I’ll be like, ‘Oh yeah, that was great!’” Seehorn says. “And then I’ll leave and then I’ll come back and say, ‘I didn’t actually see it. I’m sorry.’ And they’re like, ‘Who’s that weird girl?’ I’m good at lying, but bad at holding the guilt.”

So when you’re telling me you don’t know any details about the second season of “Pluribus,” are you misleading me? I ask.

“I know nothing!” Seehorn says. The atomic bomb in the crate that a helicopter carefully deposits in Carol’s driveway in the last scene? “As soon as they said, ‘Cut,’ I went up to Vince and asked, ‘Now can you tell me what we’re doing?’ And he said, ‘I have no idea.’”

“And all these months later, I know no more than that,” she continues.

But if you did…

“You’d be getting a phone call from me about an hour after we say goodbye, confessing all,” Seehorn answers, smiling.

The phone still hasn’t rung.

(Ian Spanier / For The Times)

Walking down a hallway at UCLA’s Wasserman Football Center earlier this week, I became a believer.

Bouncing hurriedly in my direction was a bright-eyed kid with a huge smile. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me.

Yet as he passed, he suddenly stuck out his hand for a fist bump, which I was too stunned to ignore, and so I pounded back while wondering.

What just happened?

Then it hit me.

Bob Chesney just happened.

New UCLA football coach Bob Chesney has won over cynics with his unflinching optimism and attention to detail.

(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)

The new football coach has infused the completely rebuilt program into a place so energetic, his players run around sharing their inspiration to complete strangers.

“Yeah, we’re gonna win here,” Chesney says.

This shared spirit starts every morning in this building, in the team meeting room, where Chesney orders his players to stand and sing the school fight song as if they are standing on the field after a victory.

The words to the song are displayed on a giant screen, which increasingly isn’t used because most of his players have now learned the song by heart. Those who fail to sing get tagged with a red laser pointer, so pretty much everyone croons.

“I’m not gonna let people put limits on us,” Chesney says. “I’m not gonna let them tell us what we can and can’t do.”

This shared spirit continues deep into the night, as some of his players recently had a pool party at the home of Cori Close, the Bruins national championship women’s basketball coach. She was not teaching them how to swim. She was teaching them how to win.

“People say why here?” Chesney says. “I say, why not here?”

He shows up for my early afternoon visit last week dressed uniquely for a $33.75 million coach of a Big Ten school on the outskirts of Hollywood.

He is dressed like a player. Black shirt, black shorts, thin sheen of sweat adorning his expressive forehead.

“Been lifting weights,” he says.

Are weight machines set aside for the coaches?

“Lifting with the players,” he says. “These guys are telling me what to do.”

UCLA coach Bob Chesney stands on the field in between players and shouts instructions during a spring practice.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

Full disclosure: I arranged my visit full of skepticism about this guy that has UCLA fans swooning.

C’mon. Seriously? He’s ready for this? How can he be ready for this?

The son of a small-town high school football coach in Pennsylvania coal country, Chesney had risen from obscurity to … more obscurity. He had previously coached at four different small schools you couldn’t find on a map. Salve Regina? Assumption? What?

This will be Chesney’s first shot under the bright lights. And he is taking that shot with a program whose best shots couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.

The Bruins have not been to the Rose Bowl game in 28 years, and he is going to fix that? They have not won a Rose Bowl game in 41 years, and he was going to change that culture?

The celebrated Chip Kelly couldn’t do it. The emotional Jim Mora Jr. couldn’t do it. The cheerleading Rick Neuheisel couldn’t do it. The cerebral Karl Dorrell couldn’t do it. The affable Bob Toledo thought he had done it until his team inexplicably quit on him just 60 minutes from a berth in the national championship game.

I had covered all of these coaches, hearing their annual promises, seeing their annual collapses, realizing USC had a stranglehold on the college football money and attention in this town, and I had come up with an inescapable conclusion.

What Chesney is trying to do with UCLA football can’t be done.

Then I met him.

The best word to describe initial impressions of the 48-year-old former college safety would be, wow.

He talks fast. He oozes belief. He sells UCLA. He sells himself. He doesn’t shrink from his giant task. He doesn’t rationalize or equivocate his team’s sordid history.

He’s like one of those charming smart kids who never takes no for an answer.

“I feel it,” he says.”I feel it.”

No wonder his recruiting has been phenomenal, ranked seventh nationwide for the class of 2027, a trend that began this summer with 42 transfers, many of whom will start. No wonder he has been recognized by fans while hanging out in West Hollywood or Griffith Observatory or Dodger Stadium, where he’s already sat wide-eyed in a meeting with Dodger manager and UCLA grad Dave Roberts and Sandy Koufax.

He feels it, and the Bruin Nation feels it with him.

“Everybody’s included,” he says. “You wanna be included? C’mon, you’re included.”

As the self-proclaimed driver of the Bruin bandwagon in recent years — only to be derailed by midseason every time — I’ll pass on the inclusion. I’ve got to see it before buying it. But right now, Chesney has worked me up into such a lather that, yeah, I’m believing.

First, Chesney points to his resume, a litany of small schools who accumulated big victories, a dossier that includes only one losing season and none in the last seven years.

His head coaching career started at Division III Salve Regina (Rhode Island), where he turned eight consecutive losing seasons into three straight winning seasons.

“‘You can’t win there, nobody can win there’ is what they said,” Chesney says. “We won there.”

James Madison coach Bob Chesney and running back Wayne Knight celebrate after winning the Sun Belt championship on Dec. 5 in Harrisonburg, Va.

(Robert Simmons / Associated Press)

Then there was Division II Assumption in Massachusetts, where he took a team that had two winning records in 17 years and led them to five consecutive winning records and three straight playoff appearances.

“They said, ‘You can’t do it, nobody can do it,’’’ Chesney says. “We did it.”

Then there was Holy Cross, also in Massachusetts, where he took the team to a record five straight Patriot League championships while advancing as deep as the FCS quarterfinals.

“They told us, ‘The academics are too tough, the tuition is too high, you can’t win there,’’’ Chesney recounts. “We won there.”

Finally there was James Madison in Virginia, where he took a team whose stars had all followed Curt Cignetti to Indiana and still triumphed, leading them to a Cinderella appearance in the College Football Playoff.

“A lot of people doubted it, a lot of people didn’t believe it could work,” Chesney says. “We’ve proved a lot of people wrong throughout the years.”

After his resume, Chesney points to his surroundings. He is more awed by UCLA’s gravitas than any other football coach I can remember. It’s clear he can sell the school because he has such respect for the school.

“Here you’re a handshake away from changing your life … the school has an 8% acceptance rate, you’re walking around this campus with valedictorians and future CEOs and doctors and lawyers,” he says. “You’re surrounded by greatness, you have a chance to breathe this rare air that very few people get a chance to breathe.”

But for Chesney to fill this air with a football championship requires a price. It is a price that, so far, many potential donors have been reluctant to pay. But in today’s college football world, it is the cost of doing business.

Face it, Cignetti couldn’t have changed Indiana’s fortunes so rapidly if it wasn’t for Mark Cuban money. Chesney believes he can do the same thing here … with a little push.

Longtime UCLA donor Angelo Mazzone chipped in $10 million recently, and more such gifts are needed for UCLA to be able to pay the players that bring them a championship.

”There’s a major financial commitment that comes with getting those four- and five-star kids, but we can really turn the tables with that kind of help,” Chesney says. “Every single thing that is needed is here, we just have to make sure we get the support from the people on the outside that we need to actualize our dream.”

UCLA coach Bob Chesney shares his vision for the program during his introductory news conference on Dec. 9.

(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)

He’s doing all the right things while chasing that dream.

Even as his bosses are pushing to move the team out of the Rose Bowl to SoFi Stadium, he loves the Rose Bowl, and took his team there for its spring game on a weekend that began with him standing outside the brightly lit marquee with his father and his son in the dark.

“It was one of those moments, I was like, man, the history of this place … to me to play in the Rose Bowl, what an honor and a privilege,” he says.

The game actually drew a decent spring crowd of 10,000-12,000, partially because Chesney had worked so hard at banging the drum. He and his players even brought pizzas to various campus groups in hopes of enlisting support.

“You want to be around this program, you can be around this program,” he says.

Then there’s his opinion of USC. He doesn’t have one. He never mentions them. For a UCLA coach, this is a good thing.

“I guess we’re perceived to be in their shadow, and for whatever reasons we weren’t an option the last couple of years, but look at our recruiting, I know we’re becoming an option for L.A. again,” Chesney says. “I think you can change a lot of people’s opinions on who they want to be rooting for.”

As in all levels of football, it all comes down to the quarterback, and Chesney had his first win by convincing budding star Nico Iamaleava. The kid was roundly criticized in this space for holding out and then walking out on his Tennessee team last year, but he has since grown up, and could be the sort of game-changer that Chesney requires.

“Watching Nico with his athletic ability, his arm, creating plays after the play with his legs, I have very high hopes,” says Chesney.

There are potentially outstanding transfers at half of the positions, and, with some solid returning players — this is a team that beat seventh-ranked Penn State, remember — the Bruins have a decent foundation.

UCLA coach Bob Chesney pats running back Anthony Woods on the helmet during the team’s spring game at the Rose Bowl on May 2.

(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)

Throw in a favorable 2026 schedule that doesn’t include Ohio State or Penn State or Washington or Iowa, and one thinks they might even have a chance at making some miracles.

“You’re going to see a different brand of football, one that is united, that is passionate, that is physical, that is tough, that has a lot of fun playing together,” he said.

You’re also going to hear a sound that died in the brief DeShaun Foster era, a sound that has never lasted more than a couple of weeks in the last 30 years.

That rumble is the Bruin football bandwagon. It’s revving up again. The inimitable force that is Bob Chesney wants to include you on the start of its journey.

Let him.

Hi, and welcome to another edition of Dodgers Dugout. My name is Houston Mitchell. Today is one of those newsletters that we devote to only one topic.

Do you remember where you were 36 years ago today?

Fernando Valenzuela was a great pitcher. I think he should be in the Hall of Fame for his on-field talents and the fact he brought thousands of new fans to the sport, all across the country.

But by 1990, he was no longer a great pitcher. He was an afterthought on the 1988 World Series title team. In 1989, he was basically a league average pitcher, going 10-13 with a 3.43 ERA. Going into his start against St. Louis on June 29, 1990, he was 5-6 with a 4.09 ERA, had given up 97 hits in 94.2 innings and had given up eight runs in 5.1 innings in his last start.

Pitching a no-hitter, which seemed possible earlier in his career, was off the table. And then, well, who better to take us through that final inning than Vin Scully?

Covering the Dodgers then for The Times was Bill Plaschke. The rest of this is his words as written that evening:

Thirty minutes before the Dodgers faced the St. Louis Cardinals Friday, Fernando Valenzuela noticed on a clubhouse television set that Oakland pitcher Dave Stewart had thrown a no-hitter in Toronto.

“Fernando turned to some teammates and he said, ‘That’s great, now maybe we’ll see another no-hitter,’ ” Dodger Manager Tom Lasorda said.

It was the first time in the modern baseball era that two no-hitters have been pitched on the same day. It was the Dodgers’ first no-hitter since Jerry Reuss had one against the San Francisco Giants on June 27, 1980.

“And it couldn’t have happened to a tougher, more competitive guy,” Lasorda said. “You look at Fernando and he has done everything in his career except a no-hitter. And now . . . this.”

With Willie McGee on first base and one out in the ninth inning, former Dodger Pedro Guerrero hit a grounder up the middle that seemed destined for the outfield. But Valenzuela stuck out his glove, the ball nicked the leather and rolled to Juan Samuel, who stepped on second base and threw to first baseman Eddie Murray, who made the catch that sent Dodgers running to the mound.

“Do you think if I don’t touch that ball, it goes through for a single?” Valenzuela asked afterward. “Whoooa. I think it does. I think I don’t touch it, I’m in trouble.

“I was just glad to see Scioscia running to the mound from the plate. Only then did I know it was over. Thank goodness Alfredo Griffin made the catch and the throw.”

When reminded that it was Samuel who made the final play, Valenzuela laughed.

“That shows you how excited I am,” he said after improving to 6-6 with a 3.73 earned-run average. “This is a great moment for me.”

But in the final three innings, he threw 49 pitches, and was obviously tired.

“But this was a different kind of tired,” Valenzuela said. “This kind of tired did not bother me. You think I feel anything during those last inning? No way.”

“This is a different pitcher than in previous seasons,” catcher Mike Scioscia said. “This guy is not as quick as the old Fernando, but this guy still knows how to win.”

Back to your humble host here. If you want to read Plaschke’s entire article, click here.

When watching the final inning as called by Vin, I was struck by a tinge of sadness when Vin gave the day and time in case “Fernando wants to play this to his grandchildren one day.” Valenzuela died in 2024. He had seven grandchildren; let’s hope they all got to sit with him and hear it.

It was also amazing to hear Vin say that Fernando had thrown only 108 pitches through eight innings, so he has plenty of ammunition left. Now baseball managers and front office people are afraid a pitcher’s arm would fall off if they throw 108 pitches today.

And thanks, Fernando, for all the great memories.

Here’s another link to Vin’s call.

Up next

Monday: Dodgers (*Eric Lauer, 3-5, 4.87 ERA [2-0, 2.54 ERA with the Dodgers]) at Athletics (*Gage Jump, 3-1, 2.04 ERA), 6:40 p.m., SportsNet LA, AM 570, KTNQ 1020

Tuesday: Dodgers (*Justin Wrobleski, 9-2, 2.71 ERA) at Athletics (*Jeffrey Springs, 3-7, 5.52 ERA), 6:40 p.m., SportsNet LA, AM 570, KTNQ 1020

Wednesday: Dodgers (Shohei Ohtani, 8-2, 1.58 ERA) at San Diego (J.T. Ginn, 6-4, 3.15 ERA), 6:40 p.m., SportsNet LA, AM 570, KTNQ 1020

All times Pacific

*-left-handed

In case you missed it

Wife, kids of Dodgers’ Miguel Rojas in Caracas when earthquakes hit Venezuela

Mookie Betts is ‘back’ for Dodgers: Offensive takeaways from series win over Padres

‘He cares about people.’ How Dodgers’ Dave Roberts got to the cusp of 1,000 career wins

Shaikin: Did Padres curse themselves by messing with that anti-Dodgers FTD burger?

And finally

Vin Scully and Fernando Valenzuela throw out the first pitch before Game 2 of the 2017 World Series. Watch and listen here.

Until next time …

Have a comment or something you’d like to see in a future Dodgers newsletter? Email me at houston.mitchell@latimes.com. To get this newsletter in your inbox, click here.