Like many viewers, I eagerly awaited Season 2 of The Last of Us. The first season hit hard — not just with its gritty visuals and post-apocalyptic horror, but with the deeply emotional story of Joel and Ellie. As a father, myself, I saw echoes of my own life in that relationship: the quiet protectiveness, the unspoken fears and the strange comfort in teaching your child how to survive a world that rarely makes sense. I even wrote about it — how the show resonated with me not because of the monsters, but because of the man trying to hold it together for a girl who had already lost too much.

But then came Episode 2. And with it, the end of Joel.

And honestly? So ended my interest in the show.

Now, let me be clear: I didn’t play the video games. I walked into this story completely blind, with no expectations and no knowledge of Joel’s eventual fate. When the episode began, I was hoping to see the next evolution of this complicated father-daughter bond. But instead, I got a gut punch I never saw coming — one that felt more like a creative dead-end than bold storytelling.

Joel’s death wasn’t just unexpected. It was deflating.

To some, this plot development may have been thrilling — subversive, daring and an intentional break from the expected hero’s journey. But to me, it felt like ripping out the heart of the show just as it was starting to beat stronger.

This wasn’t just any character getting killed off. Joel was the narrative’s emotional anchor, the broken man learning to care again, the flawed protector struggling to connect with a girl who needed something more than just survival skills.

When I saw the early trailers of the second season, I was intrigued by the direction things might go. Ellie was growing older, and I expected there would be tension — what teenager doesn’t push boundaries? I was curious how the show would handle that inevitable shift, especially in a world where a bad decision could literally get you killed.

I was ready to see Joel trying to balance being her guardian with letting her become her own person. That father-daughter push and pull? That’s where the emotional gold was (as well as a previous article I wrote).

Instead, they gave me a golf club.

Now, I know some people are criticizing the show for being too woke or accuse it of shoving girlboss energy down everyone’s throats. That’s not my issue. I’m not here to cry about political agendas or strong female leads. Honestly, I was looking forward to seeing Ellie take the reins. But the way the showrunners did it — by immediately discarding the character that made many of us invest in the first place — just felt cheap. Like skipping the hard parts of a story so you can fast-forward to the vengeance-fueled power trip.

And maybe that works for some. Maybe longtime fans of the game expected this and welcomed it. But for me, it was a jarring shift. I didn’t sign up for a revenge thriller. I signed up for a survival story rooted in a found family. For a show that was, at its core, about a man and a girl slowly teaching each other how to live again.

Now that man is gone, and with him, the emotional core I connected to.

Sure, there are still things to appreciate. Bella Ramsey is doing excellent work, and the production quality remains top tier. But without Joel, there’s a void. And not just because of the absence of Pedro Pascal (though let’s be real, his performance was a big part of the show’s soul). It’s because The Last of Us made me care about their journey — and then yanked the map away.

Maybe this direction is faithful to the game. Maybe it’s meant to explore deeper ideas about grief, rage and the cycles of violence. But if I’m being honest, I’m just not interested in that story right now. I wanted to see a struggling father figure navigate the impossible mess of adolescence during the end of the world. I wanted to see what happens when love and survival collide. I didn’t want to see him turned into a plot device.

I’m not angry. Just disappointed. The show had something special — a raw, unvarnished emotional thread that spoke directly to people like me. Fathers. Survivors. Those who know what it means to protect someone even when you’re not sure you’re enough. And now it’s just… gone.

So no, I won’t be finishing Season 2. Not because it’s too progressive or because I can’t handle change. But because the show chose a path that no longer speaks to me. And I think that’s OK.

Sometimes, the world ends not with a bang — but with a golf club.