Around the midway point of Will Ferrell‘s new Netflix series, “The Hawk,” the creator and lead actor’s selfish father figure finally has an overdue talk with his long-neglected son. You know the kind of talk it is: the one where a bad dad says he’s sorry, and/or that he’s proud of his boy, and/or that he loves him. It’s what Lance (Jimmy Tatro) needs to hear, and it’s what Lonnie (Ferrell) needs to say, so they both can move forward as better men.

“Son, I probably should’ve told you this more when you were a kid, and it’s not something that dads are really good at, but I’ll give it a go here,” Lonnie says. “I want you to know … your mother’s a world-class bitch.”

Apologies for spoiling one of “The Hawk’s” better jokes (yes, I said better), but the scene serves as an ideal dividing line between the two clearest interpretations of Ferrell’s first Netflix show.

Seen plainly, and probably as intended, it’s just another brash, balls-out sports comedy from a comedian who’s made plenty. The star of “Talladega Nights,” “Kicking and Screaming,” “Blades of Glory,” and “Semi-Pro” expands his standard schtick to series length, playing an unorthodox athlete who, despite lacking the attributes consistently ascribed to his sport’s premiere competitors, takes a run at one last victory, on and off the field.

Lonnie is loud, obnoxious, and vulgar in ways that rankle traditional golfers. Namely, he’s loud (riling up the crowd at a typically silent tee box), obnoxious (wearing colors bright enough to distract from his perpetual farmer’s sunburn), and vulgar (swearing up a storm whether he’s winning or losing). This is not the guy you’re used to seeing don the green jacket at Augusta, and that’s the joke.

Except, of course, you have seen him before. Lonnie’s gaudy outfits and bleach-blonde locks may as well be an homage to John Daly, if not a long tradition of pro golfers who refuse to blend in with their respectable surroundings. Happy Gilmore is another obvious inspiration (even without the Netflix of it all) whenever Lonnie throws his clubs, talks to his ball, and calls on fans to chant his name before taking a swing. Unlike past Ferrell characters, The Hawk isn’t unique enough to earn laughs just by being the odd man out, unless you think “The Hawk” is a unique nickname for a guy with the last name Hawkins.

Maybe you do. And maybe Ferrell’s typical posturing is all you need from a summer comedy. After all, he remains an immensely affable performer, even when he’s retreating to well-worn territory, in part because we’ve seen him expand into so many roles, in so many shows, across so many genres.

And perhaps that’s why, at the exact moment when Lonnie decides against telling his son “I love you” and instead calls his mother a bitch, it hit me: Maybe “The Hawk” isn’t a lame comedy about a bad dad finding unearned redemption on and off the course. Maybe it’s an antihero addiction drama about a golf junkie who doesn’t know any other way to live.

Let’s back up and set the table a bit: When our story commences, Lonnie Hawkins is stuck duffing shots on the Korn Ferry Tour. The former three-time major winner has been all but forgotten by his former peers in the PGA, in part because his son is now a rising star who’s won a couple of tournaments. No one expects ol’ dad to make a comeback and, frankly, there’s no good reason he does.

The series’ inciting incident seems to be when Lonnie’s longtime caddie, Old Hank (Keith David), keels over in a sand trap, never to carry golf clubs again. That leads Lonnie to hire Sam (Fortune Feimster), a stranger he meets in a parking lot and bonds with over a shared love for chain restaurants. (In the season’s best joke, a fellow golfer asks Lonnie where he picked up his new caddie, and he casually quips, “Oh, her? I got her at Walmart.”)

From there, Lonnie catches fire and shoots back into contention — mainly, for the last major championship he’s yet to win: the U.S. Open. But it’s never clear why Lonnie gets hot. At times, it seems like his kismet connection with Sam deserves the credit. But then it’s because he’s motivated to play side by side with his son, “like Lebron and Bronny” (RIP). Or maybe it’s because he’s still in love with Stacy (Molly Shannon), his ex-wife who’s moved on in every way she can without finalizing the divorce. Hell, it could be that losing his caddie and best friend kicked off an internalized existential crisis, driving Lonnie to get ‘er done before he’s dead and gone.

Most likely, any reason will do because none of them matter. His personal and professional arcs don’t have to align with any logic. “The Hawk” just wants to watch Ferrell make a fool of himself for our entertainment, and its simple structure offers plenty of opportunities for exactly that. He’s late to a funeral, crashes an engagement party, and stumbles into an illegal poker match run by Las Vegas mafiosos, all in addition to his tomfoolery on the links.

Amid the random parts stitched together to fill 10 half-hour episodes (which are actually 30 minutes or less, thank God), there are intriguing patterns. For instance, Lance is a gambling addict. He borrows money from his trainer when his golf winnings run out, and he hides his money troubles from his fiancée, Natalie (Katelyn Tarver) who’s already aware of his past problems with placing bets.

Lance’s compulsion comes and goes as needed, cropping up when they need to fill an episode with a father-son virtual golf showdown and then dying down when the main plot kicks back in. But paired with so many conversations about what Hawk Sr. has or has not passed down to Hawk Jr. (sample dialogue: “My dick is your dick, ’cause your dick came out of my dick”), Lance’s insatiable appetite for gambling reframes his father’s insatiable appetite — for golf.

Suddenly, Lonnie’s behavior takes on a sick sense. When Ol’ Hank, his best friend in the world, dies mid-round, Lonnie tries to keep playing. When his funeral conflicts with Lonnie’s tee time, The Hawk texts in his eulogy between holes. Missing clubs, a broken hand, immense shame and embarrassment for a life’s worth of selfish choices — nothing can keep him off the course. Lance wonders if he only became a golfer so he could spend time with his absent father. Stacy claims to hate him for constantly putting her second to the game.

And Stacy, for as much as the series’ contorts her identity to fit its prevailing needs, is the key to unlocking a slightly better version fo “The Hawk” — by revealing the worst version of The Hawk.

When another golfer’s wife goes through a sudden breakup, Stacy’s attempt to comfort her takes a strange turn. “We were going to be married,” the woman cries. “I know, but isn’t it great?” Stacy exclaims, “You got out! You do not realize how lucky you are. Do you see all those golfers? All those little fuckers out there? They’re all full-blown shits! Do you think [he] cared about you? He doesn’t give a shit! You were one room in his brain that he could shut the door on so he could play golf. This is the best day of your life.”

Maybe it’s just Shannon’s tenacity in the moment, but her interpretation of living life alongside an avid golfer lingers through “The Hawk’s” final shot. Without getting into spoilers, the series wraps on an ambiguous ending that asks the viewer to decide just how much Lonnie has grown. Did learning to make a little more room in his life for the people he loves allow for a late-career comeback? Or did he just get lucky, go on a run, and ride the high from winning long enough to fool people into thinking he’s changed?

Seen the first way, as a broad comedy meant to be consumed and disposed as quickly as a cheeseburger, it’s a happy ending to a bad show. But viewed from Stacy’s disillusioned perspective, “The Hawk” offers a much darker vision of a game populated by white, willfully delusional men with disposable income (and I say that as one of them, except for the “disposable income” part).

Or maybe I just need to hit the links and touch some grass.

Grade: D+

“The Hawk” premieres Thursday, July 16 on Netflix. All 10 episodes will be released at once.