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January 31, 2006
Crying is no shame for real men
By Rex Jory, The Advertiser
IT was wonderful to see Roger Federer cry
after accepting his trophy for winning the Australian Open tennis
championship. The iceman of the centre court wore his emotions like a
sponsor's emblem on his shirt.
One of the failings of the human makeup is that men don't – or aren't
meant to – cry. Men are the hunters. Their distant cousins competed
with the sabre-tooth tiger to scavenge food for the family. A sort of
John Wayne in bear skin.
Tough guys like that aren't meant to cry. Roger Federer did.
In the movie High Noon, Gary Cooper shot three men and
his unsmiling expression didn't change. His wife shot one and wept like
a five-year-old on the first day at school.
Federer shot down one grinning Cypriot, Marcos Baghdatis and
howled on international television. Maybe he was relieved to win the
Australian Open.
Maybe he was disappointed at not winning the four major
tournaments last year. Maybe he cried because his idol, former
Australian tennis great Rod Laver, made the presentation.
Who cares? He blubbered and sniffed his way through an adequate
and sometimes amusing speech in front of a television audience of
millions, maybe billions. One of the most public snivels in history.
I didn't feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. It enhanced the
tournament. It demonstrated just how important the win was to him, and
therefore underlined the status of the competition.
The world would be a better place if more men cried.
Shakespeare wrote: "If you have tears, prepare to shed them now." Too
few of us do.
Men bottle up their emotions – whether it is fear, anger or
happiness. Natural emotions, perhaps emotions which can help craft a
rational decision, are crushed by the fear of displaying them. How
often, at a wedding, have you watched the sobbing bride next to her
stoic husband? At a funeral, the women quietly sniff into their tissues
while the men are sombre and apparently emotionless. I'm not a great
howler but I've cried at funerals, even at the lectern giving the
eulogy. I silently envy those who can give light rein to their emotions
and publicly weep.
A good sob releases all sorts of tensions. Men tend to allow
these powerful feelings to seethe within. We fool no one, of course.
Malcolm Fraser tried to disguise his disappointment when he lost the
1983 federal election to Bob Hawke. But tears trickled down his Easter
Island statue face as he conceded defeat. Mr Hawke cried more than once
in public. Paul Keating cried when he was defeated by John Howard.
Why should there be shame or embarrassment? What men can't
understand is that's how it's meant to be. The emotions are there
pleading to be released. We've become conditioned – perhaps by our
stiff-upper-lip British forebears – to bottle it all up. What nonsense.
Is it any wonder the world is in such a mess? Men make
decisions and then, as a matter of pride, stand by them whether they
are right or wrong. Women can burst into tears and say they are sorry.
They've made a mistake.
Tears and contrition are often linked, like tears and sorrow.
But so are tears and relief. Tears and happiness. Marcos Baghdatis
grinned and stumbled his way through an enchanting loser's speech and
won the hearts of a nation, perhaps the tennis world. It is rare in
this culture, which idolises winners, for the vanquished to be
remembered.
Roger Federer had trouble explaining why he cried before a
startled nation. Ironically, he will be remembered not only as a worthy
2006 champion but as the champion who cried.
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