Much like TV programs during the upcoming Ramadan fasting month remind viewers of religious rights and wrongs, the World Cup over the past month has been a nightly showcase of the good, the bad and the ugly of human behavior.
Away from the precise passes and on-target penalty kicks on the pitch, everyone can relate to the suddenly dashed hopes and euphoric interludes, as well as the childish turf tiffs and tantrums.
The rancorous French team proved conclusively the truth of the saying, “united we stand, divided we fall”, choosing to divide and conquer themselves from within their own ranks. Fighting with fellow team members and publicly undermining the head of command (albeit one who seemed to be suffering from a pronounced Napoleon complex) were a sure recipe for le big time disaster. We didn’t need Paul to predict that meltdown.
French coach Raymond Domenech served up some sour grapes in refusing to accept the handshake of South African counterpart Alberto Parreira. It was reportedly because Parreira said mean things about him. Well, if that’s the criteria for a Domenech brush-off, he would be cold-shouldering the entire stadium, and most of France.
We viewers also learned that standing up for yourself on the pitch should not mean flagrantly stomping on someone else (Brazil’s Felipe Melo) or taking an opportunistic dive to reach the heights; that sometimes it’s worthwhile to get a second opinion (the error-prone referees, frequently) and that we can be seen and heard without drowning out everybody else (vuvuzelas).
But South Africa has also been about the crying game, with players, coaches and fans wearing their emotions on their sleeves. Headline writers pounced on the now cliched, “Don’t cry for them, Argentina” after the South American team lost to Germany last Saturday, but there were similar sob stories from the rest of the also-rans.
It shows that crying — whether it’s a full-on fit, or hiccupy termehek-mehek sob — is not only for cry-babies anymore. Manly men of celebritydom are not afraid to show their supposed feminine side with a brief break-down, and stoic, “masculine” women desperately wanting to reveal their softer center have let the waterworks flow when need be. Tennis great Roger Federer has cried over a lost Grand Slam crown, and Hillary Clinton got glassy-eyed once during her Democratic Party nomination campaign, leading to a debate over whether her tears were genuine or of the crocodile variety.
Our tears can be for a clown, when we see the pathos of life and the human experience, or a crying shame, when we have disappointed others or ourselves, such as for Federer and the World Cup vanquished. They also can be manipulative, assuaging our guilt and, simultaneously, fingers crossed, trying to convince others that we have repented for our transgressions. Would you like one tear or two, sir?
It seems soccer’s emotion-fest has been enough to make the whole world cry, as Tanita Tikaram once sang, for the waterworks have been in overdrive the past week.
In Los Angeles, actress Lindsay Lohan pleaded for a reprieve from jail time, but the histrionic display — one pundit quipped meanly that it was her best performance in years — fell on deaf ears.
Here at home, embattled TV presenter Cut Tari tearfully apologized to the President (also known to get teary-eyed at times) and the First Lady, her own dutiful shoulder-to-cry-on husband, and the Indonesian people for the recent sex video scandal. Her mea culpa was painful to watch, reducing her former gossip show co-hosts to tears on air.
Eventually, whether it’s sad soccer stars or sorry starlets, or former National Police chief detective Susno Duadji, who has cried about allegations against him, people have to dry those tears and start over. Still, don’t rule out some more shows of emotion tonight. Two-time losing finalist Netherlands is attempting to prove that, if at first you don’t succeed, then try, try, try again until you do.
Or they can cry, cry, cry about it, if Paul’s prediction for a Spain win comes true. The Dutch know they can simply go with the (tearful) flow. It’s the done thing after all.
— Broto Dharma
