Travel in Germany: Killing two birds with one stone Pt II
June 17th 2006 20:56
...Four years earlier, it was a different story. Following the Socceroos' bitter 3-0 loss to Uruguay in Montevideo, we all watched as Tony Vidmar cradled his head and wept. As the siren wailed the death knell of Australian soccer, Vidmar became the conduit for the nation's tears. It was the portrait of a dream shattered. And it reminded us of one of our most resilient taboos: the grown man crying.
In an age of diagnostic excess, the pundits had a field day scrutinising whether sportsmen should cry openly. There were even echoes in some quarters of Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own: "There's no crying in football!" But when thousands of grown men erupted into tears last November, there wasn’t a psychologist in the house. As Australia watched the nail-biting penalty Schwartz-out, all the pundits were silenced, the witchdoctors vindicated and John Saffron added to Soccer Australia’s payroll. With that shirtless wonder Aloisi came an outburst of emotion so effusive it flushed across the crowd like a benevolent tsunami, washing away four years of recriminations.
Men cried openly, my father being one of them, and the man-hugging was unbridled. No one criticised the tears spent by 80 000 ‘just add water’ fanatical fans. To be honest, I had no insight at the time into what was happening either; I was busy breaking in new arteries to deal with all the adrenalin. But watching the replay on DVD, it's all so crystal clear. There was a palpable release when that winning penalty was kicked - not just the pent-up frustration of 32 years, but something else. A cosmic discharge, whose epicentre was the back of the net where the leathered glory lay vibrating magic.
What has this got to do with travelling in Germany I hear you ask? Keep your pants on, I'm getting there...
In an age of diagnostic excess, the pundits had a field day scrutinising whether sportsmen should cry openly. There were even echoes in some quarters of Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own: "There's no crying in football!" But when thousands of grown men erupted into tears last November, there wasn’t a psychologist in the house. As Australia watched the nail-biting penalty Schwartz-out, all the pundits were silenced, the witchdoctors vindicated and John Saffron added to Soccer Australia’s payroll. With that shirtless wonder Aloisi came an outburst of emotion so effusive it flushed across the crowd like a benevolent tsunami, washing away four years of recriminations.
Men cried openly, my father being one of them, and the man-hugging was unbridled. No one criticised the tears spent by 80 000 ‘just add water’ fanatical fans. To be honest, I had no insight at the time into what was happening either; I was busy breaking in new arteries to deal with all the adrenalin. But watching the replay on DVD, it's all so crystal clear. There was a palpable release when that winning penalty was kicked - not just the pent-up frustration of 32 years, but something else. A cosmic discharge, whose epicentre was the back of the net where the leathered glory lay vibrating magic.
What has this got to do with travelling in Germany I hear you ask? Keep your pants on, I'm getting there...
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