An ode to crying athletes

Let it out, guys!

It’s been said to me on more than one occasion that it’s strange that I, a man with little to no sporting acumen, can be so profoundly touched by the sight of an elite athlete with tears in their eyes. That I, a man who would rather live with chronic neck pain than commit to ten minutes of stretches every morning, can be reduced to tears by the sobs of someone who has dedicated their entire life to a sport. That I, a 34-year-old man who recently sent a video of himself scoring the first goal of his six-a-side career to his dad, brother, fiancee, and three separate WhatsApp groups, found himself welling up at the sight of Rory McIlroy heaving with tears on the green at Augusta, just minutes after googling “where is Augusta?”

But the heart wants what it wants. And mine seems to want athletes to become overcome with emotion, leading to me becoming overcome with emotion.

The first one I really remember was Luis Suarez sobbing at Selhurst Park in 2014. Liverpool had just thrown away a three nil victory following a kamikaze attempt to make up the +9 goal difference required to win the title. Steven Gerrard’s notorious slip at Anfield had handed the reins back to Manchester City with three games to go and so, Brendan Rodgers’ side rather ambitiously decided to try and score ten goals the following week at Crystal Palace. They managed three. Sadly, so did Palace, who netted three times in the final eleven minutes to doom Liverpool to second.

The Uruguayan, easily the best player I’ve ever watched live, pulled one of the great terrible away kits over his face and wept uncontrollably. I was gone. Such sadness. Such a terrible, terrible kit. That great viral tweet “imagine getting bad news in a sleeveless hoodie” comes to mind.

I don’t know what it is. Potentially the horrible clash of private and public? Crying is an intimate act. You shouldn’t have to do it on stage or with a camera in your face.

I remember Michael Smith weeping against the wall of the Alexandra Palace stage after losing the 2021 World Darts Championship final to Peter Wright. This immensely gifted darts prodigy, a lifetime’s work, a reputation for losing when it mattered saying “I must have done something terrible in a past life” on national TV. Come here, bully boy. It’s going to be ok. Next year, you’re going to hit a 9 in the final and win the thing.

The margins of success are so small in elite sport. You can be at the very top of your field and still be considered a failure. A footnote in someone else’s story. Potential still unfulfilled. Which, if anything, is why the happy tears hit harder. Smith and Suarez both had another chance to redeem themselves. Victory can often be a one-off. The culmination of a lifetime’s work. Rarefied air. You can go home after if you want. Job’s done.

Geraint Thomas saying “I won the tour, man” and trying not to cry after winning in Paris in 2018, eventually breaking down. Mark Cavendish returning to France to match Merckx’s record. Jordan Henderson hugging his dad after winning the Champions League. Jesus Christ, MAN. There’s a scene in Phoenix Rising, the 2020 documentary about the Paralympics where Italian fencer Bebe Vio secures gold in Rio and screams with joy. I watched it on a plane during the pandemic, bawling behind my face mask.

Sport is so silly. Person puts ball in hole or hits ball over net. Person runs fast or jumps high. Person throws thing at thing. It’s good to be reminded that while it doesn’t matter, it can really, really matter.

So often the tears feel like a reminder of how much they love the sport. They’re most human just after being superhuman. Being entirely unrelatable makes them entirely relatable.

McIlroy’s tears – on the green, in his wife’s arms, in his caddie’s arms, on the green again– epitomised that. A great day for fans of sobbing athletes.

Anyway, in a shameless genuine attempt to drive engagement connect – which McIlroy-esque moments set you off?

MUSICAL CODA

After stating that I would be doing this for each newsletter, I immediately forgot. Sorry.