Melville Cooke
SO WE established last week that I am a World Cup heretic, one of the few not bowing at the shrine of 19 inches to whatever sizes are being sold in these days when mega is possible in anything from burgers to breasts to tyres (whether on rim or waist).
But while I am not standing around a television for most of the day, I cannot avoid the people, mostly men, who do so mostly in bunches like those Ribena grapes, all clustered together with very similar expressions on often flushed faces. And I am very interested in the response of the men to some very unmanly (in the normal scheme of things) behaviour on the fields of play.
Or maybe I should make that 'feel of play', because outside of the expected strong but hopefully civil contact between players on opposing teams, there is a lot of touchy touchy stuff among teammates that would bring at least shouts of 'fia bun!' if they were to take place on the streets.
I have seen men looking at men piled on top of each other, looking for all the world like near replicas of the pictures of Iraqi prisoners in Abu Grahib Prison, Baghdad, but with clothes on, grinning and groping ecstatically. And the men watching are grinning too, basking in the glory of the scoring (scoring ... hmmm ...) moment.
I have seen men watch one player give another a tap on the rear without the expected flicker of disgust from the viewers; I have seen men watch players hug with great emotion and there is no comment; there have been near tears on the pitches and the laughter has been few and far between from the viewers. If a big man cried on the streets it would be a different matter entirely. In fact, men don't even cry at funerals, at least, not that we can see behind those dark glasses.
Heck, where in Jamaica can two sweaty men exchange shirts and not be looked on in a very funny manner?
UNUSUAL MALE CONTACTS
It is not only in the World Cup that these unusual male contacts take place without comment, but other team sports. The West Indies cricket team members gather to hug and celebrate a wicket; in the NBA they have so many points to celebrate that the players seem to spend as much time clutching each other as they do going for the basket.
All without undue criticism, even for the tight track and field gear (which is a team effort of a more individual kind). Heck, I can remember when there was not a set of tights to be seen, much less a bodysuit, at Boys' Champs.
It appears to me that sports provides more than an opportunity for people to watch the others push themselves to their physical and mental limits. For men, it gives the chance for emotional release, real for the men on the field and vicariously for those watching, that is not permitted by the codes of 'manly' behaviour which those with penises are forced to live by (and end up celebrating the confinement, in much the same way that there is a 'we love ghetto' or 'prison is like a college' mentality).
Of course, the behaviour on the field is not replicated by the men I see watching men play and cry and hug and touch. The spectators do not turn to each other and hug at a goal, they do not slap each other on the back or other body parts occasionally.
But they do not seem to mind watching others do, as long as it is in the hyper-macho world of sports of the professional kind.
Melville Cooke is a freelance writer
