BY TIMOTHY BERNSTEIN

In print | Published February 4, 2010

With apologies to Tom Hanks’s lovable alcoholic in “A League of Their Own,” it’s starting to appear as if there is crying in baseball. And football. And tennis. And just about everywhere else.

Sure, it may have taken Mark McGwire blubbering through an explanation of exactly why he took steroids even though he knew they wouldn’t help him hit more home runs to finally bring this phenomenon out into the open, but the writing was on the wall long before his “admission”: There’s been an awful lot of crying going on in sports these days.

Whether it’s McGwire in tears during his confession to Bob Costas. Or Terrell Owens tearfully defending Tony Romo after a playoff loss to the Giants. Or Jets coach Rex Ryan crying in front of his team after a loss to the Miami Dolphins. Or Roger Federer after Wimbledon. Or Roger Federer after the Australian Open. Or Roger Federer after the French Open. Or Roger Federer after he stubs his toe. Or Roger Federer after a particularly taxing Lifetime movie (the one with the terminally ill patient).

The most interesting part of all this (maybe only to me, but it’s my column) is this: When’s the last time we’ve heard or seen anything involving a female athlete crying? Aren’t women supposed to tear up at the drop of a hat? Yet there’s nothing. Granted, there are fewer professional female athletes to follow, but to my knowledge, those that do exist have avoided prominent waterworks displays in recent years. Female tennis players aren’t crying, despite numerous opportunities to do so. “Danica Patrick cries” has never been the title of a clip on YouTube. In the four and a half minutes of WNBA action I’ve watched in my lifetime, I saw no tears. Even Kassidy Shumway, a collegiate soccer player who became semi-famous last fall when another player named Elizabeth Lambert grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the ground, staved off sobbing, and let’s remember that in sexist 1950s depictions of how boys and girls interact, hair-pulling is the thing that boys do when they want to make girls cry. Truly, times have changed.

My point, and there is a point here, is that when no one was looking, it suddenly became acceptable, even somewhat admired, for male athletes to cry. Over the years, sports had always been the arena in which it was most acceptable for men to cry. Now it is simply occurring with an unprecedented mix of frequency and publicity. More importantly, the idea that the crier in question is “just being who he is” has also never been more in style. Wearing his heart on his sleeve has long been considered endearing in the sports world, but that sleeve is more and more stained with the tears of its wearer. Whether due to an evolution of the gender or otherwise, it doesn’t seem to be a problem at all.

Pro Bowl

I’m not sure if either “sympathy” or “condolences” is the proper word to use when a lame event suffers the tragedy of becoming even lamer. Whichever it may be, though, is the one I would like to offer to the Pro Bowl, which this past Sunday misfired on the hilariously incorrect assumption that placing it before the Super Bowl would build on the “hype.” What ended up happening was that a large number of the selected players, with two fewer weeks to recover from any lingering injuries, dropped out along with anyone who would be playing the following week in Super Bowl XLIV. Long story short, Matt Schaub and David Garrard ended up as the AFC’s top quarterbacks. Once again, that’s Matt Schaub and David Garrard. With one simple date change, the Pro Bowl has quickly become pro football’s equivalent of the People’s Choice Awards — if you’re lucky, you’ll see a few familiar faces, but chances are most of the big stars “couldn’t be here tonight, so David Garrard will accept a Pro Bowl berth on Tom Brady’s behalf.”

To add insult to injury, what little spark of excitement could have potentially been injected into the proceedings was promptly snuffed out when AFC coach Norv Turner declined to take Chad Ochocinco up on his offer to handle some of his team’s kicks. Evidently, the idea proved to be just a little too good for Turner to process, much like the idea of not performing unnecessary onside kicks. This isn’t to dump on Turner completely; by winning three playoff games in his career, he’s already moved into the top one percent for Accomplishments By People Named Norv. It’s just that his failure to make a decision that would result in the one interesting part of the Pro Bowl coming to fruition is the latest instance of Turner taking potential and turning it into less than it should be. Whether that means refusing to allow Ochocinco to kick just one eff-ing ball, or taking charge of the deepest roster in the NFL and having nothing to show for it, Turner provides us with an example of someone meant to follow instead of lead. I’m reminded of a Russian phrase my great-grandmother Esther used to use, “Алты́нного во́ра ве́шают, а полти́нного че́ствуют,” which translates roughly to “Norv Turner handled Troy Aikman’s development brilliantly as a coordinator in Dallas, but he lacks the dynamism and decision-making skills that are the hallmarks of a successful head coach.” She was a wise and thoughtful woman who, ironically, enjoyed watching the Pro Bowl. May she rest in peace.

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