The God who cried like a baby

I’m not a great tennis fan. Prior to yesterday, I just used to watch it for the short skirts, and that too was a turn off when the Williams sisters were playing. And I never quite paid attention to the Wimbledon final build up, except coming across contrasting eulogies such as “God made Roger Federer” and “Roger Federer is God”. And he proved all those crazy statements right as well. A sublime match it was, with Nadal biting at his heels all the time, threatening to lunge ahead a few times as well, and its just as well that the champion of grass continues to be just that. I pledged my unfailing loyalty to Federer after yesterday.

All through the match, the contrast between the two players enraptured me, as must have been the case with all amateur tennis fans. Nadal was the more expressive of the two, with his “Ums and Ahs” resounding across centre court, his unbridled exaltations after a few winners and his histrionics all showing us how pumped up he was. Federer, on the other hand, being completely inexpressive, rarely ever bothering to even clench his fist in aggression. A knitted brow showing a hint of worry was all he would reveal, and that too only briefly. It was as he was above the emotion showing level, and as had been my guess from the start, he did win in the end.

But what happened thereafter, surprised me. On hitting the winning shot, he threw himself on the court, clutching his face with his hands, and cried. Sobbed, even. Wowie, I thought. Now what’s with that?

All his pent up emotions rushed out, and he looked like a disheveled baby in the few minutes after the victory. And in those few minutes he revealed that he wasn’t God after all. No more a god than you or me. Just a guy who kept his cool, and weathered the storm. What’s the harm in crying after winning?