The Art of Victory

"Why are Australians such bad winners?"

My Dearly Beloved posed this question to me after we'd spent a day at the MCG watching the Australian cricket team wrap up the Fourth Test against England - courtesy of some tickets to the Members Stand provided by some wonderfully generous friends. The Australians won easily - indeed, the the English posted only modest scores in both their innings, and the Australians needed only to bat once; the subsequent victory to Australia by an innings and 99 runs was about as comfortable as any win at the first-class level gets.

What prompted my Dearly Beloved's question was not the understandable jubilation of the Australian players at their victory, or the generally celebratory nature of the crowd response to the game's outcome. Nor indeed was my Dearly Beloved disturbed by the mostly good-natured rivalry between the English and Australian fans, and the banter which this produced.

Instead, the question was prompted by the conduct of a single person: a woman sitting two rows behind us. Now, I'll admit that although I couldn't see this woman for most of the time, I was not well disposed toward her from the outset as she had a most unattractive voice: something akin to a bandsaw cutting through concrete. Hardly her fault, I'll grant you, but I did wonder as she gossipped to her friend through most of the day at the top of her voice why she had to be so loud. It was not as though the chanting which broke out at different times in various sections of the crowd made conversation impossible; and there were plenty of breaks in which there was neither cheering or chanting, and a quiet word with one's neighbour was perfectly possible. But the loudness and harshness of this woman's voice suggested some unattractive underlying personality trait; a suggestion that rose above simple bias by the content and manner of her conversation.

Although perhaps "conversation" is too generous a description. As I said, this woman's voice was quite loud, nor was its volume moderated in any way by her subject matter. And so she continued on with an almost embarrassing obliviousness to the sensitivities of others, dissecting the various scandals and other salacious affairs in which her friends, family, and acquaintances were at that time embroiled. I was neither interested in, nor did I want to know, who was having sex with whom, or who was in trouble with the Tax Office, or who was a bastard to work with. Not that I, or any one else within a considerable radius, had any say in the matter: this woman let us all know regardless. Moreover, she wasn't merely gossiping; she was engaging in what I call the "And then I said" mode of gossip. That is, every anecdote appeared to end with a cautionary sermon on how her sage advice in every matter had been ignored, with disastrous consequences. If only mere mortals had heeded her wisdom, all would have been well.

In other words, everything she said, and the way she said it, suggested she both had a smug, self-satisfied view of her own worth and wisdom, as well as taking an obvious delight in the misfortunes and foibles of others. Not the personality type to which I warm.

No, I was not well-disposed toward this woman. But what made my disposition less favourable was that, as the match (oh, yes, I was there to watch the cricket) drew closer to its inevitable conclusion - an easy Australian victory - this woman turned from gossip to bombarding those about her with disparaging comments about all things English. Every time an English player produced a good shot and scored runs, she would belittle their skill. Every time a wicket fell, or an English batsman had a near escape, she would laud the superiority of the Australians or suggest that it was only undeserved luck that had produced any English success in the past. Every time the English supporters tried to rally their side with chants or barracking, this woman observed with obvious relish that those same supporters would have 10,000 miles on their way back to England to contemplate their side's demise in this series.

Hence, my Dearly Beloved's question: "Why are Australians such bad winners?"

Now, don't get me wrong: I love Australia belting the Poms in the cricket as much as the next bloke. But what made this woman especially distasteful -aside from what her gossip revealed about her personality - was that her partisanship allowed for no acknowledgement of the merits of others. There was no sense of sportsmanship, of playing the game in a good spirit; that games, far from being one of many modes of developing the human spirit, were there only to be won. Moreover, not merely won, but won in such a way as to ensure the utter humiliation of the opposition.

Ultimately, however, what grated about this woman was the indication that she had no sense that cricket, afterall, is just a game. Granted, in the age of professional sports, it is a means of living for the players concerned; but this woman's response was one of excess, as though cricket, or any competitive sport in which Australia is involved, had a meaning and virtue in and of itself: namely, that Australia had to win, had to utterly thrash and humiliate the opposition, otherwise she would be lessened somehow, and life itself would be diminished. This woman had seemingly made an enormous emotional investment in Australia winning; such an investment, in fact, that there was simply no room for anything else.

Compare this attitude to an incident which occurred at the end of the Second Test when Australia last played England - in England, in 2005. The Australians had fallen agonisingly short of winning the game, a heartbreak rendered all the more wrenching because England had been well in control for most of the contest, and the Australian players had performed heroically well to get as close as they did. And yet, at the moment of triumph, one of the English players - Andrew Flintoff, who had been more responsible than most for the English victory - immediately went across to the disconsolate Australians to offer his congratulations for their efforts. There is a powerful photo of Flintoff on his haunches shaking the hand of the Australian player Brett Lee, one arm cast consolingly across Lee's shoulders, as Lee crouches, almost on his knees, sadly contemplating what might have been. It has been rightly lauded as the defining image of that particular series, because it speaks powerfully to the spirit in which the players conducted themselves: with determination to do their best and carry their team to victory, but in such a manner as left room for generosity and dignity and acknowledgement of the merit of others.

In that one instant, Flintoff conveyed a depth of spirit that the woman with the bandsaw voice seemed to lack entirely.

As for my Dearly Beloved's question, I am sure there are all sorts of sociological, psychological, and existential answers. The adoption of the "win at all costs" mentality; the importance which sport assumes in the lives of those who feel disempowered or disenfranchised; cultural cringe; anti-intellectualism; cultural arrogance; transferred compensation for personal feelings of inadequacy. And while all of these are undoubtedly true and accurate, it seems to me to be, ultimately, a question of spirit - and of the generosity of spirit. And it seems to me that the question of generosity of spirit offers us a clear choice: either we allow ourselves to enter into the lives of others, or we barricade our lives within the shell of our own being. If we do the former, we will expose ourselves to many misfortunes and setbacks; but we will be all the richer for the experience, and for the benefits which coming into contact with other lives brings. If we do the latter, we may very well be safe from the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", but our lives will be barren, empty, and always searching for some external source from which to find completion of our being.

Ultimately, beneath my dislike, I felt sorry for this woman; it seemed to me that she was entirely enclosed within herself, and could only find sustenance from the misfortunes of others, or from denigrating their efforts. Perhaps I am doing her an injustice, because I have only seen her within this one context. But it was a context that was powerful enough for me to conclude that, at the very least, her spirit of being was severely diminished or constricted. Afterall, if she conducted herself so spitefully in so trivial a context as a game of cricket, how did she conduct herself in important areas such as human relationships?

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: If a person cannot conduct themselves properly in trivial affairs, what hope is there that they will conduct themselves properly in important matters? (Confucius)