Generally, I don’t feel my age. Who does? Apart from, for
those of us over 40, when an evening of over-indulgence takes until the next
evening to recover from, compared to mid-morning in our youth. That said, I’m
frequently reminded that neither am I a young person. The latest is this week’s
goings-on with the Australian cricket team.
Well, next not just this week’s. It’s long struck me as just
plain wrong that in a sport that’s essentially non-violent, like cricket,
banter has long since descended into outright personal abuse and threats. It’s
troubled me that England get up to this nonsense, but by all accounts the Aussies
are the true masters of the petulant and the profane.
What I can’t comprehend the approach that thinks this behaviour
is ok. I’m not being naïve – I’m amazed I wasn’t sent off more frequently than
I was in my footballing career, and in the heat of some very hot moments, bad
words may have escaped my lips. But to embark on a systematic pattern of abuse
and intimidation; no, I don’t get it.
What I get even less, however, is firstly the blubbering
emotional collapse we’ve seen today by the (now-ex) Australian captain, Steve
Smith, when caught doing something he shouldn’t have done, and secondly, the chasm
of a contrast between the macho, arrogant mindset that drives one set of
behaviours, and the childlike behaviours in that collapse. Maybe a psychologist could explain to me how
they’re closely related. Perhaps they’re
both borne of deep emotional immaturity. But I can no more imagine bleating
about in public about how I’ve let my parents down than I can setting out to emotionally
destroy someone.
But Steve Smith isn’t the only example. I can’t be the only one
of my generation who winces a bit when Princes William and Harry talk about the
need to be more open about our mental health, and blokes in particular. I’m not
suggesting depression isn’t real or something to be taken seriously, but in
common with characteristics that drive the current hideous identity politics, I
worry that for some it’s becoming a badge of honour – something that marks them
out as special. Because we’ve all got to be special in these days of the selfie
and Instagram, even when we’re manifestly not.
You might think I’m wandering from where I started. I’m not.
The point is that I just don’t understand or relate to many of the emotional responses
of under 35s. I don’t think crying in public is a virtue – I think it’s
embarrassing. In my world, it’s like getting drunk; something to be done in
private, and while there are times you can’t help it happening, it’s not
something to be proud of. I generalise of course – I’m sure there are plenty of
under-35s who aren’t emotionally incontinent (e.g. my kids; of course) and
there’ve been plenty of examples of middle-aged men blubbing when they’ve been
caught doing something they shouldn’t, but the generalisation feels valid to
me.
And there’s the rub – perhaps it is just me. I am, after
all, someone who never goes out without a handkerchief in his pocket, would
never wear a suit with unpolished shoes or go to work unshaven, and when
walking side-by-side with a woman has to be the one closest to the road. I don’t
think that children can or should be friends of their parents (though that’s
not to say they shouldn’t have a close, healthy, unique relationship), and that
age and achievement does buy a degree of respect from kids that’s sometimes
lacking. And I would never think it ok
to play my music out loud or have a noisy conversation in a packed train
carriage. I do know how all this sounds
by the way.
All this is a bit like looking back at 80s music – was it
objectively better, or does it just it feel better because of the time in our
lives it happened? Similarly, will the public-crying,
emotion-spilling 28 year olds of today will mature into buttoned-up
misanthropes like me?
If they do, there’s hope yet.
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