This I Believe: Men and Women are Different
CRYING AT THE MOVIES
The man on the television screen was in tears while being carried around the stadium on his teammates’ shoulders.
“What’s he crying for?” I asked. “It’s only a ball game.”
“It’s the World Cup,” said my husband, who had gotten up at 6:30 AM on a Sunday just to see the finals: Germany verses Brazil, I think. “Over a billion people are watching. This guy was hurt two years ago and now look, he’s a hero. He’s just become a legend in soccer.”
Hero! For kicking a ball? A hero is Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind. A hero is Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. The first time I saw Casablanca, I cried. I cried the second time, too. And the third.”
Crying in romantic movies is one of life’s simple pleasures. I cried so hard for the entire second half of Doctor Zhivago that the people with me changed seats. I really enjoyed that one. I cried watching Titanic even though Leonardo DiCaprio was so young. He’s a HERO. My husband saw Titanic only once and doesn’t remember who was in it.
Give me a good romantic movie over a ball game any day or night. Ball games are all the same. Top of the ninth, bases are loaded and it’s a hit to left field. Big deal. Foul shot coming up and the score is 101 to 101. So what. Every day, every week, except for the color of the uniforms, it’s the same old thing. A ball gets kicked, someone catches it and everyone else jumps on top of him. Is that worth watching? Does it really matter who comes in first and who comes in second?
What really matters is that first kiss, when the heroine and her hero acknowledge their mutual interest. Oh, I’d much rather see Clint Eastward in The Bridges of Madison County, than any of his action packed films. Sabrina was so good, it was made twice. Does anyone who has taped a ball game watch it more than once?
Did you see Ryan’s Daughter? Two hankies. The English Patient? Three hankies. Love Story? Don’t ask. I even cried at E.T. Oh, I could go on and on and on. I just wish there was a tear-jerker playing every week. Wouldn’t it be nice to show one on a large screen in Madison Square Garden? It would be so much better than a home game.
My husband went to a baseball game last night. He took a friend, not me. I rented two romantic movies, put on my sweats and slippers, opened a pint of Haagen Daz and a big box of tissues. Heaven. Pure, salty tears, heaven.
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