Bizcuits | A healthy disrespect

Plastered all over my social media feeds last week were still-shots of an athlete, not just any athlete, but the athlete who apparently is closest to God. Granted, what was depicted in the pictures, videos and Japanese anime caricatures was a highly physical, incredibly executed bicycle kick; an obvious soccer goal, given the excitement and space given to the marvellous feat.

Soccer mum, I am, but not being a particularly ardent fan of the beautiful game, I could not glean from the posts what the fuss was all about. Other players have managed gymnast-like aerial backflips to kick goals to stunning finishes in important games before, and most of the world knows how extraordinarily brilliant this Cristiano Ronaldo is. What gives, I wondered.

Tongue in cheek, feigning ignorance, I queried what a CR7 was. Suitably chastised, I was adeptly accused of living under a rock.  Genuinely curious about the viral-worthiness of the event, in response to yet another post about the opponents giving CR a standing ovation, I loaded a picture of Tim Cahill (the Aussie) doing a similar backflip manoeuvre and asked, “What’s the difference?” Apparently, this was incendiary. 

This was one of those social media moments when one realises one has possibly overstepped a line. I would have to tread carefully. A lack of knowledge and appreciation for the occasion combined with daring to make any suggestion of comparison to a lesser mortal was just too much to be tolerated.  Albeit not consciously baiting the fans, I was about to be taken down by someone who saw a red-rag, but was rescued by a calm, friendly and detailed explanation.

With the “not to disrespect Cahill” comment, I realised that this was all about respect – a subtle warning for me, too, to be respectful.

Firstly, I was told about the player’s ability to reach the ball (the brilliance of execution), but that was not the reason. He told of the strength of the opposition and their defence: Juventus in Turin. He told also of the importance of that particular game and league: a Champions League quarter-final. However, what made this one of the best goals in history, he patiently explained, was not just these factors but the man himself. The Juventus fans “didn’t’ just applaud a great goal. They applauded greatness.”

Greatness is adored. And such greatness is as clear as the day is light – thus the accolades, thus the applause. Yet, I remained troubled by the friendly sparing.

Daring to seek proof of greatness, hinting at any amount of disrespect, is a risky business, even within the safe confines of friendly banter. CR’s greatness is legend and being in the sporting arena is clearly earnt, easily quantified and readily explained.  Should one care to look, it is apparent.

Not all greatness is as meritorious. Yet, to doubt, to question, to criticise, can raise the ire of fans, can lose one a career, friends, social networks, or worse. But question, we should.

It is the role of dedicated professionals to question the behaviour of their associates (the great Wynn’s sexual harassment saga might have been averted); of the media to protect public interest (the Wall Street Journal highlighted Wynn’s proclivities covered up for so long), and of academics to make everyone’s lives impossible by shining a light into every nook and cranny.

Greatness is not sacred. It is not taboo to question. (We Australians commonly have a healthy disrespect for authority figures, so this comes naturally to us. It is what shall save us from tyranny.) There is no ultimate, unquestionable authority. The truly great can withstand the scrutiny.

Then, there are the Gods.