This past summer, unbeknownst to many Americans, the quadrennial World Cup took place. The widespread American disdain for “the beautiful game”— as it’s known beyond our borders — may be no secret, but even those traitors who did tune in took a certain pleasure in criticizing the game’s faults. The prevalence of “diving” (feigning to have been fouled) in soccer was blasted across American sports media along with the arbitrariness of the refereeing and the alleged unfairness of ending a game on penalty kicks, which dictated the conclusion of the Italy-France final .

It’s a shame that all we have to discuss about soccer are its perceived shortcomings. While the recent World Cup may have had its forgettable moments, its participants proved over and over again what makes their game so great, especially when compared to American sports. And it’s got nothing to do with the actual sport.

While soccer may have a near-global stranglehold on the “beautiful game” reputation, I suspect that has more to do with the lack of popularity of other sports across the world than it does with the intrinsic beauty of soccer. Americans split their time relatively evenly between football, baseball, and basketball, but outside of the U.S., nothing comes close to touching soccer. To my eye, a gorgeously-executed goal in soccer is no more “beautiful” than a run-saving diving stop by shortstop Derek Jeter, an ankle-breaking Allan Iverson cross-over, or a perfect 50 yard Peyton Manning spiral.

Rather, what makes the game so pure and refreshing is the players’ collective attitude toward winning and losing. It’s all that matters. When a team advanced in the World Cup, the celebrations were unsurprisingly furious. When a team was eliminated —and here’s the marked contrast to American sports—most of its players fell to the field in tears. Some, quite literally, wept. When David Beckham was subbed out of the Portugal-England quarterfinal due to injury, he cried on the bench. The fact that hundreds of millions of people were watching was of no consequence.

When viewing this display of emotion, my distinctly American instincts often tempted me to laugh at the players, insult their manhood, and watch some no-crying-allowed baseball. But I couldn’t do it, mostly because it was too difficult not to see the tears for what they really were—universal language for “I gave it everything I had.” It was as if the players were giving their fans the most genuine and visceral apology for losing that they possibly could.

Try to think of the last time a major American athlete allowed himself to be seen crying publicly. I can recall two incidents. The first occurred in 1998 when Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback Kordell Stewart could be seen crying on the sidelines after getting benched in favor of Mike Tomczack. He was promptly vilified by both the press and Steelers fans and the moment lives on in sports infamy. The message was clear: football players don’t cry.

The second incident took place in April of this year. In the “Elite 8” round of the NCAA tournament (college basketball’s playoffs, one might say), the 6’8” Gonzaga standout Adam Morrison was captured by TV cameras sprawled out on the hardwood, inconsolably sobbing after his team fell to UCLA. Morrison could soon be seen on an EA Sports commercial attempting to defend his actions to American fans’ unforgiving eyes.

The American athlete is certainly not happy at the moment of defeat. He is usually stoic, occasionally visibly upset. He will let interviewers know that he is disappointed with the outcome. But he will quickly recover and get on with the business of living the high life. Days after Indianapolis Colts kicker Mike Vanderjagt shanked the potentially game-tying kick in the 2006 AFC championship game with 21 seconds left, Vanderjagt was on David Letterman joking about letting his team down and nailing a mock kick in the street. 

The blame doesn’t lie completely with the athletes, though. American sports fans value toughness. We want our athletes to be rugged, aggressive, and unabashedly masculine —perhaps, in that way, men can live vicariously through their sports heroes. But try telling Zinedine Zidane, French soccer superstar, that he’s not tough. Zidane, of course, viciously head-butted Italian defender Marco Materazzi in the World Cup final after the Italian informed Zidane that he’d enjoy partaking in carnal relations with the Frenchman’s sister. Pretty tough stuff. After a few minutes of mayhem, Zidane was finally awarded his well-earned red card. Moments later, Zidane walked past the World Cup trophy and into the locker room, head hung in shame and wiping away tears.

This would be equivalent to Shaquille O’Neal punching Kobe Bryant in the NBA finals and then leaving the court crying. Such a scene is unfathomable to American sports fans. The contradictions are just too blatant, comical almost. But to international soccer fans, there was no paradox in Zidane’s tears. It would have been strange if Zidane, one of the greatest soccer players of all-time, hadn’t cried. Toughness and caring enough about your sport and your team to cry are not mutually exclusive.

American fans are constantly bemoaning our athletes’ commitment to our beloved sports. We see their astronomical multi-million dollar contracts and can’t help but wonder whether they even care if they win or lose. All of this, while stigmatizing the best and clearest way for an athlete to show he does care—with tears. It’s a sad state of affairs, given the fact that American fans are just as irrationally devoted to their sports teams as soccer fans are to theirs. We deserve better, but until we learn to dissociate tears from being a sissy, we won’t get it.

In the aforementioned EA Sports commercial, Adam Morrison claims that he thinks crying is a good thing and promises that when he gets to the NBA more people will cry. I hope he’s right.