`There's no crying in baseball,'' declares Tom Hanks in the movie ''A League of Their Own'' after he criticizes a female player for making a bad play and she burst into tears.
Of course, there is lots of crying in baseball, as in all sports. And now there is also some crying in that other great American pastime, politics.
Last week, former US senator Bill Bradley was asked during a debate whether the ex-Knicks player had ever cried after winning or losing a basketball game. He said no. He did acknowledge crying earlier that day when a woman without health insurance told him how her son apologized to her for getting sick.
During his quest to become the Democratic presidential nominee, Bradley has made it a badge of honor to avoid personal questions. So why would he talk about that most personal of male body parts - the tear duct?
Because men cry, and today's male candidates don't mind talking about it if it helps their quest for votes.
''In presidential politics, especially this year, where people are voting the person more than for the political party or position, crying elicits an element of trust between a male candidate and the voters,'' says Mary Ann Marsh, a Democratic strategist who is watching the New Hampshire primary.
That may be especially ironic in New Hampshire, where the legacy of Ed Muskie's face, wet with tears and/or melting snow during the 1972 New Hampshire primary, still lives on. Those tears, real or exaggerated, are said to have cost Muskie, a much-revered senator from Maine, his shot at the presidency.
But times have changed. We have a president who tears up regularly. And candidates in search of ''the woman's vote'' are not afraid to demonstrate a little mist in the eyes and huskiness in the voice when the moment calls for it.
Arizona Senator John McCain, a Republican who is challenging Texas Governor George W. Bush, often gets emotional when he talks about being a prisoner of war. According to press accounts, McCain also got teary Sunday in New Hampshire as he presided over his last town meeting.
The crying comes on both side of the political aisle: Bradley is a Democrat and McCain is a Republican. Marsh believes their backgrounds give them more license to cry than the ordinary male politician. Bradley's image as a tough, shirt-grabbing NBA player is firmly entrenched in the public's mind, and McCain's war record gives him a John Wayne-like shield of masculinity that few would challenge.
So far, their primary opponents have been stoic.
Vice President Al Gore actually hired a female consultant to help him find his inner ''alpha'' man; crying did not seem to be part of the protocol. And Bush looks like he was born with a swagger in his booties; campaign trail tears do not seem likely, although political consultants can get candidates to do almost anything if they have the polls to back it up.
Up until recently, American men could cry without suspicion only on the battlefield or on the athletic field. When Titans quarterback Steve McNair collapsed in his coach's arms after Sunday's Super Bowl loss, he did so knowing any tears he might shed would never be viewed as unmanly.
A new crop of books about raising boys suggests that stereotypical thinking about what is manly and what is not - crying, for instance - is bad for boys, because it makes them ashamed of their vulnerable feelings. These experts now say real boys should cry.
But as any mother knows, real boys do cry. So do real men and not just husbands. In my past life as a business columnist, I obviously spoke with many businessmen. When it came to talking about money and competitors they were unemotional. But when the subject matter shifted to children, divorce, a major life disappointment, or the death of a loved one, some of them cried.
Of course, neither men nor women should go sobbing through life or political campaigns. It makes other people feel uncomfortable. I still feel queasy when I recall Colorado congresswoman Pat Schroeder tearfully abandoning her presidential bid back in 1987. It just seemed like too much emotion, given the circumstances.
Your tears must reveal something about yourself, something honest and sincere, that will bring people out of their homes and into the voting booth.
Joan Vennochi is a Globe columnist.
