A quick charge down the arena. The armor on the knights gleamed in the sunlight. The war horses charged at a full blown gallop, their muscles, so powerful, brought the knights closer together for the final clash.
Within a few seconds they met in the middle. Lances pointed at each other. They hit, the lances broke into little shards. One knight, unseated from his mount, got knocked off balance and fell off his charging mount.
The victor, pulling up his mount, turned to face the cheering crowd. He basked in the glory of winning the tournament, and in everlasting glory. To be remembered for all ages.
The loser, got up off the ground, walked with shame to catch his war horse. As he walked, he felt ashamed. He swelled with humility until it was almost unbearable. As he left the arena, leading his war horse, his head was down, wished to be anywhere but there.
In a game for men, the mightiest of all can be changed from a mighty warrior into a small child that got caught doing something bad. To show that no one is impervious to the shame of losing, of humiliation, he must lose, and be humiliated to feel the shame. To accept that he is not impervious to the shame of losing and humiliation, he lost. He was humiliated.