I used to imagine that being a Pogi fan would be some sort of blissful, dopamine-infused experience: relaxing with a brightly-hued cocktail in front of the tv as win after win is delivered, rivals and rival fans are humiliated, the occasional mishap swamped by all the triumphs and outbursts of "GOAT!"-related gloating.
But I've come to realise just how childishly wrong I was. Every stage is actually a hellscape of irritations, betrayal and anger. Teams that ride when they're not permitted to, deals that aren't respected, fans that talk about cannibalism or Mr Gianetti. Being a Pogi fan is actually a tough, tough gig. All those supporters of Rogla, Tibopino or random breakaway specialists don't know how lucky they have it.
But I've come to realise just how childishly wrong I was. Every stage is actually a hellscape of irritations, betrayal and anger. Teams that ride when they're not permitted to, deals that aren't respected, fans that talk about cannibalism or Mr Gianetti. Being a Pogi fan is actually a tough, tough gig. All those supporters of Rogla, Tibopino or random breakaway specialists don't know how lucky they have it.