I’ve mentioned it already, but I think it just did not register sufficiently in most participants’ minds. So, I will try to say it again in a more focused way. “The Guardian” (one of the more prominent British/global media outlets) article by an award-winning sportswriter (Jonathan Liew) really tells any reasonably attentive reader all there is to know about this ‘Pogi miracle’. (Thanks to Rechtschreibfehler for bringing this article to my and everybody else’s attention.)
The article begins with a standard somewhat ornate description of how the WCRR progressed with an emphasis on Pog’s “suicidal” attack and Matty’s and Remmy’s corresponding evaluations of said attack as just that: suicidal. Then the author goes on recalling that equally suicidal (but not really, as we know) 80k solo in Strade earlier this year accompanying that by a standard wordy ‘blah-blah’ about “mind games”, “thespian flourish” and “spidey sense” which sounds a bit like an exercise in using SAT words in sentences.
But all that – along with the next paragraph mentioning the old Eddy’s and the young Remmy ‘s reactions to Pog’s “annus mirabilis”– is just an introduction that can be safely omitted by a reader keen on getting at the true meaning – the real core – of this remarkable article. And there it comes, with a small introduction of its own. The said introduction gently eases the reader into the punchline thereby masquerading the latter just enough to keep the general tone of the article not far from eulogical that seems to be the standard of the moment.
It goes as follows: “The story of cycling is a book that burns its believers on a serial scale, and so most dedicated followers exist in a kind of conditional incredulity: the more unbelievable it becomes, the more desperately we need to believe in it.” Put in simple terms, this just means that miracles like that have long been the norm in pro cycling, and really nothing that extraordinary has just happened. Those “unbelievable” (read: impossible for rational folks to believe in, so that some “desperation” is sorely needed for any belief to happen) rides we witnessed throughout this season should not make anyone all that worked up.
And the punchline itself – ready to meet the duly prepared reader – resides in the next paragraph that just straight-up likens the current version of pro cycling to …pro wrestling, the infamous WWE. The only difference between the two now, according to Liew, lies simply in the mode of the “artifice” development: in pro wrestling the audience submits to said artifice at the outset, and in pro cycling circa 2024, the artifice is “almost assembled piecemeal.” Why the difference, one may wonder. Well, at this point, it is not hard to guess: it is due simply to the relative newness of the pro cycling version of the show, compared to that of the pro wrestling one. The latter became what it is a long time ago. Everything else, according to the punchline paragraph of the article, is pretty much the same.
So, there we have it. Pro cycling now is a version of WWE and should be watched as such. Having said that much – and it is a lot to say, make no mistake – the author then gradually winds it down, again, to avoid straying too far from the required tone and to explain why such WWE-fication of pro cycling might not be such a bad thing after all.
First, he plays down the newness of the situation: “Doubtless there will be accusations and aspersions flung at him, as there have been all year, as they were at the last guy, and the next guy.” Yeah, it is nothing new: it’s been like that before, as the reference to the “last guy” unequivocally implies. Then the explanation of how the new show ought to be viewed is given. To begin with, one must stop trying “to reduce Pogacar to a soup of numbers and chemicals”, i.e. treating him like a traditional competitive athlete who is supposed to win or lose by use of his muscle power alone, preferably not enhanced in illegal ways (even though the latter almost always ends up being too much to ask). That would be, folks, “the narrowest and most boring way of appreciating him; the most boring way of appreciating sport.” Moreover, such “cynicism” is doomed to be “based on a bare minimum of hard facts” (i.e. those non-believing cynics better stop counting on ever obtaining any direct incriminating evidence – the system design is sufficiently tight for that).
And finally comes the conclusion accompanied by another bit of downplaying the main message: “Perhaps the reality is that around every great athlete grow two fictions: an elegant and an inelegant version.” Again, we see a reference to every great athlete (nothing new), but, at the same time, the above sentence starts with the hypothetical “perhaps”, i.e. it could well be that it is really nothing like that, and those “two fictions” is a new phenomenon, a transitional phase of sorts from a traditional sport with elements of a show to a pure show with a sporting theme. The first “fiction” is the traditionalist one, the way of thinking of the “old guard” of fans used to sporting competition on an equal footing. It is labeled “profane and fearful”, but, simply put, it is just misplaced by attempting to view an esthetic-centered show as a pure sporting competition. The second “fiction” is the intended one, pleasant and positive, embodying “a beauty beyond corruption, a hope beyond futility, a wonder beyond cynicism.” In a nutshell, one is expected to suspend any disbelief, sit back, relax and enjoy the show.
P.S. Why was cycling chosen to undergo such a transformation? Well, it is very popular in Europe, it takes place outside and thus can attract large numbers of live viewers, but, perhaps most importantly, it involves some relatively sophisticated technical equipment – the bikes themselves. And with the advent of brushless li-ion (or lipo) technology in the 90’s (and with the bikes’ internal volume growing considerably at the same time with the switch to carbon fiber) the temptation to “enhance” the show must have grown past the critical point.
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