Tadej Pogacar is a selfish, selfish man. Not enough to deliver one of the greatest comebacks the Tour de France has ever seen on Stage 20. Oh no. Yellow Jersey? Yep, I’ll take that thanks…and I’ll have the polka dots and that nice white one while I’m at it.
The Green Jersey not to his liking, it seems.
Or, as Thomas De Gendt suggested:
And so it was fitting that today, with our ceremonial romp around Paris, it was all about Green.
In nicking a couple of points at the intermediate sprint Sam Bennett sealed the deal. He need only stay upright now to win the prize. We had the ramble into town; the laps around the Arc de Triomphe, down the Rue de Rivoli, and back up the Champs Elysee; and the slo-mo camera shots of golden sunlight and bike chains hopping and skipping on the cobbles.Embed from Getty Images
Then we had the right left combo and the full-pelt finish of the unofficial sprinter’s world championships. Mads Pederson showed off his rainbow bands, Peter Sagan bumped and barged, as he does, into contention, only for Bennett to seal the deal, brush them all off, and win.
He held his green bike aloft and roared the roar of a man who was in equal parts delighted to have won and relieved to have not let down his pals in that most Alpha of Alpha teams, Deceuninck Quickstep.
Because if the ‘Wolfpack’ work in your service, I get the impression you better damn well hold up your side of the bargain!Embed from Getty Images
Paris, meanwhile, looked on with a Gallic, spectator free shrug. Beckoning the helicopter camera to pan across her vista, as if to say mais oui…very impressive…but ‘ave you seen ‘ow pretty I look as the sun goes down. I am not London, with it’s ridiculous penis shaped buildings of glass and metal you know…
We left her to continue the self-reverie and went in search of Tadej Pogacar. Totally Yellowed up – jersey, shorts, helmet, gloves, bar tape, shoes, bike – he strolled around and took the congratulations with nonchalance.Embed from Getty Images
He’s either forgotten that he is now the youngest Tour winner in over a hundred years, or is laid back with the certainty of a man who will win seven of the next nine Tours and has the scribbled cure to Covid-19 on a hotel napkin in his jersey pocket having ‘done the science’ at the dinner table last night.
Because nothing, right now, is beyond him.
Except maybe the Green Jersey.