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There’s something irresistible about Tadej Pogacar. Barely 27 years old, and already a palmarès that defies imagination: Tours de France, Giro, monumental classics, world championships… nothing resists him. Just yesterday, in Kigali, he offered another demonstration: an attack launched more than 100 kilometers from the finish, a race decided even before the flamme rouge, and a solo victory that left the competition powerless. And we were left wanting more.
By Jeff Tatard – Photos: instagram.com/uae_team_emirates, instagram.com/wahoofitnessofficial
We could stop there, and simply admire. Because yes, there is a grace about Pogacar. A way of attacking far from the finish, of racing as if fear didn’t exist. He doesn’t conserve, he doesn’t calculate — he plays, he has fun, he destroys. He is a complete champion, without equal in modern cycling. Comparing him to Merckx is not an exaggeration: Pogacar operates in an era where competition is global, methods are scientific, and teams are over-equipped. And despite that, he soars above.
So, should we say he is already greater than the “Cannibal”? The question deserves to be asked.
But here’s the thing: this greatness comes at a price. And that price is suspense. Yesterday in Kigali, doubt disappeared as soon as he attacked, far too early for any drama to exist. Opponents raced to limit the damage, spectators resigned themselves to waiting for the podium. The drama of sport relies on uncertainty, on that dizzying feeling that anything can happen. Pogacar, by dominating to this extent, deprives us of it. It’s beautiful, but it’s flat. Magnificent, but predictable.
So, what do we really feel in front of him? A strange mix: pure admiration and slight weariness, even suspicion. We applaud the feat, but we regret the absence of thrill. Pogacar gives us everything — power, audacity, generosity of effort — except that one shiver: doubt. Or at least for some observers, it is his domination that inspires doubt, and no longer the glorious uncertainty of sport. Beyond the cynicism of comments, isn’t Tadej Pogacar risking turning the public away from professional cycling races?
Perhaps this is unfair. After all, the champion doesn’t have to limit himself to spare our emotions. And perhaps in ten years, we will look back on these seasons as a golden age, telling ourselves that we were lucky enough to see one of the greatest riders of all time race live. But for now, Pogacar’s domination confronts us with an intimate contradiction: we dream of an invincible hero, and when he appears, we end up regretting the unpredictable.
This, no doubt, is the mark of the truly great: they never leave us indifferent.
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