Worse and worse. The social world, which technicians and strategists servility submit to, believing it to be the entire world, is managing to achieve the seemingly impossible: defeating and bringing down Pogacar. I'll say it again: I don't like it, not even a bit, this phenomenon of renouncing oneself, suffocating and measuring his extraordinary natural gifts, bending to the small, conformist logic of common sense, of petty bourgeois propriety, yes, all that nonsense about how a champion must not be selfish, must not be arrogant, must not be exaggerated. This is what social media screams, this is how one must act.

For me, the champion must simply be who he is, always and in any case. And if this means consistently beating opponents, I consider it a marvel occasionally granted by history to break the routine and mediocrity of the normal.

This is how Teddy seemed until this year, but I fear he is no longer so. I see his brilliant profile slowly fading, attenuating, losing its essence. I took it badly in the last week of the Tour, I struggled to recognize and accept him (but tired? When they reached the top, a single burst would have gained him more seconds - this is not something for a has-been). Rather, I remain convinced that someone advised him (or perhaps he decided himself) to not provoke too much, to not pour fuel on the rising dissent (and spitting), slightly applying the brakes and leaving the center stage to others. End of the Teddy show, a unique spectacle of the modern era.

This victory in Montreal left to McNulty seems to me the most crushing proof of the process of emptying and disempowering an unrepeatable legend: Pogacar breaks everything again, then in the end stops to wait for his teammate for what rhetoric defines as a final parade, but which I always consider a pathetic staging. Never in my life, in McNulty's place, would I have accepted such a gesture: what would I do with a champion's alms? Would I really think I could tell my grandchildren that one day I won in Montreal, omitting that in reality I won through merciful concession of the actual winner?

It may be that the history of sport feels ennobled by these gestures, but I remain convinced that the history of sport is always more ennobled when everyone gives everything, to the last drop, with the strongest winning at the end of a hard, fair, dispassionate race. Gifting a race is against nature, for those who consider sport the pinnacle of healthy competition. And if I must say, gifting has nothing poetic, because in fact it disrespects fans and organizers, as well as humiliating opponents to the highest degree.

They'll tell me that I don't understand anything about romantic sport and the generous champion. But I confirm: I truly understand nothing. This Pogacar who no longer acts like a cannibal and distributes gifts left and right I leave to the do-gooders and demagogy. It may well be that in the end he comes across as more likable, or less unlikable. But I have serious doubts. Meanwhile, in the parade triumph with McNulty, I don't see two winners, but rather a single, true loser: the authentic sense of decent dignity.