He was born on Christmas Day. Double whammy, he liked to explain: the first whammy, which obviously paled in comparison to Jesus, and the second whammy, where the gifts for one of the two holidays inevitably disappeared.

Ubaldo Pugnaloni, born on December 25, 1924, in Ancona, had the gift of lightness, irony, and self-deprecating humor. He loved telling me about the time Indro Montanelli, the prince of journalism who had also followed races and riders for the "Corriere della Sera", wrote that "many years ago a cyclist, one Pugnaloni, distinguished himself in a sporting event", and how he responded by thanking him for overlooking his name, Ubaldo, which might have made things worse, while adding that Indro, whose full name at the registry was actually Cilindro, wasn't much better.

Ubaldo Pugnaloni, in fact, matched neither his Germanic name (meaning bold) nor his somewhat menacing surname. He was a mild, elegant, gentle, and modest man. Perhaps also a bit unlucky. The day he won the Italian title for young fascists, fascism fell: it was July 25, 1943. A professional from 1945 to 1949, Ubaldo even rode for Bianchi, as Fausto Coppi's domestique, then and forever his true friend, unconditionally, so much so that he welcomed, hosted, and protected him in his own home when the scandal, adultery, exile, and clandestinity broke out. "Fausto," Ubaldo would recount, "could you help me? There was a flying finish in Ancona, and I really wanted to win it. He put the entire team at my disposal, and I won easily." "Fausto," Ubaldo would say, "when I was driving, he trusted me so much that he would fall asleep." "Fausto," Ubaldo would recall, "would laugh heartily when I'd say 'now we'll sharpen the razors' and we'd overtake other cars." "Fausto," Ubaldo would tell, "how he would sweat, it was summer, it was hot, but we had the heating on and didn't know how to turn it off. It was a brand new Aurelia, bought through the Vatican to pay less, and we didn't know how it worked, so we drove with the windows down and our heads sticking out."

It might have been a double whammy to be born on December 25th. But the coincidence with the Nazarene helps to remember the man from Ancona. Today you would have been one hundred and one, Ubaldo Pugnaloni - let me say it - wonderful name and surname. Happy birthday. Many. And thank you. Plenty.