Then he arrives and the roads light up, fill with people and vibrate, resound with celebration and wonder: amazement. Tadej Pogacar has returned in his own way. First stage of the Tour of Switzerland, from Sondrio to Sondrio, a stage designed magnificently and interpreted by the riders as perfectly as possible. The mad Slovenian shatters the race 70 kilometers from the finish and the race literally explodes. From that moment on it is the sublimation of our sport, with people gathering on the roads of Valtellina, eager to see him pass: alone, in his beautiful world champion's jersey and that number which is simply a confirmation of what he is. Number one.

Then he arrives and cycling becomes something else, because Tadej Pogacar is not just a comparison or a symbol, he is simply a legend who pedals and does so by constantly delivering spectacle, having the time of his life while the "aficionados" welcome him with wild enthusiasm. This boy has something different and magical about him, something ancient and eternal that is difficult to identify and categorize, but it reaches directly into the hearts of people, of enthusiasts, who love him like no one else.

Months of controlled races, predictable stages, decided by fractions of seconds after attacks launched in the final kilometers. He arrives and reshuffles the deck, overturns the metrics once again, changes the notes further, plays by ear whatever he pleases and produces celestial symphony.

Then he arrives and the roads fill with enthusiasm, with electric passion, with festive longing: I must be there, I must see him. He is there, in the rainbow jersey, passing right in front of your nose, before your eyes: you feel his breath, you perceive his absolute talent.

Then he arrives and he joins the talents of Pelé and Maradona, Messi and Cruijff, Usain Bolt and Sergei Bubka, today Mondo Duplantis, who like Taddeo is rewriting the history of his sport and perhaps something similar is being done by Sinner and Kimi Antonelli.

Then he arrives and brings us back down to earth, even though he only knows how to take flight, in an ethereal solipsism that can only be admired as a work of art. Twelve days of racing, ten victories, 118 in his career, numbers worthy of a cannibal, strictly with a lowercase c, because that belongs only to Eduard Louis Joseph Merckx, for everyone and forever Eddy: today is his birthday, happy birthday champion!

And then he arrives and leaves the Cannibal and the "blaireau" Hinault speechless, for what he does, for how he does it, for the consistency and manner of doing it. And then some arrive to whom you must explain that what they are seeing they will hardly see again, because this boy is unique and for this reason must be applauded, as only the cycling public knows how to do, as the Valtellina public did today, in this Tour of Switzerland just begun, perhaps already finished, but for this reason to be followed with absolute trepidation, because with him on the pedals, something always happens. Something will happen.

And then I need say nothing more, because there is him.