The transition from the Giro to the Tour has never been so shocking. Never such a high step, never such a brutal jump, never such a disarming difference. Sure, the Giro enjoyed the regal presence of Vingegaard, but that's it. The rest is forgettable. Dutifully, it should be forgotten. Or should we say that behind the phenomenon there was nonetheless a high average quality level? From Gall onwards, with the Gees and the Arensmans, without disrespecting anyone, we must acknowledge that in terms of prestige we're below a Tirreno-Adriatico or a Tour of Turkey. And ultimately this very admission makes the verdict on Italian cycling even more dramatic: never so bad, never so low.

Of course we're talking about the level of riders. If at some point we clung to Piganzoli, Vinge's domestique, capable nonetheless after his work was done of staying with the other "best" riders, the signal is unequivocal: at the general classification level, we are little or nothing. But not so much for the result itself, as for the context: we didn't exist in the top games against modest opponents, obviously excluding the phenomenon, we didn't exist against Gall, Arensman, Gee. That is, in a modest Giro. And if you don't exist in a second-tier race, how much is the movement worth and what does it count for in absolute terms?

Said with a broken heart, but the answer is too clear. In the Giro paddock I met a manager who blamed journalists for devaluing Italian cycling too much, explaining that after all we have the world's best time trialist (Ganna) and the best sprinter (Milan). Even granting him that (but I wouldn't be so sure about putting the two in first place), it doesn't seem to me that it could be enough. We haven't won a Grand Tour since Nibali, we don't win monument races, nothing at all. And reality speaks of a movement too distant even from a Giro already at second level. And this alone would be enough to take stock. To worry. Instead.

Instead we continue to dance on the Titanic, and the blame is only on journalists who enjoy indulging in catastrophism. Fine. Let's put it that way. Meanwhile I point out that the Tour is coming, where all teams play with their starters, where we play the part of dishwashers and kitchen scullions. I'm talking about an already well-known film: Pogacar against Vingegaard, but right on his heels there's also Evenepoel and his Lipowitz (I wouldn't be surprised if in the end the hierarchy were inverted...), especially there will be the prodigy Seixas, but also in Pogacar's own team there will be Del Toro, and so the Ayusos, not to mention the stage killers, Van der Poel without Van Aert. I ask, without any desire to belabor the point: when this elite cycling finally takes the stage, where will we be placed? Just look at the size of our delegation, the number of Italians at the start: do we really not need to talk about crisis? Let's stop with the hypocrisy, at least: the blame is not on those who photograph the moment, but on those who look the other way, indeed accusing the former of rowing against us.

Sticking to the Giro: in the difficulty of the general moment, it plays a central role. But instead of leading a comeback, like Aso in France, it follows helplessly. It participates in the decline, does nothing to stop it, not even by investing as it should.

Here I stop. No point in belaboring it. Just one thing I want to add: enough, I'm no longer willing to hear that by denouncing this situation I'm only becoming a defeatist and a wrecker, anyway a bad person who doesn't love this sport. In my house, in normal families, the strictest and most annoying parents are the ones who love their children the most. The same here: I no longer accept this legend that whoever truly loves Italian cycling is the one who speaks of Italian cycling in excellent health, always and in any case, while whoever denounces its cracks and ailments doesn't love it and wants to destroy it. I love the Giro more than its owners, many of us love the Giro more than them, if only for the fact that we love it without pocketing transfers, it's a passion and not a business: raising the alarm is a stirring of the heart, not a thug's blow. The real question, if anything, is another: I'm no longer sure it's a timely alarm. Everything suggests that by now the oxen are far from the barn. And that they're already turning around making the gesture of the umbrella.