"Pogacar the Sun King" (Gazzetta dello Sport), with 35'27" of climbing time on Alpe d'Huez, put on a spectacle. The record on the climb is now his, but above all the Slovenian's triumph represents "a milestone in the career of a prodigy" (Ciro Scognamiglio). He, Tadej, confesses: "It's no longer a secret, I wanted to win at the top of this mythical climb and I did it". Yes, an interpretation somewhat exaggerated - but it fits - of Pogacar's overwhelming dominance according to Marco Bonarrigo in the Corriere: "There is no poetry, there is no pathos, there is no challenge, there is no mercy for the vanquished", there is only a Slovenian boy who cuts through the twenty-one hairpin turns braking as if the road were descending". Directly from Alpe, Cosimo Cito on Repubblica adds: "Tadej Pogacar had never won on that climb, a time defined as 'mystical and mythical', now a theater of a carnival that has little to do with cycling — or perhaps much, the phenomenon still needs to be studied."

And we come to the direct parallel between Pogi and Pantani and that full-page headline in Il Giornale (Pogacar the Pirate) accompanying an article by Pier Augusto Stagi that attacks like this: "Le velo, c'est moi", cycling is me. Paraphrasing the Sun King who felt he was the State, we could rename Tadej Pogacar the Lone King".

L'Equipe today? "Overflows" with impactful frames, also rehashes a bit of the old and beloved film of the race, makes it clear with Alexandre Roos: "He was a giant". And the leading correspondent of the French daily also gives the now five-time Tour winner an Oscar for dissimulation: "He tried to direct us elsewhere – insisting that he simply wanted to thank his teammates, who remained faithful to his cause even in recent difficulties – but one is not always obliged to take the Yellow Jersey at his word. His answers are often diversions". On the road, often and willingly, the champion is crystal clear, admits no reply.

GAZZETTA DELLO SPORT
POGACAR THE SUN KING
Making a ranking of feats of valor, of the emotions they give – is even more difficult than achieving them, probably. But Tadej Pogacar's first triumph on Alpe d'Huez will be remembered as a milestone in the career of this Slovenian prodigy. "It's no longer a secret, I wanted to win at the top of this mythical climb and I did it. A fantastic day and I must say thanks to my teammates. The breakaway was difficult to catch, we had to work a lot, I thought of them during the entire climb. I gave everything", the first words of the world champion – capable of making about forty overtakes uphill – ever closer to apotheosis tomorrow in Paris after the umpteenth string of mind-boggling numbers. (Ciro Scognamiglio)

CORRIERE DELLA SERA
POGACAR, LIKE HIM NO ONE. THE MARTIAN OF ALPE D'HUEZ BEATS PANTANI'S RECORD
There is no poetry, there is no pathos, there is no challenge, there is no mercy for the vanquished. Along the 13,800 meters of Alpe d'Huez, making his way through the narrow passage left free by delirious fans, there is only a Slovenian boy who cuts through the twenty-one hairpin turns braking as if the road were descending. But he climbs toward the sky devouring 1,900 meters per hour, dropping 90 seconds the ghost of Pantani, two minutes the (doped) specter of Armstrong, three Indurain.
Tadej Pogacar has killed his fifth Tour de France for the fifth time in a violent, ruthless manner: attacking from the first meter of the climb, overtaking the 40 fugitives who preceded him as if they were glued to the asphalt, deluding only Carapaz and Martinez (refined climbers) whom he reached in the final stretch and beat in a sprint because he didn't want anyone to cast a shadow on the finish line. (Marco Bonarrigo)

REPUBBLICA
POGACAR DOMINANCE
RUBIO CRASHES BECAUSE OF FANS
Tadej Pogacar had never won on that climb, a time defined as "mystical and mythical", now a theater of a carnival that has little to do with cycling — or perhaps much, the phenomenon still needs to be studied. And so the greatest difficulty for the yellow jersey yesterday was making his way through outstretched hands, cell phones, flags, banners, smoke bombs, splashes of water, Norwegians doing the Viking row, Dutch nostalgic for times past, Danes orphaned by Vingegaard. Orphaned of an opponent is he too, Tadej, now that Evenepoel has finished 7'11" back in the standings and is the first of the parallel world still in contention for the podium. (Cosimo Cito)

IL GIORNALE
POGACAR, THE PIRATE
"Le velo, c'est moi", cycling is me. Paraphrasing the Sun King who felt he was the State, we could rename Tadej Pogacar the Lone King. Because there is him, only him. Because he always arrives alone. Because between him and the world there is infinity. He wins on one of the symbolic climbs of the Tour: Alpe d'Huez. The scalp of Alpe was missing from his rich collection, one of the symbolic peaks of the Tour and of cycling, and yesterday the champion filled this gap too. Anything but not interested in history: Taddeo writes it in fine script. They gave him tired and not brilliant, moody and with a team undermined by a malignant virus, but in the end he takes care of it... (Pier Augusto Stagi)

L'EQUIPE
HE WAS A GIANT
Yesterday afternoon, on the intoxicating hairpin turns of Alpe d'Huez, Tadej Pogačar had an appointment only with himself and with the history of the Tour de France. He tried to direct us elsewhere – insisting that he simply wanted to thank his teammates, who remained faithful to his cause even in recent difficulties – but one is not always obliged to take the Yellow Jersey at his word. His answers are often diversions; he shares with the lineage of true greats that characteristic reticence of champions: an economy of words, the refusal to dwell on what truly matters or on the deepest feelings, even joyful ones; he remains imperturbable both in victory and in defeat, in days of glory as in those of ordinary administration. It is a mix of reserve and detachment: a dominant presence on the road that renders grand speeches superfluous, as if operating in such rarefied spheres annulled the possibility of a common language, depriving of meaning the sharing of inner drives that no one else could understand, given that very few have lived at such altitudes. (Alexandre Roos)