Yesterday was a landmark in sporting history: a man with quite outstanding sideburns became the first British cyclist to win the Tour de France. Bravo Bradley Wiggins. Yellow suits you.
The Tour has long been my favourite sporting event of the year, mainly because I like the scenery. France is just so pretty. I spot my 'future home' at least once every stage that I watch. And I'm equally entertained by such a fine collection of legs. Lovely. Yes, I know that's not the point.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly a hardcore fan. I dip in and out and vaguely follow what's happening, helped along by my Dad's avid viewing. If I want to talk to him in July, I will pick up a thing or two about various jersey patterns and time trials and sprint finishes.
And talking of sprint finishes, one Christmas I fell upon the best present. Mark Cavendish was doing a signing in a bookshop I happened to be passing. Well, I was straight in there buying Boy Racer and queuing. I did get a little bored though and the message I finally got him to write on the title page read something like:
"Dear Richard, I hope you appreciate how much your daughter loves you. She's had to wait bloody ages for this. I hope it's worth it. Merry Christmas, Mark Cavendish."
I may have paraphrased there but you get the gist. Mark actually chuckled as he wrote and now we're best friends. Fact.
Or we could have been, but I'm very busy and important you know, so I had to rush off.
Still, as I saw him winning Champs-Elysees I was quite proud of my best friend and did a small skipping circuit of the living room in excitement. He is faaaaaast!
And what made it all really perfect was the fact the Brad, golden shirted winner led him into it, spectacularly doing it for both Team Sky and UK. Allez! Allez!
In sport, the thing that inspires loyalty in me is when someone is a hero. Like when Tyler Hamilton came fifth with a broken collarbone. Now there is some respectable feat. I was much less impressed when he got disqualified for doping a few years later. I felt personally betrayed. Heroes do not do drugs. That is all.
Bradley, on the other hand, is very articulate and clearly passionate about both his sport, and the purity of it. One can cheer for him in all respects. And because of the above mentioned facial hair he has become (in my head at least) some kind of eccentric sporting legend. Like that swimmer with the moustache, Mark Spitz. Or Steve Prefontaine.
I digress. What I'm trying to say is congratulations Mr Wiggins. A well deserved victory to an awesome chap. I will even get Sybil (my bike) out of the shed in a fit of sporting inspiration. That, and I have no other option: the Olympics are coming and I suspect London will be impossible without her. No sprint finishes for me. I might get me a yellow t-shirt though, now the sun's out.
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