Tadej Pogačar and Mark Cavendish first and last at the Tour that crowned the Slovenian in the Olympus of champions who have done the double with the Giro. First and last at over six hours and twenty minutes apart, almost two stages. First and last, bothering Eddy Merckx: the champion of the UAE Emirates because he would be the new “cannibal”, the sprinter from the Isle of Man because he has surpassed him in the number of stage victories. But, beyond the fact that comparisons between champions of different eras are always pointless, in this case they are even less feasible. For Mark Cavendish the discussion ends quickly because the comparison in fact does not exist: he has won one more stage but it counts for nothing because history, class, value tell of different and distant worlds. Period. For Tadej Pogačar the speech is different. Pogacar is Pogacar, one and only. It is difficult to say if he is more talented, stronger, more of a champion than others because in these few years (he has only 25) of domination he has given such a personal imprint to the races, to the victories, to the defeats and to his being a testimonial of a new cycling in the tactical and not only tactical attitude that cannot be compared to anyone. Pogacar attacks even when he shouldn’t, he attacks even when he could save himself, he wins and wins big but more than a cannibal he seems like a “revolutionary” who overturns the clichés of cycling as always. Should he have been less bold so as not to alienate the group? Should he have cultivated alliances with other teams more so as to then be able to count on someone in moments of difficulty? Should he have let Jonas Vingegaard win a stage? And why? Sport teaches that opponents respect each other by continuing to play, to pedal, to fight until the end. Stopping, giving them the way, a sprint, a victory is equivalent to “humiliating” them on the field. There is so much talk about values, loyalty, respect and then just take a look at a rugby match (a sport that lives on tradition and values) to realize that never and ever on the field would a team stop fighting so as not to humiliate an opponent, because it is only true in reverse, because an opponent is respected only by not making discounts or gifts. And again. Pogacar is not Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinalt, Fausto Coppi, Jacques Anquetil, Miguel Indurain or Stephen Roche because he is an absolute champion, a child of his days. What is the point of comparisons going back in time? Everything has changed: bikes, roads, nutrition, training. The culture of a sport that fortunately remains well rooted in its history and memories has changed, but it is also capable of dealing with the passing of time and understanding that between the champions of today and those of yesterday there is a world in between. And this is true for all sports. But Pogacar has nothing to do with Mark Pantanithe last to win the Giro and the Tour, the eighth of the champions who have succeeded. It has nothing to do with it, but not for a technical reason, because he pedals differently uphill, because he is stronger in the time trial, because he also dominates the classics, because today we race with helmets instead of bandanas. The difference is only in the look: melancholic, a premonition of something dramatic, that of the Pirate; swashbuckling, irreverent and sunny, that of this boy with the quiff who is writing a piece of cycling history. Here is the difference between Pogacar and all the others, perhaps precisely this: the extraordinary ability to do enormous things with an absolute sense of lightness. Neither Cannibal, nor Pirate, nor Badger. Just look into his eyes….