The Cannibal Turns 80 : his shadow is vast—Pogacar brushes it, but cannot bleach it

Our era—the swirling bowl of the now—adores a memory barely three seconds long. The last man to win is always right: John McEnroe, the other day, swore that Rafael Nadal would « sans doute » have lost to Carlos Alcaraz or Jannik Sinner on Parisian clay. Cycling is no safer from this merry-go-round: Pogacar rules the cobbles, and some already dub him “GOAT”, eager to shelve Eddy Merckx in the attic trunk. Beware the rush; the Cannibal’s legend is no tyre you swap with a finger-snap.