It
is virtually impossible to explain how an announced withdrawal, which was also
partly implemented, can lead to the greatest international recognition.
Usually,
when an athlete, among a thousand torments, decides to bid farewell because
a sort of self-awareness has been triggered and prevails on his instinct to
compete, the biological clock does the rest and the human machine does not keep
abreast of the time and the recovery phases. And what if all this did not tie
in with our protagonist’s character? Then it is the case to relate Mario Cipollini’s
story and his habit of going against the tide, which lead him to abandon the
sport he loved most, more as a protest rather than through real conviction,
only to backtrack, or better to back-pedal, on those pedals that lifted him
to international fame. We have long since understood that Lucca’s phenomenon
is a mould-breaker. We probably knew it all along, from the time away back in
1974, aged only 7, he won his first race at Porcari and was disqualified for
having used a gear ratio allowed only in higher categories. He wished to be
different, to break the mould of a sport, which, often if not always, recalls
to the collective imagination the compact group that works hard to clock up
a lot of mileage towards a far away target, till the final spurt of the “soloist”,
the man who attempts to outdistance the others by letting his desire to be the
centre of attention prevail. It is no accident that Cipollini is the perfect
prototype of the sprinter - one who knows, near the finishing line, both in
life and on the track, when to jump up and scientifically place the final sprint.
Thus at Zolder, in Belgium, he conquered the greatest recognition for his career
with the help of the perfectly tuned blue and white team, their domestiques
and hard work to shield and support their leader till the crucial moment, the
narrowing before the home straight, where he, the Lion King, knew how to get
his mane in before others. Super Mario has the brand and the charisma of the
champion. Someone interpreted the last four years of his career on personal
feelings and sensations. The decision to withdraw in July, through bitterness
and as a protest rather than through conviction, triggered the scepticism of
many detractors. When his largely publicized afterthought occurred, they did
not spare him the accusation of a perfectly designed publicity stunt. Much can
be said about Cipollini, but certainly not to the effect that he is not an instinctive
person. And unfortunately (or fortunately) one drags this talent (or defect)
along for an entire lifetime. I personally heard him blast a sports reporter
who flattered him after he won a final lap of a race. “You needn’t act the smarmy
now; you were one of those who thought I was through...” He decided to leave
the 250 thousand euro federal prize to his team-mates as a personal recognition
of their effort and self-sacrificing spirit. And even in Zolder, during the
international ride, he turned true to type. After refuelling, when the group
was advancing at 50km/hour, a not very altruist colleague thought it a bright
idea to throw a half empty bag into the air, having drunk from it. It unavoidably
ended up straight in the arms of the person behind him. It was, unluckily for
him, the very Lion King, who reached him, roared his displeasure at him at a
2 cm distance and as a finishing touch returned the incautious discard straight
into his face. Analysing the self-accusation and repentance that followed this
unavoidable gesture, Cipollini confirmed once again that calculated gestures
were not his specialty. If it were thus, if reason had prevailed on instinct,
probably the future world champion would have soon perceived how dear that unorthodox
manner of his to dispense justice was to cost him - hundred seconds of pure
rage, a discharge of adrenalin that caused a high alteration rate in a complex
machine perfected with more than 365 days’ work, which involved sacrificing
affections and putting a 14-year long career at stake. It was a nervous expenditure
of energy dictated by an inner upheaval, which, typical of the Tuscan in him,
Mario has never succeeded in decisively controlling. This picture probably helps
us perceive or understand the complex facts that lead Lucca’s champion from
a presumed withdrawal to a triumph on Belgian soil. It was no doubt a matter
of principle! At a time when the world of cycling was shattered by the doping
effect, the organizers of the Tour de France had allowed themselves the liberty
not to invite an athlete who had won 12 laps of the greatest French competition
during his career. He, a living ad of how one can be a protagonist even on two
non-motorized wheels, had been set aside as the least important of supporting
actors. He, a unique figure in the positive publicity of a sport that risks
credibility and survival, had been ghettoed as a troublesome character now on
the wane. Hence the contradictory synthesis of his decisions! As in a parody
of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, SuperMario first reacted instinctively to the disappointment,
deciding to definitely withdraw from an environment that had ended up in the
hands of politicians “of bicycles”. But once he woke up from his emotional trance
and followed the advice of those who always cared for him, he turned his pent-up
rage into a positive force. Few have stressed it, but probably this, at 35,
is Cipo’s most rewarding achievement. Backtracking on decisions made as an impulsive
athlete at last meant that the game (in other words the right strategy) was
worth the candle.
Translated by Interpres
sas
Photo:
Roberto Bettini
