Joop Zoetemelk was a hard man, a tough nut to crack. He specialized in getting second place, a talent he developed under the doctrine of Eddy Merckx and mastered via the harsh tutelage of Bernard Hinault. It’s very seductive to lean back in our armchairs and draw the conclusion that our sport’s Eternal Seconds, as they’re called, are the weaker men than their rivals. The sport is filled with this familiar story; a rider comes up and is hailed as perhaps the next great rider, only to have synchronized their career with a more dominant rider.
Poulidor, who started with Anquetil and finished with Merckx. Zoetemelk, who started with Merckx and finished with Hinault. Then EPO entered the peloton and the balances were set off for a bit as riders who shouldn’t have been at the top were popping in for table scraps before Ullrich took the helm by getting on the podium in the Tour more often than any champion before him had won the Tour. Like Chimera and Bellerophon, every great hero needs a villain and it seems these riders are always there to stand up and fight year after year, against all odds.
In keeping with the Chimera and Bellerophon metaphor, I’m not so sure it is the victor who is the hero and the loser the villain. In my ski racing days, I was at the top of my game – I even had one season where I was undefeated throughout. That season was, without hesitation, my least rewarding season; winning became a question of margin – I even won one time trial where I started last and caught up to each of my teammates in serial and paced them to the next teammate such that we all finished in a big line of eight skiers.
The most rewarding season was the year where I struggled to fight back after losing motivation (due to the previous season’s excess) and still managed to win the key events. But the real fun wasn’t so much in the winning or losing, but in the bond it built between me and my principal rival; we both fought to the point of blacking out and neither of us ever – even for a minute – relented.
Extrapolating from that small-world experience to what it takes to become a Pro Cyclist capable of wining the Tour de France, it gives some insight into the mentality of the athletes who play out these battles that figure so prominently in our interpretation of our sport. To that end, I wonder if the champions don’t have the psychologically easier side of the coin. After all, they suffer almost the same amount, endure almost the same pressures and endure almost the same amount of discipline and sacrifice in pursuit of their goals. But one has the reward of victory and one the indignity of loss.
To come back year after year as victor seems almost like a picnic in comparison to the brutality of coming back year after year only to lose once again – then to resolve to return undeterred. In this sense, the loser who refused to quit endurs the suffering and sacrifice without the glory that comes with winning. Without them and their unrelenting optimism, the story would be less bright, less colorful. Which is the hero in our story?
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Very interesting, Frank! I feel like it's easier to relate to the sacrifice and heartbreak of these second bananas, because this is who we are as amateurs with a sickness for the bike: sacrifice, pain, suffering, no recognition. It's easier to see ourselves in(thus relate and perhaps love) these second place riders who show resilience and sacrifice than the cold hearted, calculating, cut throatness of a L.E. Gunderson. It's a connection, I've never thought of before.
It is interesting that membership of the Eternal Second Club seems to be automatically revoked upon attaining one win (in the particular event). Imagine if Cuddles didn't succeed in the 2011 Tour? That would have given him 3 second places at the Tour and probably (in the eyes of many) an unfulfilled career.
Now, with his Tour win, it seems like the rest of his palmares suddenly looks better too. He is a Tour winner, world champ, classic winner, etc. If he wasnt to have won the Tour, he might have been a Tour contender who fluked the rainbows, etc.
Not to mention his four second places and one third place at the Dauphine...
Nicely done. Perhaps this is why we tend to root for the underdogs? I am too familiar with this, being a lifelong Cubs fan (hey, this is our century). We have a guy at work who has no connection whatsoever to New York, yet is a Yankee fan. We constantly rag on him for it. It is too easy to like a perpetual winner. Sometimes there is a hatred towards the big powers. As there was with Merckx, Hinault, even Pharmstrong (among myriad reasons).
I believe that continuing to strive when you know you will usually be bettered is indeed heroic. Because one time, just one day, it will be your day....
Joop did all right though. Won the Tour and wore the Rainbow stripes for a year. His palmarès are quite sick. But yes, to be a good sprinter when Cavendish is riding means you are screwed, Tyler, I'm looking at you. Andy might win a stage race if Bertie would keel over. Bertie just won his first professional one day race today? Is that possible? Crazy talk.
@moondance
Frank, isn't there a special rule V merit badge for cubs fans? Thats a demographic that knows how to suffer. Perhaps only exceeded by the pre-baltimore ravens Cleveland Browns fans ( to sit there in the lakefront stadium in the snow half-dressed and half drunk in the middle of a snowstorm watching em lose again...).
It is a true revealer of a mans' character, not how he glories in winning, but how he copes with defeat
I tend to think of them in the same way as 'chokers' in tennis or golf for example.
People who clearly have the talent, have done the training, endured the suffering but somehow manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory or never produce their best on the big stage.
Cycling is a sport which deceives us by offering more chance of redemption, certainly over a stage race, whereas many sports come down to one moment where the hapless loser fluffs a critical point. But in our hearts and heads we know they aren't going to turn it around tomorrow, or the next day.
I think it's all in the head. There is something in them that doubts their right to win.
Their curse is not to have been born at the same time as someone better, their curse is that they believed it.
Once you ask the question "Do I deserve this" you've already started losing.
Serial winners have something verging on arrogance (Armstrong, Hinault) or perhaps inevitability (Merckx, Anquetil, Indurain, Contador). Je ne sais quoi... I'm not sure what the exact word for it should be but it is a combination of those things.
The loser is the one plagued by doubt and deference. They question themselves, they think too much. They fear winning for exactly the scenario Frank described - once you are at the top they see only one way to go.
It's a fascinating question which will never go away. And even more fascinating when applied to whole teams - the White Sox for example, or Collingwood Aussie rules club. Both had very long streaks of losing (now broken) against all odds of performance and rational probability.
@moondance
Interesting point, so does this mean a certain A.Schleck is in the running to be an eternal second..or..because he technically won because Bertie was stuffing his face with dodgy steaks does he count as a one time winner and therefore not able to become an eternal second...he looks like a prime candidate in the modern race, possessing dubious descending and timetrialling skills could just be the weaknesses that earn him that position...I wonder how he would have done in this years Vuelta?
Nice one! I can't imagine how much fortitude it takes to keep coming back & to always bring it when you are riding against such a strong rival. That level of commitment and the unrelenting effort are amazing.
On another note, if we want to talk about the ball sports and suffering - fuck all the Boston/New England whining that I had to put up with when growing up (prior to them winning in baseball, football, hockey), fuck the Cubs talk. You want to know who has lived with real fucking pain? Buffalo fans. To get down to the final game FOUR times in a row and lose and on a field goal. That's fucking pain. And. To have Brett Hull and a bunch of fake hockey fans in fucking Texas steal a Stanley Cup on a non-goal after four overtimes. That is fucking pain. Just sucking year after year isn't painful. Try living through those long cold Buffalo winters after that. Then we'll talk about suffering.
@ChrisO
I could re-read this all day long, it is so spot-on insightful. You made my day.