So if Froome is like that with his pals, don’t expect it to be any different when he makes a move towards your microphone.
My dad, Bill, wore the crossed-rifles badge during his tour of duty in the Korean War. He was a mortar bomber but, because of his remarkable marksmanship, was also a defensive sniper, protecting his unit from pesky enemy snipers. Once, over a few pints of bitter, my dad talked about breathing, thought control and the lowering of the heart rate before delivery. To kill, you must be calm. This is also the best tool in the psychiatrist’s locker: To open up the unwary, the good doctor needs to create an air of total and utter calm. The patient’s defences are thus reduced. He feels safe on the couch as the mind investigator begins his work.
Here comes Dr Christopher Froome FRCPsych, who now addresses the patient. Sorry, journalist.
Chris reveals a row of pearly baby teeth as he takes his seat. He begins the conversation with a Zen starter: ‘And how are you today?’
Korean Radio reporter: ‘Oh, very well, thank you. Why are you so much better than anyone else in cycling?’
Now this question comes from a country without a solid heritage in cycling. As a sport, road cycling in Korea sits some way below eSports arena computer gaming in terms of TV ratings. So the question is from a reporter who’s rather out of his depth but trying to be polite.
Somebody at his journalism college must have told him to keep nodding and smiling. He looks like the waving, happy cat you see at the till in sushi bars, but it’s his head that’s moving at fixed tempo, not his arm. He looks happy enough, but he’s terrified.
Dr Chris [looking deep into his soul, and smiling gently]: ‘It’s very kind of you to say, but I don’t really know where to begin on that one, so I’ll tell you about why I’m here today, shall I? Gooood.’
Chris is now in total control. He goes on to talk through precisely what he wants to. He manages this in a flawlessly professional and considered way. I’ve seen well-informed old hacks tooled up with killer questions who simply melt under this onslaught of calm.
Even in the dark days, when many in the press corps were convinced he had broken rules on the meds permitted for his asthma, this man remained a beacon of calm and decorum in hostile press conferences. Froome controls the flow. And makes you go with it too. Genius.
The Best Mate
The Eurosport anchor Jonathan Edwards is already smiling. He knows what’s next. G is dropping in. Happy days. Anchoring on live TV can be a juggling act. Some guests are difficult. Sometimes you have to work hard to open up an oyster. And then there is Geraint Thomas . . .
Jonathan’s cheeks are now hurting, his smile muscles slowly setting to stone: ‘Welcome Geraint Thomas, who today has taken over the yellow jersey.’
In slides our pal, still panting after a short jog from another broadcaster. Minders everywhere, but our star remains unflummoxed. While being miked up, he opens in trademark unabashed style:
‘Wow. Knackered. Really knackered. Sorry, tired. It’s been quite a day.’
Jonathan: ‘Tell us about it.’
G: ‘Well . . .’
Aaaaaand he’s off!!!! Full gallop.
Out pours a string of funny, well considered, never barbed, cleverly observed one-liners and vignettes of joyfulness. The guy’s a star and we all gaze on attentively – not with a sense of subservient reverence, but because we know he’ll have a story to tell that’s well worth a few minutes of our time. When G is on TV, the world melts away for the viewer. It’s just like listening to a tale from a mate down the pub. He can describe a stage of professional cycling in great detail yet with a simple sense of wonder and humour wrapped up with a healthy dose of self-deprecation. The audience is chomping at the bit. It’s like listening to your drinking pal who’s just shared a tube ride with Kate Moss. ‘Give us the detail!!!’ you beg. And he does. Top bloke.
The Optimist
For the uninitiated, you could come across Esteban Chaves for the first time and wonder if he was alright in the head. He never stops smiling! Now, I smile a lot. I’m amused by life. Chaves, however, is amused by life, strife and everything else. Whatever he’s having for breakfast, I want.
Considering what Esteban has gone through in his career, it’s remarkable he’s been able to remain so chipper. A horror crash in 2013 at Trofeo Laigueglia left him with a fractured everything. Many thought he would never make it back to the top. Well, he did. And part of that remarkable recovery was his overwhelming sense of fun and wonder. It’s infectious.
Unimaginative reporter: ‘How do you feel?’
Esteban [with trademark grin]: ‘Yeah, it’s great! I’m good! Goood!’
Reporter: ‘But you lost the stage. What about your rivals, Esteban, they really stuck it into you today?’
Esteban looks down for a moment but never stops smiling. Softly he says: ‘Sure, it hurts to lose…’ Then bouncing back into the zone: ‘But hey! We are all friends, no?!’
I love Esteban.
The Enigma
Nairo Quintana stunned everyone in 2014 with some gutsy, aggressive rides that brought him his first Grand Tour. Two years after the pink jersey at Giro d’Italia, he took the red one at La Vuelta. Since then, Nairo has kind of retreated from the battlefront. He has become an extremely cautious rider. Seemingly, he follows rather than leads attacks and the results on the big tours have dried up. It’s as if his ambitions are getting locked down. He’s much the same in interviews.
The temptation for any interviewer must be to wave a hand in front of Quintana’s blankly staring face
