At the 2016 London Six Day, he was clearly becoming more and more frustrated by the focus and questioning from reporters who seemed far more interested in his teammate, Bradley Wiggins. When Matt Rendell asked how he felt about watching Wiggo win the Derny race, in which Cav had ridden the first half earlier, he could barely contain his anger. The teeth became more firmly clenched and the jaw began to twitch. Then TV presenter OJ Borg asked him another question about his partner. Cav detonated a controlled explosion: ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you just ask Bradley!? Everyone’s just asking me questions about Brad. Haven’t you got any questions to ask about me?’ There was a second or two as some expletives hit the auditorium wall. Cue awkward laughter from OJ.
To be honest, I got off to a bad start with Mark. In fact, he blamed me for wrecking three months of his racing career. It all started with a viewer comment read out by my Eurosport colleague, David Harmon. Cav’s teeth, it was said, looked like Bingo from the 1970s television programme The Banana Splits Show. This character is a bright orange gorilla with rather prominent teeth. It was a light-hearted jibe, a bit of a tease, affectionate even. Just a humorous aside from a fan, if a little insensitive, but Cav took it personally. He was furious. What’s worse is that he assumed the comment had come from me. Not surprising, as I’m given to a high degree of irreverence on occasion.
Now Cav is a handsome chap, so unknown to us was the fact that Mark had been teased about his dentition as a youngster at school. This latest episode pushed him to seek out corrective surgery to sort them out at the end of the season. He was going out with Miss Paraguay at the time, who recommended a local dentist. Rather than wait until he came home, Cav went for treatment. Sadly, the surgery didn’t go well. He developed an infection, which resulted in further dental work and a huge dose of antibiotics that knocked out his early season prep. And I got the blame.
Our relationship continued to decline when I criticised his team’s sprint leadout train at the Tour of Qatar in 2013. My job as a commentator is to give opinions. Opinions that can be right or wrong, but it is my job to comment and give my view – for what it’s worth. The trouble is that there are times when you are going to be at odds with the riders who have given their best but failed. And if you have an opinion on that failure, firstly, they don’t like it being highlighted if it’s true; and secondly, if they think you’re wrong, then obviously you’re an absolute idiot.
During a sprint finale at the Tour of Qatar, I was calling it from inside of a truck with a low definition monochrome TV screen in front of me. The vision was terrible and I’d had to put a blanket over my head and TV monitor to be able to make anything out. Despite this, I could recognise the distinctive shape of Cav hunched over his handlebars in his classic sprint position, so I was focusing on him. I could see his lead out assemble, only for it to fall apart in the melée. It managed to get back together, only for it to be destroyed again and I said out loud as the bunch came to the approach: ‘Wow, this is a mess.’ The words I used were harsh but fair. I’m an emotive commentator and I say what I feel at the time. The truth is, I wanted him to win. Essentially I’m a fan and I was, I guess, voicing my own disappointment.
With a poor lead out, the inevitable happened and Cav didn’t win the stage. Of course, he was livid, and as we know with Mark, he always reacts strongly when things don’t go the way he wanted. Back at the hotel he watched the finish on TV and heard me call his race ‘a mess’, which of course made him even more furious.
The next sprint stage was a turnaround for him and the team. They won. When Mark saw our reporter Matt Rendell approaching, he said live on air, ‘Right. Before we start, get that bloody Carlton Kirby down here, I’m going to give him a good slap.’ Matt parried the suggestion with nervous laughter before carrying on with the interview.
It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that, at this point in both our careers, Mark thought I was a bit of a git. It was an opinion that lingered. Indeed, we only began to build bridges a year later at the Tour of Turkey, when the organisers began harrying and bundling everyone into taxis for a long journey to the next stage start. I was in a car with fellow commentator Brian Smith when the door opened and, plop, Mark Cavendish sat down in the seat next to me. With a three- or four-hour drive ahead of us, I thought it best to clear the air.
‘Hello, Mark,’ I said. ‘Are you still going to give me a bloody good slapping?’
Thankfully, there was to be no fat bleeding lip. Instead I had an enjoyable journey over three hours where we chatted affably about just about everything apart from the world of cycling. It was a key moment in our relationship and set a precedent for all our future
