PERSPECTIVES
WHY CYCLING’S UNIQUE MODEL OF ACCESS MUST BE PRESERVED
When journalist Albert Londres pushed his way through the throng and sat down with the Pélissier brothers, Henri and Francis, in the Café de la Gare in Coutances in June 1924, he realised he had a scoop. Exhausted, disenchanted and enraged with Tour de France organiser Henri Desgrange, the Pélissiers slugged hot chocolate and poured their hearts out, railing against the inhumanity of the race, pulling cocaine, chloroform and pills from their pockets.
The article that Londres wrote, ‘Convicts of the Road’, became legendary. His stories had as much impact as those produced by Le Monde during the notorious Festina Affair of July 1998, when the revered daily called for the drug-addled Tour to be stopped.
These days, Londres’ headline is emblazoned on T-shirts and mugs, while ASO, promoters of the Tour, make great play of the race’s historically close relationship with media and fans.
But the coping strategies for racing in the time of covid-19 have come at a price to those traditions.
In his beautiful book, Tour de France Intime, French journalist Philippe Brunel wrote about cycling’s special relationship with the media, a relationship which is now under threat, not just because of covid.
At last year’s Tour — a race, don’t forget, founded and mythologised by journalists — the media were kept at arm’s length, maintaining the sanitary bubbles that were understandably instigated by the French government. Initially, it was temporary, and safer for everyone. Now however, that distance seems likely to stay and something unique to this sport will be lost. Most teams prefer it to the old days, when the camera crews and photographers besieged riders at start and finish areas. They want things to stay this way.
Now instead of journalists asking questions, we have team PRs circulating recorded WhatsApp messages to the media, usually corralled in a press room. There are no more huddles at the start village or on the finish line. The PRs edit the WhatsApps and decide who to invite into Zoom calls, and who to exclude.
There is an important difference here. Press officers protect their sponsors’ interests; journalists serve the interests of their readers. But in a sport still struggling, even now, with transparency and accountability, there remains real and important value in face-to-face access. As the pandemic forces continuing restrictions, what little access remains is becoming even more important: in fact, it’s vital.
Think of all the revealing moments that would otherwise be lost: the confrontations between Lance Armstrong and the media; think of Bradley Wiggins at Ax 3 Domaines in 2010, admitting at the stage finish: “I’m f*cked mate, I ain’t gonna lie.”
With access so limited, what will happen to asking riders directly about their credibility? This is not a question that is ever well received, but it’s one that has been put to grand tour winners from Froome to Roglic. Given the context of the sport, it’s fair to expect to go on the record if you are successful in cycling.
Restricted access reduces the opportunity to explore those issues, which as the Richard Freeman inquiry and the Operation Aderlass investigation show, have not gone away. The need for the sport to be held accountable is as strong as ever.
But it goes beyond that: in a sport with such a tradition of stirring writing, WhatsApps and Zoom calls are no substitute for body language and eye contact.
So don’t be surprised to hear a media corps weary of Zoom calls, controlling PRs and ‘last question please!’ press conferences, wax lyrical about the ease of access at lowly races such as the Étoile de Bessèges, in which the ambience of the good old days still lingers.
And the Café de la Gare in Coutances, scene of Londres’ most famous interview? It’s no longer standing, sadly. It was demolished — in the summer of 1998.