Grand Tour Groundhog Day
The pattern we live by.
A Grand Tour is a wonderful, exhausting undertaking. Providing commentary on one is a privilege and at the same time, a chance to escape. Even when not on the ground, able to follow from finish line, hotel or petrol station (there are a lot of petrol stations), the race becomes your life, and perhaps nowadays thankfully, the real world ceases to exist. Or at least it exists at a distance. Nothing else matters - a welcome distraction from the chaos of ‘unprecedented times’.
The prep work begins months beforehand; Professional Cycling’s stars announce their initial intentions soon after the end of one season, the route rumours then turn to reality at the official presentation, and so starts the work of putting together a document that becomes a commentator’s bible.
There’s usually time away with bike, running shoes and laptop, evenings spent at home with the football on in the background, plenty done over the winter in cafes and bars. There are the random thoughts, facts and bits of information that jump out at you when sitting in an airport departure lounge, on a bus or standing in a supermarket aisle. That all gets committed to either a phone note, a self-addressed e-mail or somewhere on the document itself. The result is rarely to everyone’s liking, but months of passion and hard work go in to each three week adventure on the telly.
February arrives, the season gets underway, racing takes over and the prep for the Grand Tours slips into the background. Real life goes on at the same time; the news is awful and the Rovers are still rubbish.
The work intensifies as Classics conclude, stage race teams are named, changes made to original plans and objectives adjusted. There are the team records, rider backstories, geographical quirks, cultural curiosities and, of course, pronunciations of places and names to get right.
The week prior to the start passes by without ever fully finishing what was started the autumn before, then, in a flash, you’re in the race! However, it’s rarely perfect on the opening day. Boring, practical things take over; Can we get start sheets printed? Will the WiFi work? Have any of the highlighters run out? Staples? Talkback? Sound checks? Picture quality? Drawing pins for the commentary box wall? A bit of paper with a hastily scribbled ‘PLEASE DO NOT THROW AWAY’ for the cleaners. But it’s underway.
Back to the hotel, or in the on-site days, a few more of those petrol stations, some GPS watching and wondering if the restaurant will be open when we arrive.
A bike ride with King Kelly or a run is a chance for some fresh air, then there are the podcasts, previews and WhatsApp chats that inform the topics of conversation for the following day’s broadcast. A beer or two and dinner always sees results sheets looked over and those stories come out that were missed live - a daily reminder that a Grand Tour is a soap opera of a thousand small tales.
We’ll talk about what we might like to mention the following day, how the stage might play out and then it’s almost time to begin again. Every stage, each year. It’s a pattern for life, and it remains a privilege to live it in this way, one that we never take for granted.
And so it repeats itself. A kind of welcome Groundhog Day.
I watch a lot of cycling and I always understood that commentators did a lot of prep but that is off the scale. I will watch with a renewed appreciation for your work. Cheers
Good luck Rob and thanks for the insight into what happens behind the scenes really interesting to read about it