Le Professor is no More...

Last week Laurent Fignon, winner of the Tour de France in 1982 and 1983 sadly lost his battle with cancer. Le Professor, as he was known, was a divisive, sullen, but undeniably intriguing character.

At 22 he became the youngest man to win the Tour de France for almost 50 years when he topped the podium in ’82. He owned a race that lacked the champion of the previous 5 years: Bernhard Hinault had been injured prior to the commencement of the race and was forced to withdraw. Fignon capitalised on the weakened field and road away with the race. That victory probably didn’t earn him the respect he deserved, and when he arrived as defending champion at the 1983 edition of the storied race, he was clearly on a mission to prove himself to the world.
Hinault had returned and a whole host of young, talented riders were poised to threaten Fignon’s title defence. But the Frenchman was in no mood to relinquish the title he had so rightly made his own the year before.

Fignon went on to boss the competition; demoralising and demolishing the field on the way to five stage victories and a second consecutive Maillot Jaune.
Fignon’s appearance was in stark contrast to the man whose mantel he inherited. Hinault was a tough, square-jawed powerhouse. His tangle of curly hair, swarthy looks and gritty persona had made him the epitome of the indomitable French spirit his countrymen adored. He was rugged, rough around the edges and an uncompromising champion. He was the darling of the press. Fignon, however, wore a blonde ponytail, small, round, wire-rimmed glasses and a terse, unfriendly demeanour. The press couldn’t work him out; I’m not sure Fignon could really work himself out either. He seemed uncomfortable with his fame; disgruntled with the attention; and perennially perplexed by his own success. He went on to add a victory in the Giro d’Italia to his résumé before disaster struck.

Fignon is perhaps best remembered, not as the man who won two successive Tours in blistering style, but as the man who lost the 1989 Tour de France by the closest ever margin – a crucifying 8 seconds.

After losing that Tour, and the Maillot Jaune, on the last stage to Greg LeMond of America, Fignon never again won a significant event. He retired after the ’93 season to race organising, while maintaining his patchy relationship with the press.
Never can Fignon’s name be mentioned without that fateful July day in Paris, 1989, following soon after. Fignon entered the last stage – a time trial – with a 50 second cushion and victory seemingly assured. With the confidence that typified his career, Fignon rode the time trial using his normal, drop-handle-barred bike, no helmet and regular, spoked wheels. LeMond, however, desperate to gain whatever advantage he could, opted to pioneer the use of tri-bars, a tear-drop shaped aero-helmet and disc-wheels to minimise crosswind drag. LeMond beat Fignon by 58 seconds, handing him the title and making him the first man to cross the line in Paris not wearing the yellow jersey, yet end his journey atop the podium.

Well, as much stick as Le Professor received for his loss, I like to think that his tragedy changed the sport of cycling, and that it was his loss, more than LeMond’s victory that prompted men to adopt the same approach as the 1989 champion in time trials.

I believe that professional cyclists saw that epic contest and realised that a grand tour could be one or lost by the slightest of margins. The desire to win had always been paramount, but all of a sudden the desire not to lose in a similar fashion pushed the sport forwards. Had Fignon worn the same gear as LeMond and won, no one would have thought anything of it. Had he worn the same gear and lost, the plaudits would fall directly to LeMond’s combative spirit. That notably, tactical difference influenced everything that has come since. But we should not remember this great man, who did much for the sport he embellished, for that loss, but for the victories, the entertainment and the raw passion he showed throughout his career. Le Professor is no more, and he will be greatly missed.


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