It’s fair to say that, for a period in this country, Wiggins was bigger than the sport. People who had no interest in professional cycling, had never watched a race, and whose understanding of it began and ended with Lance Armstrong, knew who Bradley Wiggins was.
Tabloid newspapers printed cut-out-and-stick-on Wiggo sideburns. No awards ceremony or celebrity party was complete without him. He was lauded for his sharp Mod styling, his cheeky wit, his ready use of an expletive, his irreverent refusal to take himself or the media frenzy around him seriously. It seemed like he had everything: the success, the money, the knighthood, the legacy.
As it turns out, he did have all those things but they were bundled up messily with a whole carousel’s worth of baggage, meaning…
