It took 1,043 days to see Marc Márquez climb back to the top of the podium, a feat (yes, a feat) within reach of a select few touched by the magic wand of talent and perseverance. Because if there is one thing that the Catalan rider stands out for, it is precisely for possessing these two qualities, something that has elevated him to be among the 5 best riders in history, for his career, but above all for that raw impetus when it comes to riding.
However, just two days ago, when Márquez confirmed his good form with a new victory, more than one of us were reminded of times gone by. Those when competitive motorcycling was made exclusively for a group of guys more similar to the typical protagonist of an American western, than to a high-level athlete, per se.
Marc Márquez: An endangered species
To tell the truth, since that time of the Doohan, Rainey, Schwantz, Lawson and company, there have been few times when a motorcycle rider has taken us to the highest extreme of emotion in each stellar appearance on the track. In fact, throughout the MotoGP era, if we except the magician from Tavullia, Valentino Rossi, Casey Stoner in his own way the talented one Jorge Lorenzopractically no other has made us get up euphoric from our chairs on a racing Sunday, at least continuously over several seasons.
The difference between the old days and the current era is that back then, courage and high levels of testicle were served three times a day with every meal and almost any driver who made up the grid in the premier class could make us smile from ear to ear on a race weekend. It didn’t matter if they were at a clear disadvantage in mechanical, dynamic or technical terms. The intention was always the same when the checkered flag fell: to win.
That is why, when last Sunday Márquez decided to go on the attack in the midst of the whirlwind of sensations, produced by what seemed like an imminent change of scenery from dry to wet, knowing, as he himself would later declare, that it was all or nothing, due to the high chances of falling to the ground, your face lit up with emotion. And the image that the layout of the emblematic Misano circuit offered us at that moment seemed at times to have gone back in time to find itself guarded by bales of straw, making up the perimeter that delimits the transalpine circuit.
As if the spirit of one of those old cowboys who competed in the old premier class had taken hold of the Spanish rider, Márquez did what he does best: put on a show. Moreover, driving in the finest and most efficient way that we had seen him in a long time, demonstrating, lap after lap, why there are some very good riders in the two-wheeled world and then there is a small category where we find those who are close to excellence.
But this is not about numbers, victories or the simplicity that a results table presents for the gallery. It is much more than that, it is almost a swan song to charisma, passion, hunger to win. Because that is precisely what Márquez has, unlike a high percentage of the riders that make up the current MotoGP squad, an immense desire to be the best again and to show why, among other things, he became the kryptonite of the man who is possibly the best rider in history to date, Valentino Rossi.
The boss is back, and it hardly matters what happens between now and the end of the season. We all want to see what he will be capable of when, on equal terms, he faces the current world champion, Pecco Bagnaia, but also riders of the level and professionalism of Jorge Martín, Pedro Acosta or Enea Bastianini, among others.
Márquez delighted us with a new victory, almost staging a tribute to those legends who made us dream of motorcycles every Sunday morning, becoming the reference for the vast majority of riders of later generations. Crivillé, Roberts, Cadalora, Spencer, Gardner and Kocinski, to name a few of them, must still be savouring the last performance that Marc offered us, but above all, they will surely have recovered the hope that the MotoGP World Championship can be something more than a trail of cold, meager figures, devoid of any ounce of passion.
