By the end of this article you should be able to understand perfectly this absolute bundle of gibberish: “One of the heads of state was looking deep in his suitcase of courage before the elastic snapped and he ended up pedalling squares and going backwards. Meanwhile, Contador danced on the pedals, leaving members of a select group looking at each other.”

But before we start, let’s have a moment to say just what a tough gig it is to be a cycling commentator. Have you ever tried talking about cycling for five hours a day for an entire month, without repeating yourself from time to time? No, you haven’t. So you don’t know how difficult it is. If you have tried, then seek help. That isn’t normal.

“Make the calculation, taking the bonifications”

Ah, Sean Kelly, the hype man to Carlton Kirby’s MC. The King of the Classics. The master of the blunt one-word response to an incredibly detailed question. Typically exchanges with Kelly in commentary go something like this,

“Sean, do you think the breakaway has a shot of making this today, given that two of the riders are expert time-triallists and there seems to be some disagreement among the peloton with regards to organising the chase?”

“No.”

“Ok, great. Thanks, Sean.”

Despite being known for what he doesn’t say, the thing Sean is most famous for is a particular phrase, “make the calculation”, which is used to describe a rider trying to figure out the chances of success of a particular attack, break or stratagem. If that sounds vague, it’s because this phrase is a true Swiss army knife, applicable to virtually every situation a bike rider might find themselves in.

On some occasions the diligent viewer may also be rewarded with the rarely-heard “take the bonifications” cliché, another, lesser-used Kellyism that pertains to the time bonuses on offer to the first finishers at the end of a stage.

“He’s turning himself inside out”

This cliché crops up when a rider is giving it absolutely everything he’s got. It can be applied to one of the big race favourites making an effort to chase down a rival, a guy going deep at the end of an individual time trial, or simply to a loyal sprinter’s domestique who has been stuck on the front to reel in the day’s breakaway. Either way, you can expect a lot of panting, face-pulling and bobbing about from a guy turning himself inside out.

If two riders are simultaneously turning themselves inside out they are deemed to be “locked in gladiatorial combat”.

“A select group has been formed”

What did it form out of? Who formed it? Is this an ex-nihilo, “First there was the earth and darkness lay upon the earth, and then lo, a select group was formed.” type of scenario?

What this expression actually means is that most of the domestiques and even the weaker GC men have been shelled out the back of the group. Usually this is caused by a GC hopeful putting his massive time-trialling mate on the front of the peloton to churn a big gear for a few minutes, in the hope of weakening his rivals’ teams. If you see Kiryienka leading the bunch for Sky or Tony Martin grinding the big ring up a HC mountain, expect a selection to form itself imminently.

Typically the “select group” is the first group on the road, but it can also be used to refer to a bunch working together to chase down escapees further up the track. It is basically like saying the riders in a particular group are the cycling equivalent of the Marvel Avengers.

“Everyone is looking at each other”

Cyclists, like deer, are shy and easily spooked – so they prefer to avoid eye-contact with one another if at all possible. To this end, they only look at each other if something really momentous is going down, like a big attack that could influence the outcome of the stage, or even the race.

The implication is that while they are all turning to one another to see what each of the other riders is going to do, nobody is actually doing anything about the perceived threat.

Cyclists also ‘look at each other’ a lot in the final part of a stage, when nobody wants to lead out the others into a sprint finish. In really extreme cases, ‘looking at each other’ can degenerate into ‘a game of cat and mouse’, another favourite cliché.

“The elastic has snapped!”

Uh-oh! Someone’s had a wardrobe malfunction. The waistband of their briefs has given up the ghost and they’re now pedalling pantsless.

Actually, when ‘the elastic’ snaps in cycling it means a rider who has for some time been dangling just off the back of the group, then catching up, then getting dropped again, has finally lost touch for good.

Tejay van Garderen is a man who is more prone than most to snappage of the elastic from the ‘select group’.

“He’s pedalling squares”

If a rider is said to be pedalling squares this means their technique looks extremely ungraceful and disjointed, as though he’s generally quite knackered. Which you would be too if you’d just ridden 100km and then been asked to climb up the Galibier.

Commentators will usually rely upon this one when they have run out of ways to say “he looks quite tired”. Pedalling squares is the antithesis of dancing on the pedals.

“The Heads of State are having a discussion”

You’d be forgiven for thinking this was a reference to the bosses of Italy, Germany and France meeting up to try and figure out what to do about Brexit, but this is in fact a shorthand way of grouping the GC hopefuls and peloton head honchos into one handy three-word cliché.

Far from discussing the impending collapse of the European project, the Heads of State in the Tour de France are more than likely deciding what to do about an incident on the road. Perhaps someone has attacked, or perhaps one of the aforementioned heads has had a mechanical and the rest of them are wondering whether to do the honourable thing and wait for him to get back on, or plough on and try and stick some time into him. They nearly always settle on the former. Vincenzo Nibali, not so much.