Friday, June 29, 2007

I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt...

...So Sexy It Hurts: well, it's a good thing that Danilo DiLuca's got a new gig strutting the catwalk for fashion house Byblos, because it sure doesn't look good for his cycling career that he was both recorded (1) cheerfully discussing his need for an immediate EPO injection with his doc over the phone and (2) filmed in the waiting room while said drug pimp prepped the syringes (which at least thankfully doesn't further downgrade the increasingly weak Tour de France roster, as I believe he was planning to ride elsewhere for even more embarrassing sums of cash.) And our pal Eddy Mazzoleni? Yes, Astana and its Tour squad takes another whack, as he too gets called on the CONI carpet for having the breathtaking lack of discretion to text the same doc about his doping needs. Y'know, eventually Astana's just gonna run out of firepower here, which if crap luck for Vinokorouv at least raises the possibility that someone else might get within half an hour of the podium at the Tour (lame as that race will be, at this rate). Your one-team antidoping crusade is going great, Vino!

Monday, Monday: well, it's not like Alessandro Petacchi's got anything else to do next week, like, say, train for the Tour, which is lucky cause he gets to spend all next Monday answering questions about the same Therapeutic Use Exemption that UCI has been all to happy to grant him and every other rider who gacks up a polite cough for the officials like so much sprinkled fairy dust. Y'know, I have limited sympathy for dopers, particularly the wah-wahing "I'm sorry I was caught with a needle in my @#$" types (you know who you are!), but given that the date of the Tour de France isn't exactly a big freakin' mystery, and, for example, the Mazzoleni scandal has been lying around gathering dust for 3 years now, might the prosecutors and assorted cycling feds try getting in gear a reasonable period ahead of time so that at least the riders know if they oughta be training for a post-stage-win podium-babe-infused champagne spray, or sitting at home in front of the TV in a funk scarfing beer and frantically consulting their lawyers?

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