Yep, You Read Right: well folks, the sun's nearly set on a lively 2007, so I thought that, for the two pro cycling fans still left after our latest year of disgusting revelations, we'd all take a nice, relaxing look ahead to what's sure to be a sparkling-clean 2008:
January: the boys stretch their legs and get working on their base tans at the Tour Down Under, except for the hardcore crowd over at CSC, which gets dropped in the Antarctic in their summer team kits with only an ice ax, a two-foot nylon fishing line, and a matchstick-length bit of medium-gauge wire to survive on. Bjarne smirks at shivering ice-rimmed helmet-cam coverage from palatial beachside cabana in Monaco.
February: woo-hoo, it's the Amgen EPO Tour of California! Levi set to take the win til Johan Bruyneel makes him personally pedal Alberto Contador up the mountains on the back of his bike in a child seat. Foiled again!
March: Gearing up for the Classics, baby! Breakaways Boonen Zabel and Petacchi stuck behind passing train at crossing; enraged Petacchi punches hole through freight car, egress gained. Back in the pack, George Hincapie's bike spontaneously combusts.
April: Iban Mayo's 367th straight B sample analyzed at Chatenay-Malabry finally comes back poz. Spanish authorities, still too busy man-crushing on certain Op Puerto-implicated favorites to complain to UCI, personally tar and feather him.
May: Il Grande Giro! Bettini pulverizes rivals; DiLuca climbs Pyrenees in 6.8 seconds, only to be demolished by rebellious domestique Savoldelli on descent; Simoni bids discreet goodbye to peloton by viciously impugning the manhood of whoever beats him to Pampeago; Edita Pucinskaite, Nicole Brandli 1st and 2nd at Giro d'Italia Femminile for 3d year in a row, exchange warm compliments.
June: Entire population of Belgium and Germany tests poz for exogenous testosterone; Pat "Dick" McQuaid immediately blames Spanish-Italian "mafia nations." Valverde, you cheating bastard! Results of Landis' unsuccessful appeal announced in predictable total farce; on the plus side, 80 years into this ridiculous travesty, Landis now eligible for Social Security due to advancing age.
July: Le Tour, what else? UCI allows 186 known dopers to start; after stripping rightful winner of maillot jaune on penultimate day, UCI awards to we love Phil Liggett, the only guy they're sure is clean. In non-Tour news, obscure Portuguese neo-pro tests poz for EPO; St. David Millar hospitalized for chronic sobbing, miraculously cured when cameras banned from ER.
August: the most beautiful Vuelta in years begins; no-one knows who wins it, though, as US coverage preempted by 21 consecutive days of round-the-clock bass-fishing. You blow, Vs.! Bettini takes gold in Beijing; WADA chief accidentally trampled flat by exuberant squadra azzura.
September: he's baaaaaa-aaacccck! Italians cut one month off comely studmuffin Ivan Basso's suspension for good behavior just in time for Worlds, erect giant golden winged statue of him in Verona; Basso snorts white powder openly at start line, takes race; in response to McQuaid's typical whining objections, tifosi riot, destroy UCI headquarters on grounds that any idiot knows that cane sugar's not a banned pre-race performance-enhancer. In other Worlds news, Robbie "Road Rage" McEwen suspended 3 months for chewing Daniele Bennati's earlobe off in sprint altercation.
October: UCI ProTour rankings released. Cadel Evans snakes UCI title off Danilo DiLuca on crap technicality for second straight year, offered 1 million euro to stay at Predictor for next year; Marianne Vos takes second consecutive UCI title in own right, offered 25,000 euro for 1-year DSB team gig and supplemental survival job as greeter at local Wal-Mart.
November: Erik Zabel, age 96, sweeps World Cup in all categories; Johan Bruyneel re-hires repentant Basso, creating perfect-storm screw-over trifecta of Leipheimer, Kloden and Contador; Landis finally caves, ostentatiously wah-wah's fake confession to press despite actual innocence; T-Mobile immediately reconstitutes itself, gives Landis sickeningly lucrative gig as Directeur Sportif.
December: Team camps again! Liquigas takes to the mineral baths; Astana to Elizabeth Arden for mani-pedis; remaining CSC riders tragically eaten by bears in wilderness.
Well, folks, only time will tell--but if *I* were CSC, I'd watch out carefully for renegade wildlife. Allez allez!