Ulle Aboard!

Let's Make a Deal: so, Jan Ullrich has officially missed out on the fine all-wood dining set and custom shag carpeting behind Curtain Number One, and is going home instead with the wacky billy goat behind Curtain Number 2, as the German prosecutors announce that Jan's fraud investigation will be closed in exchange for a monster-euro fine and, for a consolation prize, no admission by the boy of any chemical hijinks in connection with Op Puerto or anytime else whatsoever. To top it off, the poor sod's lost yet another sponsorship deal on the petty grounds that he's not a good example for sportsmanship, which can hopefully yet be remedied (and his bank account replenished) by a name-naming tell-all book, a tearful on-air confession, and some repentant charity work for the tykes. Hope you managed your obscene paychecks well enough to avoid that horrid scenario Jan!

And the Pulitzer Goes To: yep, the Boston Globe Magazine, for its astonishingly ditzbaggian mini-interview with Lance Armstrong which, in its references to his too-cool-for-school friendships with babelicious Matthew McConaughey and rather higher-rent Sidney Poitier, displayed all the dazzling journalistic virtuousity of a a Teen People profile. Oh, he got a quote in about holding everyone else accountable for doping, and ruminated on his fascinating training for the upcoming Boston Marathon, and on the whole I oughta be grateful that the Globe even figured out for that reason alone that the boy exists, but man, why bother you clowns?

Boonen Bounces Back: first, a massive admiring shout-out to my Aussie readers, bacause Stewie O'Grady absolutely kicks @#$ over virtually everyone else in the peloton. Watch and learn, Cadel you crawler! Anyway, while I was sorry to see Ballan inevitably take third after Boonen and Cancellara at Paris-Roubaix, if for no other reason that he was absolutely guaranteed no chance of winning with those boys' desperation in the mix, I have to say it's been at least a year since the comely press-smacked Boonen has blasted out such a magnificent sprint. Still, it would've been interesting to see what would've happened if Pozzato and Flecha hadn't crashed, but then, that's the gore and glory of Roubaix. Allez allez Stewie, and don't give up hope for next year!

With Friends Like That, Who Needs Frenemies?: didja ever have the kind of beloved if inadvertently horned acid-spitting demon of a pal or loved one who always has the Exact Worst Timing In All Human History, like the champ who decides that 11pm the night before her wedding is a great time to bang back a foursome of that potent, trendy new cocktail she's been hearing about, or the roomie who suddenly harangues you with some trivial bull!@#$ war-of-the-worlds over doing the dishes 200 meters from the line of a race you've been glommed on like a leech for six straight hours, or the decrepit if dear relative who always calls you right when you're, well, exceedingly otherwise occupied? If so, you're a damn near clone of the luckless George Hincapie, who continues his losing battle with the Satan's army of mechanical !@#$ups with a craptacularly timed flat at 56 k to go. Perhaps you might get a vaguely compensatory chance in the Ardennes--after all, Bettini's knocked out with a busted rib, though that didn't stop him in last year's Giro--dammit, you're hosed again!

Vuelta a Pais !@#$ You, ASO!: finally, congrats to baby savant Alberto Contador on his continued dope-slap to the Tour de France organizers by his smashing wins at the Tour of the Basque Country, with even the Tour-focused recently-dethroned Little Prince Damiano Cunego taking a stage and even better, a day's race yesterday. Don't feel so bad Alberto--with Sanchez Cunego and that twerp Menchov all focused on France, at least the Vuelta's yours if Zubeldia doesn't have strength enough left totake you out!