Climb Every Mountain...

...Kick Ricco's !@#: okay, as usual I'm fruitlessly rooting for the guys who'll inevitably blow, but I cannot help but sincerely hope that, as any remaining weaklings get spit out the back of the peloton like gummy two-wheeled loogies, aged-like-a-fine-cheese-we-love-smack-talkin'-2x-Giro-god-supreme-Oscar-the-grouch-whiner Gilberto Simoni, having mentored Riccardo Ricco' to such clearly smashing effect last season at Saunier Duval (though as Ivan "Basso Non E' Uomo" Basso can tell you, the obnoxious youngster quite lacks Gibo's suave way with an insult), utterly kicks the boy's arrogant ungrateful scrawny !@# in the mountains, particularly the Marmolada. Of course, I'd settle nearly as happily for Gibo humiliating Di Luca, but as Ricco' has by far the stronger team (especially with Leonardo "Salbutamol" Piepoli on hand), that just seems unsportsmanlike. (Gaaaaaassssp--is that the base of the Fedaia? I feel an asthma attack coming on! Totally legitimately, of course.) Meantime, I'd just as dearly love to see everybody's perpetual !@#$$% Andreas Kloden take it, since if he's no friend to the Italian peloton as a whole he's at least fond of the cuisine, but since I presume he'll be horsewhipped into serving Contador (who, breaking ranks with his usual equanimity, finally snarked back at Ricco' for his beach-beer-'n'-doping-implications by saying he's not afraid of him, but does fear Simoni, which naturally earns him massive points in my eyes), one can also reasonably assume he's totally hosed as usual. Forza Gilberto and Klodi!

Sunshine On My Shoulders Makes Me Happy: and it's too damn bad there's barely been any in Italy this month, as the grimly impressive Giro body count continues to mount and it becomes ever harder to find a rider in or out of the field who doesn't have a fractured wrist or elbow or a gory chunk torn out of his team kit. It's tough to pity anyone wearing the maglia rosa in the most beautiful race on earth (outside perhaps the Vuelta, natch), but was I the only one grimacing the last few days when poor dented Visconti limped so gingerly about the podium? Please, weather gods, let this Giro be won by honest (hah!), leg-to-leg combat--not the crash-driven vagaries of good luck and bad landings!

Mo'Letta Blues: and, the denials are flying fast and thick today, with Andrea's angry dad swearing there's no Viagra tablets anywhere (a dispute one could foreseeably resolve by taking one and, well, waiting), the mystery liquids with Andrea's name on 'em were mineral water, and the syringes were for his personal use, one imagines because it takes a massive injection of performance-enhancing drugs to control the raging beast that is a two-horsepower Italian minicar. Andrea himself seems more than irked, denying he's done anything wrong or was going to, but unless Dad's willing to take the hit for the Viagra, he's gonna have quite the trouble I believe pinning that one on Grandma...oh, just own it Andrea, and go with the "podium babes" defense--everyone'll understand if you're a bit tired after 6 hours a day in the bike saddle!

Tour de Give It Back to Rightful Owner Rasmussen Dammit!: so I see Michael "I Was !@#$%^!" Rasmussen finally headed to court to demand the millions of euros the spineless hypocrite pimp-weasels over at Rabobank wussed him out of, as they (and UCI, who also deserve to be sued, those punks) knew full well the Chicken wasn't where he told UCI'd be during his accidentally missed pre-race doping controls and still happily let him flash his garish Rabobank outfit and maillot jaune all over the Tour de France 'til ASO discovered the deceit and ignominiously tossed the team out of the race. I understand if he'd actually *lied* to you, Rabobank--but you took advantage, you got busted, cut the crap with the wah-wah-I'm-so-remorseful St. David Millar profit-driven crocodile tears already!

Update Quote O' The Day: "I was the first to attack. We were a bunch of sheep today, not a pack of lions." ---Who else? Vai Gibo!