Leip of Faith

Thor of California: so even with the great Dave Zabriskie on his tail, Leipheimer's just unbeatable, but for my money the most bitchin' aspect of the race this year has actually been the sprints, and while it's nice Cav's snagged his stages and all, it's big lug we love Thor Hushovd's win with his spankin' new, untested, and unexpectedly smashing lead-out train that's the revelation of the ToC. Be honest--did any of you expect an entire squad o' new mates over at Cervelo to gel this quickly? Woo-hoo Thor! On a sadder note, I *know* he's gotten all Ward Cleaver responsible and serious of late, and that's a good thing for any wayward reckless Tour-banned babe-snackin' party-boy-o'-the-past to be. But WTF is going on with Tom Boonen this week--am I the only one thinking he just had that extra little motivating joie de vivre heading up to the finish line when he was indulging in the midnight happy dust? Oh sure, like it's worse than what 90% of the peloton is doing--anyone know of a good party tonight to get our boy back on form? Oh, and Rosemary--I'm jealous!

Ivana Go Home: meantime, it's been a miserable race for half the guys using sunny California as a training ground, with Freire and Kirchen already jacked for the season, buckets of Americans out hosed with injuries, don't even get me started on poor Landis, and, worst of all, Ivan Basso gone after he smashed his kneecap on his handlebars when his chain blew apart scouting the time trial course. Still, to the delight of his endless tifosi, he's confident it won't affect his Giro, so it still oughta be between him and Armstrong in May, that is if Lance isn't really hell-bent on crushing Alberto Contador like a malaria-plagued mosquito in July instead. Keep dreamin' Alberto, it can't hurt you're training so hard anyway since Johan's gonna make you domestique for you-know-who!

Cuz You're Filthy/Ooooo And I'm Gorgeous: and, as the breathless day-by-day countdown to the 100th Giro continues, the Italian GC contenders have pleasingly let loose on each other already, with Di Luca dismissing Cunego as a has-been-never-was Grand Tour wannabe, Cunego implying Basso's a lying obfuscating drug-sucking weasel, Basso protesting his blood values are clean as a whistle, and peerless snipemeister Simoni, wonder of wonders, content so far to merely watch the lot of his countrymen eat their young. Now, I appreciate a pack of sissified oral slapfights as much as any other low-class muckracker, but really, why not cut to the chase--we'll stick you all in a coliseum full of half-starved lions armed with maybe some bike pumps and a couple of brake cables, and see which of you *really* has the endurance and tactical savvy to survive a sustained attack. Hey, easier than that loooong Giro time trial'll be for some of you, right?

Dia de los Muertos: okay, one muerto anyway, as the triumphant Italian narcs announce that they've definitively linked Alejandro "I Can't Believe I Got Away With It For This Long" Valverde's DNA to blood bag no. 18, "Valv. Piti" in Dr. Fuentes' ample stash (huge points to cyclingnews.com for discreetly, and hilariously, noting that Valverde continues to deny any link to the blood "notwithstanding the clear similarities to his surname plus the fact that he has a dog named Piti."), and the Roman authorities, not to be outdone, begin a criminal investigation. Anyone else remember Ivan "Birillo Is Not My Dog" Basso's attorney defending his client on the grounds that he'd personally observed Ivan's toddler daughter calling the family pup by a different name entirely? Anywho, as to the indignant howls of the ruthless Spanish protectionists, I mean crack wholly objective prosecutors, that the Italians have no right to go after their innocent icon? Well, as the Italians pointed out, if they don't like it, there are a good 80 other local sporting heroes to go after, and so far as I can tell, with the Italians naturally invested in not having the also-implicated Giro winner/all-around-angel Alberto Contador besmirch their own Grand Tour, the Spaniards oughta count themselves damn lucky they ain't going after their beloved baby Indurain as well. Cut your losses while you're ahead, boys--don't worry, even with being so busy kissing Armstrong's rump, Johan's not gonna let his newest cash cow go down without a fight!