Levi Leipheimer is Scr#wed!

Road Rage: all right, I've been phenomenally lame in keeping our dear newbies in particular up to speed on this year's Giro, unlike, say, for my brothers, who are force-fed humungous updates and previews every morning like geese on the fast-track to fine pate'. And because I love our newbies so, I will stop pointing out for the next whole thirty seconds that the mountain stages of this race have been utterly Tourified and ergo wussified for Lance Armstrong's selfish piglike undeserving sake. So let's review the state of play: yes, the great Levi Leipheimer is completely screwed. First, superdomestique-o'-the-gods Chris Horner pops a muscle after a crash that takes him--and likely Levi's maglia rosa hopes--out of the Giro. Second, some nimrod drops a water bottle right in front of our boy at the feed zone and leaves him half-skinned for the time trial tomorrow--not deadly, and certainly nothing new for these boys, but hardly optimal. Sure, Levi's got the hideous ego-on-wheels that is Lance, who (1) has barely ridden for anyone else in his life and (2) until yesterday could barely even keep the pace much less set it for someone else consistently, and there's Chechu, who of course can do no wrong--but am I the only one besides Cadel Evans who remembers the colossal disappointment that was Popovych in last year's Tour? Speaking of which, we all know you're completely jacked for that, especially if they have one less !@#$% for Lance with Klodi's probs, and if you think Contador's not gonna all of a sudden want the Vuelta after that debacle, you've already taken too many narcotics to dull the pain. Oh, Levi, how could you have ever trusted that wank Johan after the first time he jacked you over for Basso?

Angel Is the Centrifuge: and, no word yet as to who the lucky riders are who got to play with esteemed drug freaks Bernard Kohl and Michael Rasmussen's handy blood-doping centrifuge, though I imagine, if the boys had any sense, that they at least wouldn't've helped stoke their immediate rivals. Then again, perhaps I'm giving 'em too much credit. Of course, at least the cyclists get credit for dignity, tho' not for their superior scumlordliness, as I see a bunch of Belgian bodybuilders scattered like teens from open beer cans from *their* narcs, whereas at least the cyclists'll at least stick around for the test then run crying to their lawyers afterwards. Geez, you guys are supposed to be so big and tough--*must* you be such scaredycats?

Pink/It Was Love At First Sight: okay. Il Killer is good. Very good. But he's also got a disconcerting history cavorting with suspect doctors, being caught on audio discussing dope, and, most surprisingly, of turning up at post-stage doping controls with the testosterone levels of Strawberry Shortcake. Not to cast any aspersions on the boy, but be honest--am I the only one thinkin' Danilo Di Luca's doing just a little *too* well this race? Don't take my miserable jaded word for it--look at this photo of him crossing the line yesterday, and judge for yerself!

And dammit Simoni--I know this whole course blows for you--suck it up and get it together already! Oh, well, at least you won't lose *too* much time at the crono tomorrow--damn, now I've gone and cursed him!

The Days of Aude Lang Syne: meantime, is there any top racer in the world who *isn't* at the Tour de l'Aude? Teutenberg, Vos, Armstrong, Cooke, all whomping on each other like drunken soccer hooligans--aside from, well, the near-total lack of media coverage, and the fact that they get paid less than the disgruntled dropout who spits in your fries on the overnight shift at the local ScuzzBurger, what's not to like?

Enjoy It While It Lasts, Honey: finally, yes, I *did* notice that we love Thor Hushovd kicked !@# for the second straight year in a row at the time trial at the Volta a Cataluyna (woo-hoo!), and yes, I *do* hope smug dog-defaming narc-evading weasel (and all-around good guy) Alejandro "Piti" Valverde doesn't mind stickin' around the home front, because it's still theoretically possible anyway that despite UCI's notorious spinelessness and inability to read an Op Puerto file they've had for three years now they really will get around to, as they promise, mildly objecting to his presence in every race on the planet sometime before the boy not only retires from the sport but before he's 4 million years fossilized into a spindly skeleton with a plastic IV port still stickin' out of the rock. Somehow, Alejandro, I think that so long as you stay the hell out of Italy, you've got nothing to fear!