Hush, Hush: so it's been several days since the Kazakhs' cheery "Your !@# Is *Mine*!" press release over at Astana, and so far there's no response whatsoever coming from the Contador camp, at least not from Alberto's website, his fan page, his Facebook page, or the English- or Italian-speaking press that I can find. Note to Alberto: even if you're off at some secret Swiss clinic getting extensive plastic surgery to mask your identity, your climbing style is *still* gonna give you away to those thugs. Oh, well, kid--you can always use some of that fat Tour de France prize money to bribe, I mean buy, 'em out of your contract! Though I've heard the misty mountains of Kazakhstan are quite gloriously beautiful during training camp season...
Well He's Movin' on Up/Movin' on Up: yep, just look at how lovable Belgian coke-snarfin' car-crashin' club-hoppin' stranger-slurpin' moppet Tom Boonen is coming along since his miserably colon-blown Tour de France--two great finishes (if not quite wins--maybe he oughta rethink swearing *totally* off the blow...) at Eneco in two days! Holy moly, we might actually have some serious sprint action in the Vuelta from our prodigal son--allez Tom, and don't you !@#$ that beautiful race *up* you big doofus! Speaking of Eneco, despite Tyler Farrar's smashing performance, is anyone else thinking things just aren't the same without the verbal and combat stylings of endlessly pissy smack-talker Robbie "Head-butt" McEwen? Get well soon Robbie--with we love Gilberto Simoni now keeping his head down, and Armstrong and Contador just whining like two of those heinous invisible bastard mosquitoes that swoop around you at an unbearable pitch but you can't ever whack then you wake up in the morning covered with giant itchy miserable welts til you want to shriek with agony and claw your skin off, there's no one of your caliber left worth watching at the ol' post-race press crush right now!
Greg LeMond's War: 3-time Tour de France winner. Survivor of a freak hunting accident. Unfortunate part of a particularly ugly episode in the Floyd Landis trial. And most recently, best known for his endless litigation with his ol' bike company and for shrieking-wingnut (if likely correct) stalker outbursts against BFF Lance Armstrong at press conferences. But on a serious note, gazzetta dello sport, oddly enough, has a piece on Greg LeMond's latest work as spokesman for 1 in 6, an organization dedicated to working with men who, as he was, were sexually abused as children. You can fault LeMond for a hell of a lot, and folks sure do, but, as even the tifosi admiringly point out, this ain't it. Keep it up Greg--you're spot on, and much needed, on this one!
Rock'n'Roll: speaking of blasts from the past, or at least the sort of past that involves blood bags, centrifuges, and enough dope to fuel the Italians for a good ten years, I see our old buds Oscar Sevilla and Francisco Mancebo are whomping the field for Rock Racing, which means that drug-skank apologist-to-the-stars Michael Ball must've somehow started convincing folks to fork over $250 for faux-distressed poseur hipster jeans again. Glad to hear the economy's picking up--anyone else want to place bets on which is the next Rock rider to go down in a scandal again? Oh right, that's all in the *past*...these guys can't afford the good !@#$ anymore!
Oh, the Shark, Babe/Has Such Teeth, Dear/And It Shows Them/Pearly White (Gratuitous Mark Cavendish Compliment o' the Post): sure, he rides pretty fast. And the rumor mill sez he's even been known to win a sprint once in a while. But what's really struck me about Cav this week (at least til he hits the road again at the Tour of Ireland) is how very, very big'n'Hollywood his grin-o'-triumph is as he crosses the line, particularly against his high-contrast yellow-and-black Columbia team kit. Whew. Can I go back to dope-slapping him for what comes out of that mouth yet?