All Hell's Broken Loose!

No, Not Armstrong: jeez, you take a few days off during a sprint-contaminated Vuelta and all hell breaks loose--Cunego actually wins his first Grand Tour stage since he bushwhacked Gilberto Simoni at the Giro as an infant, both the Schlecks collapse, Alejandro Valverde of all people pulls it together for more than a stage at a time, now even the stolid Cadel Evans is Robbie McEwen-ing the harmless Robert Gesink right in the guts--what's next, Basso taking GC? And yes, you can all just bite me, because despite his current lack of the maglia d'oro the wily Samu Sanchez is clearly just saving his energy for more profitable all-peloton smackdowns in later stages. Venga Samu--and don't get too comfortable in that golden jersey Valverde you punk!

Eat Hot Melted Tire Tracks, Cav!: and, I was going to say something perhaps somewhat south of diplomatic about the Manxman's spectacular defeat at the hands (well, legs) of we love Thor Hushovd, but let's just roll the tape, baby: Woo-hoo Thor!

No Freire!: so speaking of Cavendish (and there's a link here, trust me), I still haven't gotten over master tactician/peloton overlord Paolo Bettini retiring (though happily, he will apparently be co-directing the squadra azzurra at the Worlds) and now freakin' Oscar Freire is calling it quits?! Luckily, it's after the end of next season, as he wants to retire as reigning world champion, plus he did manage to save me from utter despair when he basically went off on certain racers (see, I told you there was a link) for being talentless robot lead-out-suckin' wuss-weenies who can't win a sprint without being forcibly yanked to the line like a dimwitted (if fleet-footed) donkey. Oh, Oscar--could it be *possible* to love you even more? I swear, when we love Jens retires, all we're gonna have left are a pack of whining scrawny prima donna climbers and muscle-bound sprint knuckleheads with no politesse whatsoever. Dag nabit!

Lament of the Big Man on Campus: oh, how hard to be the high-school quarterback pursued by the head cheerleader, the class slut, the homecoming queen *and* the freshman hottie all at once--just ask Alberto Contador, being chased by Caisse d'Epargne, Astana, Quick Step *and* Garmin! Of course, being in the family way with Astana already, he's somewhat hamstrung at the moment--but surely it's nothing his mommy and daddy can't weasel him out of with a big fat payo--I mean contract buyout--to team management, right? Good luck honey--it ain't easy being BMOC!

Faster Than a Speeding Doper: and finally, what gives with this rumor that Rock "I Heart Druggies" Racing's gonna debut a new line of bikes at Interbike later this month? Let's review, shall we? Unbearable egomaniac Michael "Style Over Substance" Ball, purveyor of ungodly-overpriced poseur hipster denim, hires a huge number of instantly-recognizable name-brand cheat-wanks on the wholly noble grounds that anyone who soulfully keeps denying they did what they did surely deserves a second (third, fourth, whateva) chance for their unrepentance. Then, he completely justifies the gracious forgiveness and moral purity of that decision with the inarguable exclamation point of a bitchin' acid-toned flaming-skull team kit. Last, he *really* buttresses his cred by !@#$ing over the great Fast Freddy Rodriguez, abandoning the first guy on his squad who tests poz on his watch and could actually use some redemption, and, icing on the cake, demoting until recently the impressive talent Rahsaan Bahati from full-fledged team player to underemployed amateur sock-washer. So now he's got the time, effort, and obscene amount of cash necessary to shove out a new line of incredibly expensive (and cool-lookin'! really cool-lookin'!) bikes? Give that poor traumatized boy a raise instead, you cheapskate!