Thank You, World o' Cycling!

Yes, folks, as we celebrate this fourth Thursday in November the Native Americans' generous rescue of the Pilgrims from starvation, and the Pilgrims' even more generous thank-you of population-decimating pestilence and racist genocide, by gorging ourselves into L-tryptophan stupors, engaging in internecine warfare with those wingnut relatives we otherwise manage to avoid all year, watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in the fervent if secret hope that the Spongebob Squarepants balloon breaks free of its tethers and squashes half of Fifth Avenue, and lumping on the couch while giant overpaid neckless lunkheads pound each other into Astroturf, it's time we here at racejunkie give sincere and heartfelt thanks for the many wonderful things cycling has brought to us all this year, namely:

1. Alexander Vinokourov. Crazed? Yep. Disreputable? Hell yeah! But one thing you can always count on with Vino, besides his having a permanent IV port installed in his !@#, is--from his total lack of remorse, to his forcible restraint of dimmer child Alberto Contador--entertainment. Come on, was it half so much fun when that wah-wah snivel-baby David Millar came back from *his* doping ban?

2. The Return of Lance Armstrong. No, I'm serious: because what else was there for the media to cover at the Tour de France this year except BEN !@#$ING STILLER SITTING ON LANCE'S BIKE FOR TEN SECONDS? I'm grateful. Truly. Damn, and we wonder why the French are so whiny?

3. Stuey O'Grady and Jens Voigt. Run 'em over with buses, toss 'em off a mountainside, immolate 'em with a blowtorch and stampede 'em with wildebeests--you *know* these boys are gonna bounce right back and, what's more, still finish the stage. Yap, I snapped my collarbone, yap--come back to us when you've *really* hurt yerself, ya weenie!

4. Holy crap we love Samuel Sanchez is still the Olympic gold medalist!

5. Alberto Contador. Those long-lashed, doe-like eyes. That flashing smile. And such a matchless sense of entitlement melded with such an overweening lack of common sense as to make one swoon. Oh, Alberto, make that pistol-shot gesture just one more time, for me!

6. My Faithful Reader(s). Who else would slag me in all-caps all July for being a talentless Lance-ignorant know-nothing moron, generally excoriate me as a humor-impaired dirt-dumb twit, forgive my indefensible indulgence of (wholly innocent and egregiously railroaded) dopers I favor, provoke such lively debate over tactics and team rosters, or gush so eloquently over certain monster-talented and totally coincidentally man-candian sprinters? Haters (and I do treasure you), thy name is Anonymous!

7. The Return of the Disgraced Italians. Because without Di Luca, Ricco', and Sella in the peloton, how else are you gonna get through some boring-ass 6-hour mountain stage in 1.5 hours flat?

8. Tom Boonen. His DS said go to rehab, and he said yes, yes, yes. God love 'im, the boy hasn't drunk himself into a blackout snorted a pound of coke publicly hoed on his girlfriend and wrapped his Lamborghini around a road sign in months. We're all *so* proud of you, Tom!

9. Cav. Oh, those teeth. Those quads. That attitude. And of course, the fact that Thor Hushovd can *still* crush his sorry rump in a sprint. Just keep on braggin', honey!

10. Last but Not Least, Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen. Gods. Just gods. On your knees before them, peon!

Well, them's the big ones for me, folks--I'm sure for all of us this precious holiday season, the list o' gratitude towards this glorious cesspool of a soap-opera-on-wheels goes on and on. Happy Thanksgiving to all--and don't forget the 2010 Tour when you're breakin' that wishbone!