Sunday, August 22, 2010

Free Robbie McEwen!; and, Postal Circles the Wagons

Let "Head-Butt" Ride, Australia!: okay, in cyclist years, Robbie McEwen's an actual, clinical linen-wrapped, dessicated, pyramid-entombed mummy. And thanks to a bunch of crap injuries, and the natural change in form that may accompany eligibility for National Historic Landmark status, our angsty boy hasn't exactly had the best season--until now, when it counts. So why the hell didn't the Aussies pick Robbie for the Worlds !@#dammit? Yes, Australia's got a hell of a field to choose from, and on their home turf no less. But with Robbie coming in to great shape at last, his incredible toughness and tenacity--and, more importantly one would think from your end, his documented propensity for unpredictable physical violence--what the !@#% is wrong with you Australia?! Free Robbie, you twisted ungrateful soulless freaks!

He's Baaa-aaack!: yes, in a blast from the past, ONCE/Liberty Seguros impresario Manolo Saiz, who if I recall correctly was totally coincidentally busted in Op Puerto having an espresso and a suitcase full o' tens of thousands of euros (for the espresso bill, no doubt) with Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno the Male Stars" Fuentes, is indeed, as cyclingnews reports, back in action and lookin' to dru--I mean, start a new squad in Asia, with a particular--and really, just heartbreakingly emotionally touching--focus on "rider development." And while I admit I'm rather baffled as to all the article and reader comment references to 'puff pastry,' I'm sure it's not some kind of pervert code for 'homologous blood doping.' Anyway, watch out for those mystery skin patches, kids--and ya never know when you're gonna have to testify under oath about yer funny-lookin' 'Flintstones vitamins'!

Spin Doctors: meanwhile, you know things are lookin' bad when Lance Armstrong has to hire an even huger PR slut to supplement his existing stable of hired legal, PR, and general damage-control goons, and, with poor knee-whacked George Hincapie doing the same, one must ask this crucial question of Lance--no, not did you dope, like everyone doesn't already assume *that* you silly child, and no, how does it feel to know that your insatiable ego's inability to let go of the spotlight for 10 freakin' minutes completely destroyed your impeccable (and, to be fair, well-earned) rep as the tough-as-naiils noble golden-boy of comebacks 'n' Tour wins as you finally retired in ignominy whining about your hip when half the peloton is finished the Tour in full-body casts this year--but, as everyone who ever rode for you gets called in by the feds with their dreams of trial-of-the-century glory, and has to consider the relative value of tarnishing their own humbler reputations even further, committing perjury, or protecting your sorry ungrateful !@#, aren't you *just* wondering the *tiniest*, least bit in the back of your narcissistic mind whether it mightn't have paid off for you to have treated your submissive spirit-crushed domestiques just the *wee-est* bit better back in the day? I know I am--karma, baby!

Musical Bikes: finally, transfer season continues hot'n'heavy in the peloton, and while I'm deeply grateful to dear Anonymous for clarifying that Thor Hushovd wasn't *quite* the vicious ass-hat about Carlos Sastre's recent performance as it had earlier seemed--in no small part because, had I been forced to challenge Thor to a duel over Carlos' honor, I'm still fairly certain that despite my deadly freshman-year fencing prowess and astonishing valuable back-up ability to scurry beneath the big lug's legs in retreat like a cowardly garbage-thieving rat, he would still have kicked my butt--I remain abjectly horrified that now 2008 TOUR CHAMP FOR HECK's SAKE Sastre is under the thumb of that stealth Samu-Sanchez-screwing and Vuelta-snakin' podium wanker Denis Menchov, which means, I imagine, that Carlos is gonna get the Giro, and Menchov'll get the Tour and, if he wants it, Carlos' hometown Vuelta. Geez, Geox, kick the guy in the package while you're signing him whydon'tcha--Carlos, don't take any crap from that commie punk, only one of ya has worn yellow in Paris and it ain't him!

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