Aw, Rats!: y'know, it's lucky I'm naturally fair and unbiased, as well as a good sport, 'cause otherwise I'd be wrongly accusing wholly innocent Denis Menchov of surreptitiously implanting a discreet tiny motor in his !@# which of course must be the only explanation for why Carlos came in a minute 25 back on him Tuesday. That, or quiet Carlos as usual is planning to whomp him senseless in the third week while Menchov plods along in the happy delusion he won't get unexpectedly nut-kneed on the penultimate day. Allez allez Carlos--and take that Cervelo' for dissing 'im!
What Goes Up, Must Come Down (Well, Actually the Reverse I Suppose): meantime, continued well wishes to sensitive speedster Cav's sadly heat-wrenched guts, if for no other reason that he can be confident next time he gets beaten that he really deserves to get beaten, and here's hoping for a fast return to health for fine Brit team Sky, likewise taken out by its own team-wide gackfest, 'cause a race with half the peloton clutching their roiling stomachs and crying into their pillows in agony, honey, ain't no race at all. Aw, guys, didn't anyone ever *tell* you to skip the ceviche when it's 98 degrees out? Here, let me get you some nice flat ginger ale and a little piece of white toast (no butter) instead...I'll turn on "Jersey Shore" on TV for you, too....
Medic!: finally, don't panic everyone--doe-eyed cutie Alberto Contador is okay--he fell on his *knee* during training, not his "pistolero" finger. Whew, thank heavens--a day without that pistolero gesture is like a day without being eaten alive by rabid foaming wolverines! Wait, I don't think I got that last one quite right...
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