Yeah, You Heard Me: well, folks, it's darned near the end of 2010, and while the Spaniards've still got a handful of days left to test positive for something new and dazzling and Johan Bruyneel has plenty of time left this year to jack over Levi Leipheimer, I say let's take a preemptive look ahead to what is sure to be a thrilling, inspiring, and periodically slime-ridden 2011! Ergo, yer Year in Preview:
January: team-camp wrap-up! Team Schleck bags backwoods-survivalist Saxo Bank bull!@#$, heads to luxury beachside spa for facials, hot-rock massages and manscaping; Landis appears at Tour Down Under to accuse Armstrong, kicked senseless by specially-trained kangaroo posse mysteriously let loose in his hotel room; Contador found guilty of doping, Spaniards punish severely as promised by overthrowing parliament, King Juan Carlos, installing Alberto as absolute dictator, and decreeing him winner of next 13 Tours de France. It's good to be the King!
February: Boonen decides this martyr crap isn't working, hits dance clubs with sycophants and pile of blow, takes Tour of Qatar by 23 minutes. Woo-hoo, let's party (again)!; Christian Vande Velde severely injures arm in freak Valentine-making mishap; Jens Voigt attacks on team training ride in Luxembourg, becomes first man to reach lunar orbit on bicycle using Mount Everest as launch ramp.
March: time for the Classics, baby! Alberto Contador wins Paris-Nice again, nearly disqualified after doping poz til cleared when Bjarne Riis comes up with prescription refi--um, receipt for tainted Altoids; Cavendish snags Milano-Sanremo after grabbing entire sprinter field by their jerseys with his teeth and flinging into barriers. Aw, not again!
April: oh, yeah, it's the Hell of the North, honey! Tommeke gets wasted, smashes new Ferrari into stop sign, wins Paris-Roubaix next morning; Vande Velde goes on mellow Sunday-morning ride with fan club, has no mishaps whatsoever, still busts tibia and sustains severe road rash; Cancellara takes Flanders again by 2-year margin, denies that bionic leg exposed by wires sticking out of knee counts as "bike" doping.
May: it's the Giro d'Italia, baby! Organizers round up a handful of neighborhood kids to ride it since everyone else is either riding the Amgen EPO You Suck You Race-Screwing Dirtbags Tour of California or saving selves for Tour; Vande Velde gets up to go to bathroom in middle of the night, whangs into doorway, breaks nose, wins Giro anyway when entire podium bails on last day to go play Legos.
June: time for pre-Tour doping controls! 182 riders fail biological passport, cleared to ride as Pat "Dick" McQuaid totally coincidentally vacationing in Amazon jungle with no cellphone coverage; Vande Velde reaches into fridge for grape jelly, breaks bone in thumb; Vinokourov trains for Tour by whacking own teammates off treacherous Alpine switchbacks, forced to hire remaining Team Pegasus riders as unsuspecting last-minute replacements.
July: what else? it's the Tour de France! Boonen goes to rave, ingests 46 tabs of acid, wins 6 consecutive sprints and green points jersey in Paris; Dave Zabriskie debuts new "ZZ Top" facial hair, brings down entire squad in team time trial just meters from line when beard catches in Hesjedal's derailleur; Andy Schleck smashes Contador's bike into pieces with pedal wrench during nature break, pair arrested by gendarmes for too-lurid post-race make-up.
August: yeah, baby, it's the 2011 Vuelta a Espana! Oh, !@#$ you buddy, you've *gotta*'ve heard of it by now; Robbie McEwen takes all mountain stages in shock triumph over Igor Anton, refused spot on Aussie Worlds squad on grounds he's a "pansy"; Andy Schleck mistakenly kicks self and Stuey O'Grady off squad after late night out, hose Frank over *again.*
September: we love Samuel Sanchez takes the Vuelta dammit; Cadel Evans jailed for assault and battery after obsequious cycling journalist tries to give his dog unapproved chewy toy; Cancellara detained in Swiss airport after nuclear reactor welded into top tube sets off radiation detector in luggage-screening area.
October: it's the World Championships again! Thor Hushovd takes second consecutive win when Cavendish caught up in late-race fist-fight after insulting own lead-out train; Gilbert loses Lombardy to Boonen after Tommeke tricks him into pre-race beer-pong match.
November: yeah, it's transfer season! Bjarne loses 14 members of team after publicly dope-smacking them for winning races all year; Contador purchases entire Spanish peloton with proceeds of new sponsorship by major pharmaceutical manufacturer; Cav signs 5-year, 200-million-euro contract with HTC, cries like baby in Phil & Paul's arms mourning cruel injustice.
December: team camps again! Euskaltel blown across Pacific by mild cross-wind, marooned on uncharted island for season; Garmin eschews new team kit in favor of full-body tats; Belgians relax on cobbles in driving sleet-storm in beach chairs, Ray-Bans, and Speedos; Spanish squads to private wing of top-flight medical center for 4-week regimen of "flu shots."
Well, fellow cycling nuts, them's my predictions for next year--let's hope those clowns don't pull anything else worse!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
It's A Holiday Gift List For the Peloton!
Yes, fellow fans, as cyclists everywhere get ready to celebrate probably some sort of wintry holiday or 'nother, but most certainly their latest scam escape from that pesky doping ban they so wholly deserve on some bull!@#$ technicality, it's time for us to turn, with all the love, respect, and spirit of giving that this charming season elicits, to our heartfelt wish list for all our fave denizens of the peloton:
The Climbers: yeah, you *wish* it was that crap the Spaniards are snarfing. But since it ain't, I wish you all those wee little motors that Cancellara was accused of hiding in his frame. Heck, they gotta be cheaper than those slimy gyno drug pushers you boys are paying now!
The Sprinters: blinders, like the ones those thoroughbreds wear. No fair that Cav can send 'em all crashing into the barriers just by blinding 'em with the glare off those giant Colgate teeth!
The Domestiques: ever-unheralded, but never forgotten. To you, I bequeath Lance for a day. Coffee gone cold? He'll warm it right in his very own armpit. Constant fan adulation getting you down? That's okay, he'll body-block 'em. Motos spittin' gravel in yer face? No sweat--hey, he don't mind going in front. So damn sore from a hard day in the maillot jaune that you can't reach where that chamois cream ought to go? The man is *limber*, I tell you. Levi, Klodi--it's payback time!
Tom Boonen: just as we all know there's a Santa Claus, Tommeke, we know there's still beyond greatness in you. Paris-Roubaix for our blushing babemuffin!
Robbie McEwen: you *suck*, UCI! And Pegasus. And anyone else who had a hand in ruthlessly driving the baddest man in show biz to the very brink of retirement. Dag nabit, get this man a contract! Just not with RadioSkank. Please, please, not with RadioSkank...
UCI: speaking of these clowns--cojones. Either the lady or the gentleman variety would nicely suffice. I mean, you simps are already promising to slap Contador on the wrist because EPO is so, so much worse than the new !@#$ he's taking? Santa, a real pair for these odious appeasers--stat!
Lance Armstrong: surprised I'm giving him a present? Don't be--'cuz it's really, and I say this with all due nonexistent shame, for the rest of us. Can we get, oh, 200 million or so of Bose noise-cancelling headphones, so we don't have to listen to the inevitable 2011 24/7 freakin' Lanceathon media coverage instead of news about guys who actually, y'know, still ride?
Thor Hushovd: Give our new world champion a minion to strew rose petals in his path wherever he walks. You rock, ya big lug!
Riccardo Ricco': coal in yer stocking. 'Cause if you *ever*, *ever* do anything to sully the legacy of the late, great Aldo Sassi who so faithfully and generously deigned to train you on your way back from your disgusting cheat-ban, you are gonna *need* it to heat whatever miserable damp leech-lurkin' Gollum cave craphole you're gonna have to flee to so the entire world o' cycling don't hunt you down and *beat* your !@#. Alright, ya got yer present--now scram!
Mara Abbott: a pink bike, helmet, wardrobe, and car. Come to think of it, let's just dip-dye her entire house til it glows like a bottle of Pepto. No, not 'cuz she's a girl, or 'cuz Lampre's got so much extra Barbie spandex on hand--'cuz she won the Giro d'Italia, baby, and pink is the official color of whup-!@#!
Floyd Landis: damned when he did, damned when he copped to it, double-damned when he completely jacked his loving fans and triple-damned now that no-one believes a word he says about his repugnant doping teammates even when a good 1% of it is probably true. A cloak of anonymity for this man--at this point, we're all better off!
Jens Voigt: whatever he wants. Seriously. Heredity kingship of some rich-as-sin playboy principality? A passel of subservient slobbering suckups to obey his every whim? A $25 Starbucks card? Andy Schleck, he's your responsibility now--Tour de France my !@#, pony up!
Carlos Sastre: come on, karma gods--just one more little Tour stage. Shut up!
Dave Z: forget this facial hair shtick--what are you, a one-man Burt Reynolds tribute band? So get this man a dreamy Justin Beiber haircut! 'Course, he'll have to get a bigger helmet too, to avoid the dreaded post-race hair-muss...Garmin, get your people on the problem!
Cadel Evans: the Tour. No, he won't get it. But he works like a dog, defends his dog like a dog, and is an all-round stand-up guy. So yes, he darn well ought to. Cadel, we'll see you in Paris!
And Finally, My Faithful Reader(s): no, I can't promise you Contador is innocent, your favorites will win, or that Cav will run off with you into the sunset and marry you. But what I *can* wish for you is another year of scandal, glory, and massive seasonal muckraking. Happy Festivus to all!
The Climbers: yeah, you *wish* it was that crap the Spaniards are snarfing. But since it ain't, I wish you all those wee little motors that Cancellara was accused of hiding in his frame. Heck, they gotta be cheaper than those slimy gyno drug pushers you boys are paying now!
The Sprinters: blinders, like the ones those thoroughbreds wear. No fair that Cav can send 'em all crashing into the barriers just by blinding 'em with the glare off those giant Colgate teeth!
The Domestiques: ever-unheralded, but never forgotten. To you, I bequeath Lance for a day. Coffee gone cold? He'll warm it right in his very own armpit. Constant fan adulation getting you down? That's okay, he'll body-block 'em. Motos spittin' gravel in yer face? No sweat--hey, he don't mind going in front. So damn sore from a hard day in the maillot jaune that you can't reach where that chamois cream ought to go? The man is *limber*, I tell you. Levi, Klodi--it's payback time!
Tom Boonen: just as we all know there's a Santa Claus, Tommeke, we know there's still beyond greatness in you. Paris-Roubaix for our blushing babemuffin!
Robbie McEwen: you *suck*, UCI! And Pegasus. And anyone else who had a hand in ruthlessly driving the baddest man in show biz to the very brink of retirement. Dag nabit, get this man a contract! Just not with RadioSkank. Please, please, not with RadioSkank...
UCI: speaking of these clowns--cojones. Either the lady or the gentleman variety would nicely suffice. I mean, you simps are already promising to slap Contador on the wrist because EPO is so, so much worse than the new !@#$ he's taking? Santa, a real pair for these odious appeasers--stat!
Lance Armstrong: surprised I'm giving him a present? Don't be--'cuz it's really, and I say this with all due nonexistent shame, for the rest of us. Can we get, oh, 200 million or so of Bose noise-cancelling headphones, so we don't have to listen to the inevitable 2011 24/7 freakin' Lanceathon media coverage instead of news about guys who actually, y'know, still ride?
Thor Hushovd: Give our new world champion a minion to strew rose petals in his path wherever he walks. You rock, ya big lug!
Riccardo Ricco': coal in yer stocking. 'Cause if you *ever*, *ever* do anything to sully the legacy of the late, great Aldo Sassi who so faithfully and generously deigned to train you on your way back from your disgusting cheat-ban, you are gonna *need* it to heat whatever miserable damp leech-lurkin' Gollum cave craphole you're gonna have to flee to so the entire world o' cycling don't hunt you down and *beat* your !@#. Alright, ya got yer present--now scram!
Mara Abbott: a pink bike, helmet, wardrobe, and car. Come to think of it, let's just dip-dye her entire house til it glows like a bottle of Pepto. No, not 'cuz she's a girl, or 'cuz Lampre's got so much extra Barbie spandex on hand--'cuz she won the Giro d'Italia, baby, and pink is the official color of whup-!@#!
Floyd Landis: damned when he did, damned when he copped to it, double-damned when he completely jacked his loving fans and triple-damned now that no-one believes a word he says about his repugnant doping teammates even when a good 1% of it is probably true. A cloak of anonymity for this man--at this point, we're all better off!
Jens Voigt: whatever he wants. Seriously. Heredity kingship of some rich-as-sin playboy principality? A passel of subservient slobbering suckups to obey his every whim? A $25 Starbucks card? Andy Schleck, he's your responsibility now--Tour de France my !@#, pony up!
Carlos Sastre: come on, karma gods--just one more little Tour stage. Shut up!
Dave Z: forget this facial hair shtick--what are you, a one-man Burt Reynolds tribute band? So get this man a dreamy Justin Beiber haircut! 'Course, he'll have to get a bigger helmet too, to avoid the dreaded post-race hair-muss...Garmin, get your people on the problem!
Cadel Evans: the Tour. No, he won't get it. But he works like a dog, defends his dog like a dog, and is an all-round stand-up guy. So yes, he darn well ought to. Cadel, we'll see you in Paris!
And Finally, My Faithful Reader(s): no, I can't promise you Contador is innocent, your favorites will win, or that Cav will run off with you into the sunset and marry you. But what I *can* wish for you is another year of scandal, glory, and massive seasonal muckraking. Happy Festivus to all!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Bite Me, UCI! Or, Don't !@#$ With My Giro, You Dirtbags!
*Or* My Vuelta, Thank You Very Much: Oh, great. So Pat "Dick" McQuaid is dedicating all his efforts into starting up the Tour of !@#$ If I Care About Cycling in the sports-fanatic hellhole of !@#endofnowhereica, and on an apparently totally inconsequential side note in his view, to do that we oughta completely destroy the beauty, majesty, and history of the century-old Giro and 65-year-old Vuelta just cuz the Tour de France gives a bunch of greedy Rolls-drivin' caviar-snortin' sponsor-cretins a bigger platform to pimp their cheap-crap products on? You *suck*, McQuaid! Yes, money necessary--even good--but did it ever occur to you that on sheer *sporting* grounds you don't knock 1/3 off an epic 100-year-old tradition just because some gaudy assclown nouveau oligarch thinks he can add an extra jewel to his tacky blood-diamond cufflinks if Lance Armstrong shows up to court the press and blow the race *again*? Perfect, Pat "Dick". Let's eviscerate the Giro d'Italia til Fausto Coppi rises from the grave to go 10 kinds of blood-soaked sore-ridden zombie on your !@# and gut the flawless Vuelta til 10,000 screaming orange-clad Euskaltel fans stomp yer pathetic toadying celebrity-sucking rump-kissing doper-enabling visage into a 150-degree-Fahrenheit marriage with the sun-soaked Basque August tarmac. Me, I'll be selling off my minor organs--like, who the hell needs a "spleen"?--to scrounge up a wheel-well Alitalia ticket to the Dolomites to watch the single freakin' day my beloved Giro is gonna have left, while you, of course, stuff yourself senseless with prissy French pate' for three weeks oiling up to ASO which hates your weasel guts anyway. Stronzo!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
It's the 2010 Racejunkie Awards!
Yes, folks, with only two weeks left for either a brilliant move or, more likely let's face it, an act of egregious late-season stupidity on the part of some sap in the peloton, we here at racejunkie are nonetheless taking a chance and are both pleased and honored to present to you our ultra-prestigious--or, for the doofi among the roadies, ultra-embarrassing--2010 Racejunkie Awards:
Hot 'n' Sexy Scandal of 2010 (and All Eternity): What else? Alberto Contador poz for dope at the Tour de France with just 5 freakin' picograms of Clenbuterol. So was it the tainted meat, garden-variety cheating, or just, as some wags have suggested, a downright stupid re-injection of still-doped blood from this year's Tour de Suisse that sunk you? Only you, behind those big, pretty eyes of yours, know the truth. Aw, rats, say it ain't so--like, honestly!
Comeback Kid of 2010: Ivan Basso, this one's for you. After a brutal fall from grace, and a reassuringly so-so return in 2009, the patriarch of the Cutest Family Ever clawed his way back to a spectacular second win at the Giro--and without any of that 9-minutes crap that so awed and rightly disconcerted us in 2006. Welcome back, GQ man--and you *better* not be fudging it this time!
Stage Win o' the Year: yes, I've said it before. And no, it never, ever, ever gets old. Cadel Evans, Stage 7, Giro d' Italia. Smashing!
Total !@#hole of the 2010: game, set, match. Congrats, Riccardo Ricco', you weenie--way to slither back to the peloton!
Come *On*, Come *On*, Come *On*! Prize: he's big, he's bodacious, he's rehabbed himself beautifully, and let's face it, he's just plain charming. I also hear tell--and indeed, fully believe--he's one of most fearsome classics and sprint men in the business. Tom Boonen, we *know* this year was an injury-plagued aberration--and we're all *so* pulling for you next year!
Absolute Yawn of 2010 Award: sorry, Lance, but you at the Tour. You're the greatest Tour de France rider of all time, and, not coincidentally, one of the greatest riders, period. You're a tireless advocate for those battling cancer, a cause whose nobility none can deny. And even if video of you actually grabbing a syringe from a FedEx package labeled "My Big Box o' Illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs" and shooting it into your personal butt should surface on YouTube tomorrow, your adoring American public would just completely ignore it anyway. So why, why, why, especially after a middling (by Armstrong standards, anyway) 2009 comeback, would you ever continue in 2010 with mere mediocrity? Forget the horridly-irritating press-whore orgy we had to endure at your every colon blow in every freakin' race you showed up to that was just nails-on-a-blackboard this year--baffling!
Now *There's* An Armstrong Who Don't Piss Me Off Award: yes, to the joy of her fans and the flat-out fears of her competitors, repeat world champ Kristin Armstrong decides to come out of her still-new retirement for another (likely successful) crack at Olympic glory. You *go*, Kristin--and all *she* imbibes for help is chocolate milk!
Punk-!@# Move of 2010 (Race-Day): really? You sent your lead-out hired-goon Renshaw up to head-butt Julian Dean and squeegee fair-play king Tyler Farrar into the barriers? Damn, Cav, sucker-punch a little old lady or somethin', why dontcha?
Punk-!@# Move of 2010 (Non-Competition): okay, it was actually when your book got published, but geez Louise, Floyd, writing a whole book to rip off your most loyal, devoted defenders for $24.95 or some extortionate !@#$ then admitting the whole thing was lying crap is just *no* *class* at all. But hey--after taxes, it shouldn't take you much more'n ten years of hard labor asking surly junk-food addicts if they wanna Supersize it at McDonalds to pay 'em all back, right? Now do it!
Karma, Baby! Prize of 2010: look, ya gotta give Bjarne Riis some credit--with a few little snafus, he was one of the winningest team leaders in the business. More, he had the exquisite sense to hire--and well support--we love Jens. But the minute you started being mean to the faultless Carlos Sastre--the guy who WON YOU THE FREAKIN' TOUR DE FRANCE YOU TOOL--your world started to crumble around you, up to and including the Schlecks bailing to create their very own squad *and* your little cash-cow savior Contatwerp's unfortunate little run-in with some drugged-up cattle. Not that it has anything to do with YOUR BEING MEAN TO SASTRE. Oh, Bjarne--maybe if you take 'im out for a nice lunch or something, it'll all come 'round next year...
Crash of the Year Award (Single): oh, Euskaltel. Oh, Igor. Yep, it's Igor Anton's instantaneous loss of the fabulous Vuelta a Espana that just about crushed my soul.
How exactly do you type the noise where you bay like a heart-broken basset hound? Yeah, that!
Crash of the Year Award (Multiple): the little stretch of oil-slick on the downhill of the Col Stockeu that broke the bones of damn near half the Tour de France and killed poor we love Christian Vande Velde for GC. What the !@#$ is this, Paris-Roubaix?
Sissy-Boy Slap-Fight of the Year: If there's anything more enjoyable than watching one guy built like an elf whanging another guy built like a wood sprite upside the head with a $400 wheel with the clear intent of impaling his skull with it, I've yet to see it. Carlos Barredo and Rui Costa, this one's for you!
Everyone Else on the Planet Is a Wuss Award: yep, this one's for ever-winning Frenchwoman Jeannie Longo, stomping her toddler competition for national champ for the umpteenth year in a row. And not only were these women in diapers when she *started* competing, they're gonna all be in adult diapers before she stops. So tell me why the rest of you delicate flowers in the peloton all hit the showers in 30s, again? On second thought, explain it to Longo instead!
Tweet Rant of 2010: Don't !@#$ with Robbie McEwen, man. 'Cause he'll cut you. If you're lucky. And even so, you're still gonna be thankin' him for merely going all Gitmo on your !@#. To the nameless numb-nut who knocked McEwen off his ride after the line, hope livin' off the grid in a filthy hidden cave like some time-traveled Neanderthal is treatin' you well--and for years to come!
Embarrassingly Rah-Rah "USA Rules!" Bud-Drinkin' Beer-Gut Scratchin' Imperialist Moment o' 2010: Mara Abbott, 1st American woman to win the Giro. Forza, you goddess--and did I mention she conquered the Stelvio? So now, can we go back to humiliating the French instead?
And Last But Not Least, Doping Excuse o' the Year: yep, it's a two-fer for Contador--oy! Close second: Chuck Coyle's claim that a dear teammate used his computer, password, and home address to procure a whole bucket o' forbidden dope, but that he admitted to doing it himself because he was just too darned gentlemanly to call his good pal out. Yep, if *my* career depended on it, it'd sure be cool by *me* to have my BFF sell me down the river to protect himself! Darling peloton, can't we all just go back to blaming grandma's EPO habit, and try to retain at least *some* shred of plausible dignity?
Well, that's my year-end wrap-up--to any particularly glorious or disgusting riders whose hijinks I missed, don't worry, honey--there's always next year!
Hot 'n' Sexy Scandal of 2010 (and All Eternity): What else? Alberto Contador poz for dope at the Tour de France with just 5 freakin' picograms of Clenbuterol. So was it the tainted meat, garden-variety cheating, or just, as some wags have suggested, a downright stupid re-injection of still-doped blood from this year's Tour de Suisse that sunk you? Only you, behind those big, pretty eyes of yours, know the truth. Aw, rats, say it ain't so--like, honestly!
Comeback Kid of 2010: Ivan Basso, this one's for you. After a brutal fall from grace, and a reassuringly so-so return in 2009, the patriarch of the Cutest Family Ever clawed his way back to a spectacular second win at the Giro--and without any of that 9-minutes crap that so awed and rightly disconcerted us in 2006. Welcome back, GQ man--and you *better* not be fudging it this time!
Stage Win o' the Year: yes, I've said it before. And no, it never, ever, ever gets old. Cadel Evans, Stage 7, Giro d' Italia. Smashing!
Cadel Evans Wins Muddy Giro Stage 7 - from Universal Sports - For more of the funniest videos, click here
Total !@#hole of the 2010: game, set, match. Congrats, Riccardo Ricco', you weenie--way to slither back to the peloton!
Come *On*, Come *On*, Come *On*! Prize: he's big, he's bodacious, he's rehabbed himself beautifully, and let's face it, he's just plain charming. I also hear tell--and indeed, fully believe--he's one of most fearsome classics and sprint men in the business. Tom Boonen, we *know* this year was an injury-plagued aberration--and we're all *so* pulling for you next year!
Absolute Yawn of 2010 Award: sorry, Lance, but you at the Tour. You're the greatest Tour de France rider of all time, and, not coincidentally, one of the greatest riders, period. You're a tireless advocate for those battling cancer, a cause whose nobility none can deny. And even if video of you actually grabbing a syringe from a FedEx package labeled "My Big Box o' Illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs" and shooting it into your personal butt should surface on YouTube tomorrow, your adoring American public would just completely ignore it anyway. So why, why, why, especially after a middling (by Armstrong standards, anyway) 2009 comeback, would you ever continue in 2010 with mere mediocrity? Forget the horridly-irritating press-whore orgy we had to endure at your every colon blow in every freakin' race you showed up to that was just nails-on-a-blackboard this year--baffling!
Now *There's* An Armstrong Who Don't Piss Me Off Award: yes, to the joy of her fans and the flat-out fears of her competitors, repeat world champ Kristin Armstrong decides to come out of her still-new retirement for another (likely successful) crack at Olympic glory. You *go*, Kristin--and all *she* imbibes for help is chocolate milk!
Punk-!@# Move of 2010 (Race-Day): really? You sent your lead-out hired-goon Renshaw up to head-butt Julian Dean and squeegee fair-play king Tyler Farrar into the barriers? Damn, Cav, sucker-punch a little old lady or somethin', why dontcha?
Punk-!@# Move of 2010 (Non-Competition): okay, it was actually when your book got published, but geez Louise, Floyd, writing a whole book to rip off your most loyal, devoted defenders for $24.95 or some extortionate !@#$ then admitting the whole thing was lying crap is just *no* *class* at all. But hey--after taxes, it shouldn't take you much more'n ten years of hard labor asking surly junk-food addicts if they wanna Supersize it at McDonalds to pay 'em all back, right? Now do it!
Karma, Baby! Prize of 2010: look, ya gotta give Bjarne Riis some credit--with a few little snafus, he was one of the winningest team leaders in the business. More, he had the exquisite sense to hire--and well support--we love Jens. But the minute you started being mean to the faultless Carlos Sastre--the guy who WON YOU THE FREAKIN' TOUR DE FRANCE YOU TOOL--your world started to crumble around you, up to and including the Schlecks bailing to create their very own squad *and* your little cash-cow savior Contatwerp's unfortunate little run-in with some drugged-up cattle. Not that it has anything to do with YOUR BEING MEAN TO SASTRE. Oh, Bjarne--maybe if you take 'im out for a nice lunch or something, it'll all come 'round next year...
Crash of the Year Award (Single): oh, Euskaltel. Oh, Igor. Yep, it's Igor Anton's instantaneous loss of the fabulous Vuelta a Espana that just about crushed my soul.
How exactly do you type the noise where you bay like a heart-broken basset hound? Yeah, that!Crash of the Year Award (Multiple): the little stretch of oil-slick on the downhill of the Col Stockeu that broke the bones of damn near half the Tour de France and killed poor we love Christian Vande Velde for GC. What the !@#$ is this, Paris-Roubaix?
Sissy-Boy Slap-Fight of the Year: If there's anything more enjoyable than watching one guy built like an elf whanging another guy built like a wood sprite upside the head with a $400 wheel with the clear intent of impaling his skull with it, I've yet to see it. Carlos Barredo and Rui Costa, this one's for you!
Everyone Else on the Planet Is a Wuss Award: yep, this one's for ever-winning Frenchwoman Jeannie Longo, stomping her toddler competition for national champ for the umpteenth year in a row. And not only were these women in diapers when she *started* competing, they're gonna all be in adult diapers before she stops. So tell me why the rest of you delicate flowers in the peloton all hit the showers in 30s, again? On second thought, explain it to Longo instead!
Tweet Rant of 2010: Don't !@#$ with Robbie McEwen, man. 'Cause he'll cut you. If you're lucky. And even so, you're still gonna be thankin' him for merely going all Gitmo on your !@#. To the nameless numb-nut who knocked McEwen off his ride after the line, hope livin' off the grid in a filthy hidden cave like some time-traveled Neanderthal is treatin' you well--and for years to come!
Embarrassingly Rah-Rah "USA Rules!" Bud-Drinkin' Beer-Gut Scratchin' Imperialist Moment o' 2010: Mara Abbott, 1st American woman to win the Giro. Forza, you goddess--and did I mention she conquered the Stelvio? So now, can we go back to humiliating the French instead?
And Last But Not Least, Doping Excuse o' the Year: yep, it's a two-fer for Contador--oy! Close second: Chuck Coyle's claim that a dear teammate used his computer, password, and home address to procure a whole bucket o' forbidden dope, but that he admitted to doing it himself because he was just too darned gentlemanly to call his good pal out. Yep, if *my* career depended on it, it'd sure be cool by *me* to have my BFF sell me down the river to protect himself! Darling peloton, can't we all just go back to blaming grandma's EPO habit, and try to retain at least *some* shred of plausible dignity?
Well, that's my year-end wrap-up--to any particularly glorious or disgusting riders whose hijinks I missed, don't worry, honey--there's always next year!
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
The Doper's Song (With Apologies To Nat King Cole)
Lactose burning your legs like fire,
Hot sweat dripping off your nose,
If you don't snag the maillot jaune tonight,
Your career really will be hosed.
Everybody knows, a syringe and some EPO,
Helps to make palmares bright,
Cheating skanks tested just before bed,
Will find it hard to sleep tonight.
They know that UCI is on its way,
They're using high-tech tests, they'll make you pay
And every pin-up cheat is gonna cry,
So you won't care his whole defense is a lie.
So give a hug to your DS,
Who gave the drugs to you to do,
Kiss some kids, and keep omerta',
You'll be right back in a year or two!
Hot sweat dripping off your nose,
If you don't snag the maillot jaune tonight,
Your career really will be hosed.
Everybody knows, a syringe and some EPO,
Helps to make palmares bright,
Cheating skanks tested just before bed,
Will find it hard to sleep tonight.
They know that UCI is on its way,
They're using high-tech tests, they'll make you pay
And every pin-up cheat is gonna cry,
So you won't care his whole defense is a lie.
So give a hug to your DS,
Who gave the drugs to you to do,
Kiss some kids, and keep omerta',
You'll be right back in a year or two!
Saturday, December 04, 2010
2010: The Year In Review
Can't remember the last time Tom Boonen won a race, an Italian got busted for doping, or Contador pulled that "pistolero" move? Well, we here at racejunkie are primed to help you both impress and bore fellow holiday party-goers to tears with your arcane knowledge of all that's glorious, grotesque, and just plain mundane in the world o' cycling 2010! So, for your edification--and because you know you'd rather read even this than do that damn TPS report your boss is waiting for--here goes:
January: Riccardo Ricco' an early win for coveted !@#hole of the Year Award for running screaming from loyal baby mama Vania Rossi the second she tests poz for dope; Floyd Landis back in action at Tour o' Bahamas; wheel-suck this, buddy!--new world champ Cadel Evans actually attacks at Tour Down Under!; Cav calls Ricco' a 'parasite'; Lance accuses Contador of having an ego. Ah, the sweet taste of hypocrisy!
February: deluded reader begs for more Lance coverage in Velonews; Rock Racing denied Continental license, some silly problem with "every goddamn person on your team's a cheat"; French issue arrest warrant for Landis; Tommeke rocks back at Qatar; Freire dazzles; Petacchi knocked off bike in final seconds o' sprint by camera-wielding tifosi nimrod. Y'know, Ale-Jet's a pretty big guy--run, you fool!
March: Armstrong afraid Contador'll kick his !@# in Jul--I mean, sez cycling no longer top priority; Jens of course back on winning form after devastating Tour 2009 crash-out; Alejandro "Bloodbag" Valverde's ban upheld; RadioSkank dissed by Giro; rumors swirl that Frank'n'Andy Schleck will be starting own team in 2011--yeah, right!
April: BFFs Cav and Greipel trade insults; Samu' whales at Pais Vasco; Lampre takes Gibo back to Giro; RadioSkank's Fuyu Li tests poz *before* he leaves Lance's squad; Boonen's compatriots too lame to chase, Cancellara storms Roubaix. But WTF with that Cavesque-ian double-chest-point?
May: some total !@#$wad schedules Amgen EPO Tour of California during the Giro; Cadel takes epic stage on the strade bianche; Pellizotti busted for bio passport, Ivan Basso again pretty in pink; Floyd Landis confesses to massive fraud; Cancellara accused of bike doping. As if an engine could beat *his* legs!
June: it's the road to the Tour, baby! Contador keeps an eye on Vinokourov; RadioSkank chooses "pure slaves" for Armstrong; UCI doesn't want the French to find any dopers; Jeannie Longo only French rider who doesn't suck for 25th year in a row; we love dear little Sastre in pain, Cervelo' don't give rat's !@#; Ivan Basso's hot sister get deferred sentence for dealing dope to cyclists, women's prison inmates eagerly await probation violation. Keep dreamin', you predators!
July: what else?! Lance blows; Tyler shows his class; moto-crash oil slick takes out 3/4 of peloton, Leipheimer just glad he's alive; Andy Schleck drops chain, Contador takes off, pair later arrested for public indecency after too-lurid make-up on Champs-Elysees; photog whacks Robbie McEwen off bike, seeks asylum from raving one-man pocket hit squad; Jens Voigt is a god. On to the Vuelta!
August: it's the Vuelta a Espana, baby! yeah, it's a !@#damn bike race, it's been on for like 100 years, you clowns!; Alberto Contador flirts with SaxoBank; Cancellara looks elsewhere; totally-innocent-dammit Levi Leipheimer accused of blood doping during 2005 Tour by scum-sucking slime-weasel from Gerolsteiner; UCI ignores uncomfortable bio-passport results. Shocker!
September: Euskaltel's Igor Anton crashes out of Vuelta and near-certain win, racejunkie bawls like toddler; Bjarne kicks Andy and Stuey out of race in bitter snit, screwing Frank; Vincenzo Nibali snags the overall, teammate Ivan Basso plots downfa--um, proclaims total happiness; oh no you didn't--Contatwerp positive for Clenbuterol in 2010 Tour!
October: Holy crap we love Thor Hushovd is the new world road champion!; Jens follows Schlecks to new squad, remains a god; paranoid conspiracy theorists at Liquigas sue Italian prosecutor for generally suggesting dopers, y'know, dope; Cav snivels, *again*; 2006 Tour de France winner Oscar "I Did So Win It, Dagnabit!" Pereiro bids farewell; Contador blames asthmatic cow for poz, sez he'll quit sport if one more freakin' person laughs at him for sayin' that. Did I mention cows heart medical-grade plastic tubing residue?
November: WADA rips UCI for weak controls at Tour; Popovych haunted by narcs; Novitzsky aims at Armstrong; Pope cracks down on doping; Contador finds tainted meat receipt, beaten and left for dead in dark alley by outraged Spanish agriculture federation. Hey, it's *still* not as stupid as Bjorn Leukemanns' "I Was Busy Doing the Nasty" defense!
December: FDJ miss out on ProTour license, like anyone's gonna notice next year; Cancellara finally confirms with Team Schleck; UCI threatens to appeal unsatisfactory ruling on Contador. What, "unsatisfactory" like he's prosecuted, you enabler wussbags?
Sure, December ain't over yet, and we can all imagine there'll be at least one more unbearable tidbit about (1) Contador or (2) Armstrong--but really, who even *wants* to talk about that crap? A fond adieu to 2010, and on to 2011!
January: Riccardo Ricco' an early win for coveted !@#hole of the Year Award for running screaming from loyal baby mama Vania Rossi the second she tests poz for dope; Floyd Landis back in action at Tour o' Bahamas; wheel-suck this, buddy!--new world champ Cadel Evans actually attacks at Tour Down Under!; Cav calls Ricco' a 'parasite'; Lance accuses Contador of having an ego. Ah, the sweet taste of hypocrisy!
February: deluded reader begs for more Lance coverage in Velonews; Rock Racing denied Continental license, some silly problem with "every goddamn person on your team's a cheat"; French issue arrest warrant for Landis; Tommeke rocks back at Qatar; Freire dazzles; Petacchi knocked off bike in final seconds o' sprint by camera-wielding tifosi nimrod. Y'know, Ale-Jet's a pretty big guy--run, you fool!
March: Armstrong afraid Contador'll kick his !@# in Jul--I mean, sez cycling no longer top priority; Jens of course back on winning form after devastating Tour 2009 crash-out; Alejandro "Bloodbag" Valverde's ban upheld; RadioSkank dissed by Giro; rumors swirl that Frank'n'Andy Schleck will be starting own team in 2011--yeah, right!
April: BFFs Cav and Greipel trade insults; Samu' whales at Pais Vasco; Lampre takes Gibo back to Giro; RadioSkank's Fuyu Li tests poz *before* he leaves Lance's squad; Boonen's compatriots too lame to chase, Cancellara storms Roubaix. But WTF with that Cavesque-ian double-chest-point?
May: some total !@#$wad schedules Amgen EPO Tour of California during the Giro; Cadel takes epic stage on the strade bianche; Pellizotti busted for bio passport, Ivan Basso again pretty in pink; Floyd Landis confesses to massive fraud; Cancellara accused of bike doping. As if an engine could beat *his* legs!
June: it's the road to the Tour, baby! Contador keeps an eye on Vinokourov; RadioSkank chooses "pure slaves" for Armstrong; UCI doesn't want the French to find any dopers; Jeannie Longo only French rider who doesn't suck for 25th year in a row; we love dear little Sastre in pain, Cervelo' don't give rat's !@#; Ivan Basso's hot sister get deferred sentence for dealing dope to cyclists, women's prison inmates eagerly await probation violation. Keep dreamin', you predators!
July: what else?! Lance blows; Tyler shows his class; moto-crash oil slick takes out 3/4 of peloton, Leipheimer just glad he's alive; Andy Schleck drops chain, Contador takes off, pair later arrested for public indecency after too-lurid make-up on Champs-Elysees; photog whacks Robbie McEwen off bike, seeks asylum from raving one-man pocket hit squad; Jens Voigt is a god. On to the Vuelta!
August: it's the Vuelta a Espana, baby! yeah, it's a !@#damn bike race, it's been on for like 100 years, you clowns!; Alberto Contador flirts with SaxoBank; Cancellara looks elsewhere; totally-innocent-dammit Levi Leipheimer accused of blood doping during 2005 Tour by scum-sucking slime-weasel from Gerolsteiner; UCI ignores uncomfortable bio-passport results. Shocker!
September: Euskaltel's Igor Anton crashes out of Vuelta and near-certain win, racejunkie bawls like toddler; Bjarne kicks Andy and Stuey out of race in bitter snit, screwing Frank; Vincenzo Nibali snags the overall, teammate Ivan Basso plots downfa--um, proclaims total happiness; oh no you didn't--Contatwerp positive for Clenbuterol in 2010 Tour!
October: Holy crap we love Thor Hushovd is the new world road champion!; Jens follows Schlecks to new squad, remains a god; paranoid conspiracy theorists at Liquigas sue Italian prosecutor for generally suggesting dopers, y'know, dope; Cav snivels, *again*; 2006 Tour de France winner Oscar "I Did So Win It, Dagnabit!" Pereiro bids farewell; Contador blames asthmatic cow for poz, sez he'll quit sport if one more freakin' person laughs at him for sayin' that. Did I mention cows heart medical-grade plastic tubing residue?
November: WADA rips UCI for weak controls at Tour; Popovych haunted by narcs; Novitzsky aims at Armstrong; Pope cracks down on doping; Contador finds tainted meat receipt, beaten and left for dead in dark alley by outraged Spanish agriculture federation. Hey, it's *still* not as stupid as Bjorn Leukemanns' "I Was Busy Doing the Nasty" defense!
December: FDJ miss out on ProTour license, like anyone's gonna notice next year; Cancellara finally confirms with Team Schleck; UCI threatens to appeal unsatisfactory ruling on Contador. What, "unsatisfactory" like he's prosecuted, you enabler wussbags?
Sure, December ain't over yet, and we can all imagine there'll be at least one more unbearable tidbit about (1) Contador or (2) Armstrong--but really, who even *wants* to talk about that crap? A fond adieu to 2010, and on to 2011!
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