No, Not Armstrong at his Press Conference, the Tour Down Under: yep, it's our first big crashes of the season, as the sprinters hit the deck in two big balls o' spandex, titanium, helmets, and egos, wily Ben Swift gets the stage 2 win, general god Robbie McEwen snags the overall lead, and a tougher'n nails Cav stoutly sticks it out with a blood'n'guts head to finish the stage. Damn, guys, can't you just go back to safely punching each other into the barriers like you usually do? Here's how it unfolds--and feel better Cav!
Yer Doping Excuse o' the Week: and, I see the usually preternaturally-calm Lance Armstrong has gotten noticeably pissed over the Sports Illustrated doping allegations, including the claim that Italian authorities found texts and emails at Yaroslav Popovych's pad linking RadioSkank to notorious Dr. Michele "Ferrari? Oh, you'll race like a Ferrari all right!" Ferrari as recently as 2009. Leaving aside the fact that poor slavish acolyte Popo has had to run screaming for his life from Lance, more problematic, it seems to me, is the latest Ferrari link, which collusion Armstrong has in the past of course excused as being totally unrelated to anything more illicit than simple verbal training tips. Um, am I the only thinkin' this sounds an awful lot like, say, Valverde and Basso claiming they only saw Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes because "I just didn't feel...you know...fresh?" Next week: Alberto Contador announces "it wasn't the steak, it was that crack-whore, clenbuterol-snorting side dish that did it." !@#$in' carrots!
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I can't help it. I want to see Contador race. I want him to be clean. I want to find that cow or steer that ate that stuff that found its way to Contador's poor unsuspecting system.
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