Faster, Pussycat!: Okay, both defending time trial gold medalists, Fabian Cancellara and Kristin Armstrong, are still recovering from prior season-wrecking collarbone snaps *and* freshly-incurred bloody crashes. So while I'll concede to my British reader(s) that even with gents like Phinney Tony Martin and even LL Cool Sanchez in the hunt Wiggo's pretty well a lock on the men's race unless, say, a giant flying smoke-spewing swoops down from the sky plucks him off his bike at 200k an hour and eats 'im like a canape, I do think there's a little more surprise on the women's side, with Amber Neben Judith Arndt Noemi Cantele and Great Britain's own Emma Pooley all set to lay out some serious hurt on the course. So wake me when the men's time trial is over, and go Kristin--hey, remember this?
Lay Off of Phil, You Freaks! so, I've been pondering this situation where cycling announcer for the ages Phil Liggett ignited a firestorm o' outrage for saying BMX and mountain biking don't belong at the Olympics--though he clarified, !@#dammit, that he doesn't have anything *against* 'em, he just feels track is being hosed--and I've come to the thoughtful and well-reasoned conclusion that his critics can all just !@#$ off. Why? Because he's Sir Phil freakin' Liggett, I say, so he gets a Special Total Lifetime UCI Dispensation To Say Crazy !@#$ That Makes People Screaming Insane. If Jens Voigt said he wanted to eat your cat for dinner, would you object? No! I rest my case. But before I hear any bitchin' from folks who wouldn't read this anyway, let me say I think we can all agree that not only do BMXers and MTBers have lovely bike handling skills, but let's face it, they're generally a liiiiiitttttttle less anal-retentive than yer average blinged-out full-kitted ascetic plain-pasta-snarfin' energy-gel-debatin' power-meter-obsessive roadie. And can we keep to the *real* Olympic debate, which is why is stupid crap like "rhythmic gymnastics" still *in*? Free Phil--and apologize to him too, you peons!
A Humble Question: finally, in reviewing the Liggett dispute, I came across a very lively UK site which asked if Phil was "Right, Or A Colossal Nob Jangler?" I gathered, with my incredible powers of perception, that "nob jangler" is *not* a compliment. Still--dear Brits, kindly humor your ignoramus across the pond--translation, please?
Wow, was the women's road race about 8 thousand times more interesting than the men's--4 hours of relentless attacks, intermittent then finally steady downpours, multiple pileups, a Cancellarian skid to the barriers at the exact same spot, the Most Crap Timed Mechanicals In All of Olympic History, and, despite a really surging Lizzie Armitstead, Marianne Vos' phenomenally nasty kick to the line. Cav my !@#! Anyway, deeply bummed for Shelley Olds and her disastrous flat (but was anyone else worried there seeing Vos adjust her shoe in the last few k?), shocked that the peloton let those 4 gap more'n an inch in the first place, congrats to Armitstead for the Brits' first medal this Games, smashingly impressed by Olga Zabelinskaya who had no business at all in that sprinter's break but still bagged the bronze, I was really rooting for Bronzini, but let's suck it up, the best woman won--Vos you total beast, your bad-luck streak is over, wear that medal with pride you earned it!
Next up: the men's and women's time trial. Anyone else up for watching Kristin Armstrong wipe that disappointment (and mud) off her face?
Diggin' It Diggin' It Diggin' It!: yes folks, we may simultaneously have our first cycling gold medal *and* positive test of the Games: after a hideously annoying Tour in which everyone was yappin' how clean they are and how clean cycling is and how clean their underpants are and how years of irritating public sobbing redeem you from being a selfish doping jackwagon, none other'n wily son of a gun Alexandre "I Will Take All You Other Lying Mother!@#$ers *Down*!" Vinokourov has just taken the gold not only from a group of sprinter squads that just wouldn't lend each other some legs, but an incredibly exciting but completely miscalculating breakaway that utterly underestimated Vinokourov's faultless if almost impossibly gutsy tactical sense. And sure, it would've been great if Rigoberto Uran had taken it--but where the hell was he looking when Vino took off? Anyway, sincere congrats to Wiggo and the rest of the Brits for an essentially solo job nobly done, holy moly did Greipel and the other Germans look pissed, I hope Cancellara didn't bust his collarbone again, really sad for Boonen's crap mechanical, I *do* hate to see the Americans looking so dejected, but right on Vinokourov for taking it for the geezers--and man, I hope you're clean! I mean, I'm sure you're enough to pass. But I truly hope you haven't dishonored the gold--so let's err on the side of honor, and give credit where it's due!
Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: okay, I get that Cav is gonna slather himself in gold, Wiggo will be the coolest lead-out beeyotch in history, and Millar's gonna start bawling about how clean he is the second the cameras swing Davidwise. But dammit, without Samu for everyone to kneel to, and at the risk of being pelted with Budweiser cans and Slim-Jim wrappers by rabid nationalists on my own home turf, I am rooting for Belgian babemeister big Tom Boonen, who in the four years since the last summer Olympics has gone from the lowest of coke-poz injury-beset train-wreck lows to the highest of rebirth-redemption-and-relentless-win-streak highs, and if *that* don't flush you with true Olympic spirit, you are a petty heartless goon who has pimped your soul too cheap. Alternatively, of course, I *would* accept Sagan or Greipel beating Cav's !@# just on principle. Allez allez Tom--don't let those wily pure-sprint squads outfox you!
Midnight Train to Giorgia: meantime, with the Sunday women's road race set for a mere two passes on the dread Box Hill, the Brits clearly bringing their A game, and Ina-Yoko Teutenberg capable of ripping yer limbs off just lookin' at you mean, I'm still betting on Italian powerhouse Giorgia Bronzini, who, despite expressing concern that the usual sprinters will be so busy marking each other they might let some upstart fly by, has proven herself one cool customer in tense--and high-stakes--finishes. Even better? She says she's "angry." And you wouldn't like her when she's angry!
Showdown At the No-Way Corral: and, any Schleckian hopes of an Andy-vs.-Alberto ride to the death in Spain this summer are over, as Johan Bruyneel announces--in only his latest round of bad news--that Andy just isn't up for the Vuelta a Espana quite yet, and will be riding in the US instead. Anyone else of the opinion Johan, in all his years of success and wisdom, might've thought twice about horribly screwing poor Jakob Fuglsang at this point? Anyhoo, with Jens being naturally courted by superior squads, Haimar Zubeldia a primo late-career catch for I-told-you-you-should-never-have-left-Euskaltel or even Astana with Nibali, and even Bjarne Riis sniffing 'round to grab back half his old posse, it's just as well Schleck ain't gonna be around to suffer the humiliation anyway. Speedy recovery, Andy--but Contador'd still wipe the floor with you!
Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil: oh, hell, he's just evil--yep, none other than UCI leader "Clean Sport! Except When We Like You!" Pat "Dick" McQuaid, weirdly concerned suddenly 8 years or so on about that silly Armstrong hoo-ha--which, y'know, can happen to a colossal brown-nose in constant pursuit of reflected glory--has now come straight out and said, uh, we've got nothing to do with anti-doping! We've got no authority whatsoever! We're impotent weaklings, I swear it! Well, *that* makes me feel better about the sport--what next, you're gonna say the biological passport is crap? Oh, wait...
Yes, three weeks of crashes, road rashes, and smack-talking bashes are behind us, so without further ado, I bring you the prestigious, much-coveted, and wholly arbitrary 2012 Tour de France Racejunkie Awards!:
WTF of the Race: a three week Grand Tour with 18 million time trial kilometers 62 sprints and a measly two--two, for !@#$'s sake!--mountain top finishes? Congrats, ASO, on the lamest Tour de France course in history--why not just kick the climb-happy GC contenders of the world straight in the !@# and send 'em home before the prologue to save 'em the trouble?
Team Leader of 2012: well, this one's so obvious it needs barely be said: Team Sky captain Chris Fro--uh, Brad Wiggins, that's what I meant, Brad Wiggins!
Slide, Slide, Slippity Slide Award: frantic but dedicated Jim Ochowicz, twice falling back into the ditch as he tried to get an enraged Cadel Evans back on track. Give that man a raise--or a combat bonus!
Best Commercial: okay, anything that shows Jens Voigt doing anything, ever, and Levi Leipheimer as a stoner is certainly bitchin', so huge props to Road ID. But my personal favorite is this little gem from AG2R that ran during the race in France: Allez allez!
Sissy-Boy Slap Fight of the Tour: nothing says "bravery" like a spindly toothpick going off on an eight-year-old girl and the family Newfoundland. Oh, yeah, and her parents. Y'know, I love Philippe Gilbert and he was totally in the right on this, but if his team boss hadn't dragged him off, my money was still on the kid!
Superduperdomestique Prize: yes, fine, Froome was brilliant, but he loses it for his undiplomatic whinging about blowing his own chances for 3 weeks straight. Who didn't, and who really whomped above and beyond yer average gut-gacking ultra-lieutenant? It still makes me slightly weirded out to say this, but Ivan freakin' Basso, ticking ticking ticking with that tranquillo poker-face for Nibali to bag his podium spot. You could do a lot worse than him, Vincenzo--especially the way you've been dissing Liquigas all season!
Class Ride of the Tour: yeah, Wiggo. But no--it's Cadel, who battled through crap legs, 8000 consecutive mechanical disasters, a stomach bug, and a just unbeatable rival squad to defend his maillot jaune with a hard-won seventh overall and a vow to come back next year. Your time will come, Tejay--but that guy is where you learn grit!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Fan): sure, it's no fun being crisped by roadside-moron flare guns, but for sheer carnage, nothing beats the Great Tack Attack of 2012 that screwed Cadel, jacked like 30 other guys, and snapped poor Kiserlovsky's collarbone like a Twix bar. You could've killed someone, you assclowns!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Rider): Okay, Rolland may not have heard the word the first time he took after the tack massacre when Wiggo slowed down the peloton. But after the *second* time he hit the gas and had to be chased down *again*? I call bull!@#$--and congrats on your award, you opportunistic dirtbag!
Bitch Comment of 2012: Mark Cavendish, this one's for you. So Andre "!@#$-Race" Greipel beats you in a sprint, and all you can say about your own ride to NBC Sports is that at least you don't get a perfect lead out every time and still !@#$ it up like he does. Classy!
Man of a Thousand Faces Prize: He groans. He grimaces. He squinches. He twists his mug into a terrifying visage of unspeakable agony that can set small children shrieking for miles around. And that's just when he's on the podium after a stage win. Dignity, thy name's not Thomas Voeckler!
Crash o' the Tour (Just Plain Stupid): okay, whanging a flag into a rider's handlebars--which I have on good authority Tour de France riders often need on their bikes--or letting Clifford the Big Red Dog blunder onto the race course aren't the acts of the brightest bulbs in the fan lamp, but for me, and I say this as a genteel lady who has hosted many a charming tea party, setting up a nice repast complete with table in the middle of the road while the Tour's speeding by takes the cake for brainlessness. What, you thought if you could entice Wiggo off-course with a spot of tea the French'd win GC for once?
Crash o' the Tour (Just Plain Messy): the Metz Massacre. Carnage, carnage I tells ya!
Crash o' the Tour (Balled Up on the Couch Clutching Your Teddy Bear Howling Like a Heartbroken Basset Hound): we love Euskaltel's Samuel Sanchez, his Tour (and Olympic) hopes dashed in a split-second of contact with the tarmac. No offense to a battle well-fought by what's-his-name, but that's the only way the polka-dot jersey wasn't gonna be on Samu's shoulders in Paris!
No-Class Move o'the Race: the fans, booing Brad Wiggins' Aussie teammates for doing their job and helping their man. No, they're not on Greenedge--what the hell were they supposed to do, you graceless jerks, whack his wheels out of true with a hammer and stick a motor into Cadel's top tube?
The Soigneur, In the Team Car, With the Water Bottle Prize: the nefarious "poisoning" of Frank Schleck. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep--that explains it!
And Finally, Yer Jens Voigt Is a God Award: who else? Long after his teammates from, say, 2035 will have collapsed into a Barcalounger with a beer and a tub full o' nachos, Jens will ever be there, still shaking up the Champs Elysees. Bow, bow before the One!
Well, dear reader(s), them's mine, and I'm sure I missed a bucket. Now, onwards to the Olympics--and woo-hoo, the Vuelta!
Bark! Bark for Forgiveness, You Worm!: yap, Wiggo's won the Tour, Froome's gonna kick him in the works just before the time trial starts, yap--the big story today, for my money, is Philippe Gilbert's fantastic and wholly justified verbal attack on the morons who let their huge dog run into the race course, nearly dashing Gilbert's Olympic plans and any redemption whatsoever for what's been a truly spectacularly crap season for Gilbert. And *tell* me these folks aren't hiding behind their little daughter like Ricco' behind his mamma's skirts--wussy *and* stupid, you're lucky he didn't clock you like he planned!
Stay Thirsty, My Friend (No, Really, Stay Thirsty!): so, just as Frank Schleck's B sample poz is confirmed, and he swears he's gonna look exhaustively at every single thing he's eaten and drunk for the last two weeks (and I'm pretty grossed out positing how he's gonna accomplish that at this point), none other than RadioSkank cheerleader /serious stalwart Chris Horner has come out in spirited (and not unreasonable) defense: you don't know what the hell you're grabbing from a fan or scarfing at the dinner table in your darkest bonking moments, so anyone could put anything into your vittles. Since even I can't imagine that the kind of dimwit roadside asshat who's tempted to taint a water bottle in the one-in-a-bazillion-chance that their chosen enemy rider's gonna grab it actually has the brains and tactical skills to pull off such a scheme, it seems to me you vulnerable boys might more realistically just wanna up the pay of your team cook, soigneur, and mechanic, who actually have pretty impressive access, instead. And no more bitching about Contador from the peloton, now that he's innocent! Oh, how I long for the days when someone'd simply say he was *just* done banging his girlfriend, or his grandma's a drug-snorting EPO addict, or his dog's the victim of cruel identity-fraud by a vampire Spanish gyno...
Lies: Speaking of Schlecks, Andy, you almost had me with your passionate--and duly brotherly--claims of Frank's total innocence. And really, who could disbelieve that swoon-worthy face? But when you said he "never"--ever, honest!--doped, I gotta say, you lost yer street cred right there. As a dear reader has earlier pointed out, what the hell was that $5k payment to Dr. Fuentes for back in the day, his annual lady exam? Oh, Frank, sometimes you and Andy are just your own worst enemies....
Rocket Man: finally, not only congrats on his incredibly turbo-charged stage win, but also yer Tweet-o'-the-Week, go to Manx Missile Mark Cavendish, who graciously thanked the "dickhead" who entangled a frantically waving flag in his handlebars, crashing poor Cav (and his bike) to the ground. Damn, are the fans trying to take out *everyone* for the Olympics with broken bones and road-rash?--Tom Boonen won't want to kick all their !@#es that way, play fair now kids!
Okay, I'll say it: I'm gonna totally give Frank Schleck the benefit of the doubt on UCI finding the banned diuretic Xipamide in his urine, because straight up, when those severe menstrual cramps and bloating kick in, a man'll do just about anything to stop the pa--uh, sorry, Frank, I got nothin' for ya! On the plus side, I believe this also mandates an immediate stop to all Schleckian whinging about (1) his form; (2) his Giro; (3) his Tour; and (4) all those meany downhills. Woo-hoo!
Meantime, reactions have been pouring in, not least from a gleeful UCI and a mortified self-defensive RadioSkank, whose official press releases are below:
1. Debate continues over whether Pierre Rolland knew what he was doing when he took off as Wiggo put out the call to slow down for Cadel. The first time--sure, it was a result of the post-massacre chaos. The second? Punk-!@#, honey!
2. Simultaneously, everyone just get the hell off Tejay Van Garderen about Cadel and "the look." He's young, he heard the call, he made a mistake, it's not like he told Cadel to !@#$ off so he could keep his white jersey safe. Enough already!
3. Anyone who throws tacks on a race course when guys can actually get killed in a crash is a total bastard. Remember, the guillotine is a French innovation, dirtbags!
4. In a corollary, it may not be now. It may not be next week. It may not even be til the very last moments of the universe as we know it. But Cadel will find you. And he will kill you.
5. This is totally irrelevant to the Tour, but Tom Boonen crashing with a broken rib just a couple weeks before the Olympics really sucks. He's had such a great comeback season, and I was *sure* he was gonna kick Cav's !@# at the Olympics!
6. Peter Sagan's a smashing rider, but getting that pimped-out "Tourminator" bike like 2 days into the green jersey competition was just obnoxious by the sponsors. Jeez, cool yer jets til the competition has conceded defeat!
7. You're very, very clean. We get it! You're a very, very good sport. We get it! Great as Wiggo is, does he *really* need the relentless self-promoting halo campaign?
8. You've got *one* day to break Froome, Cadel. One. And I hate to say it, but neither you nor BMC can do it alone. Nibali, however, has been offering to help you bushwhack 'im all race. Do it!
9. I'll give it to RadioSkank--to be this much of a train wreck and still be able to head up the team competition's not too shabby. Who'd'a thunk even just a few years ago that Johan bailing on his own team would've been the best thing for it?
10. When Jens Voigt thinks you're a wanker, you might as well just retire from the sport. Nice work, Pierre!
11. I can't tell if the French are winning so much this year because everyone else is clean too, or because they're just dirty again. You?
12. Finally, I'm still really, really pissed about Samu'. !@#dammit!
Mutiny on the Team Bus!: yep, ol' Wiggo's got reason to be worried: stage beast/mountain maid Chris Froome is openly unhappy playing lieutenant to team captain Bradley Wiggins, and wants his own ship should the Tour de France have, y'know, uphills next year. Let the bidding wars begin--and start yer planning for 2013, Brad, this guy knows your strengths and weaknesses pretty well by now!
Road Rage!: first it's some moron setting up a tea party in the race course, then it's some eejits firing flares off at the maillot jaune, and now it's even worse: jack!@#es strewing tacks or nails on the road to screw the riders and change the race. Was it me, or did poor Cadel look like his fist was just lookin' for a face to meet? Good thing for the perp Evans didn't figure out on the spot who tossed those things on the tarmac! While we're at it, good on Wiggins Sky (and I guess even the rest of the initially-reluctant team bosses) for deciding to not take advantage of the situation, because especially if Wiggins is gonna take it anyway, a good minute-odd of the final victory margin in Paris would've been tainted with bad-karma skankdom. Well, by chaos' end, Hincapie was disgusted, Tejay was bewildered, Wiggo was proposing to pack the hooligans off to a soccer (sorry, dear Brits, I know it's really "football") match, and sadly, hardworking Kiserlovski, who's really animated the Tour so far, was out with an ugly collarbone snap. As to the fans, what the !@#$ is wrong with you people--what next, one of those wily net traps that'll sweep up half the peloton 20 feet off the road in a tangle of limbs and derailleurs? Just let these guys try to get home in one piece already!
Cheapskates!: meantime, over at RadioSkank, the implosion continues, as Johan Bruyneel adds insult to Jakob Fuglsang's already nasty screw-over by not only barring him from any more serious races, but also by not bothering to even pay him--or the Schlecks, or even the team's season-salvager Cancellara--for his humiliation. Oh, man up, Johan, don't take out *your* own well-earned problems on innocent riders--at least accept the legacy-killing end to your career with *some* dignity!
And, Yer Roundup Shorts: so Thor Hushovd's still down and out, Frank Schlecks' *still* bitching about Grand Tours having downhills, and the sprinters still can't stop themselves from sissy-boy slapfights in any forum whatsoever. Aw, heck, can't *anyone* give us fans a break this season?
Alp, I Need Somebody/Alp, I Need Anybody: yes, we're through the mighty Alps, and if *I* were Brad Wiggins, the first thing on *my* agenda after tying up the final maillot jaune in Paris would be, who the hell am I gonna hire to take me up the mountains next year after Chris Froome bails on me for a rock-star contract and his own team-leadership glory? Me, I sure hope it's not the spectacular Tejay Van Garderen, whose strength, discretion, loyalty, and relentless optimism for beleaguered team leader Cadel has made him a real pleasure to watch this week. Wise you are, grasshopper, for not listening to everyone telling you to let Cadel suck it while you pedal off for solo glory--your GC turn will come soon enough, it's clear!
Millar Time: y'know, just when I was feeling all genuinely happy for St. David Millar to take a great stage in gracious honor of a rider who suffered a terrible tragedy, and thinkin' he'd put all that ostentatious camera-slut wah-wah over how reformed he is and how sorry he is (he got busted) and yap, yap, yap, he has to go and blow it: yep, there he was, literally *begging* the press like some smug endless-loop self-flagellating martyr to call him an ex-doper. Jaysus, Millar, we get it! You haven't won a race in umpteen years because you're clean and everyone else is dirty! Except today! You're a testament to all that's holy and good! An example of purity and moral grace to all of us lowly flawed miscreant sinner devil-dwellin' scum you're forced to share the earth with! Can I *please* get some support here for "just shut the !@#$ up about it and ride your bike already"? Oh, Jan Ullrich, come back and lie to us in those dulcet German tones then retreat into dignified omerta just once more...
Does This Tour Blow?: no, not the 2 days in the Alps. And watching the French ride well in their own Grand Tour for 2 straight years is not only shocking, but downright fascinating. But come on, if you're gonna stick us with 8000 kilometers of time trialing, 42 consecutive sprint finishes, *and* then make the GC contenders haul !@# up a buncha peaks, then freakin' make them finish there, or at least down a worthy descent that'll separate the skilled from the Schl--uh, less skilled so we get some actual drama on the GC front, not 80k after that of twiddly bull!@#$ every day. I mean, Cadel's got *one* stage in the Pyrenees and this Tour is done--what the hell's he supposed to do, bushwhack Wiggo like a chump during a nature break? No, we don't want to encourage the guys to cheat by whacking 'em senseless with vertical gackfests every minute--but damn, give the final podium *some* drama after the 10th stage, willya?
Finally, Yer Preview: uh-uh, it's another spri---zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....snort.......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...is it over yet?
1. MOVE. THE. !@#$. BACK. FROM. THE. ROAD. YOU. TOUR. DESTROYING. FREAK. Oh, Samu'! Did you *see* poor Sanchez all awash in tears?
2. Just when the French were starting not to suck. Nice work, Remy DiGregorio!
3. Luckily, though, there's no more doping in the peloton. Keep clickin' the heels of those ruby slippers all you want, Pat "Dick" McQuaid, it still ain't gonna make it true!
4. Frank Schleck, quit whining about *everything* and focus. You're tired from the Giro, you're resentful about the Tour, your team boss is a colossal jerkwad--all perfectly understandable reasons to choke. Embrace it. Your weird symbiotic thing with your little brother, though, isn't. Fix it.
5. If Wiggo "the Spider" really kicks it in the high mountains, no matter how pissed off he gets, I'm still gonna be just a liiiiiittttttttle bit creeped out. You?
6. Speaking of which, there barely are any. What the hell is this, the Tour of Oman?
7. Sometimes, someone is just better than you. Even you, and even your "@#$%-race" competitors. Might as well be a gentleman about it. Get it Cav?
8. It's nice to see Cancellara back on form. At least something at RadioSkank doesn't blow this year!
9. Of course that !@#wipe Armstrong had to be a publicity hog. And was I on a massive crack binge at the time, or did you say you didn't care and weren't gonna challenge this crap? Please, Mr. Integrity, be a man of your word!
10. Crap luck for Vande Velde and Ryder, huh? Valverde too and all, but he was already scheduled for his Spectacular Annual Mid-Grand-Tour Meltdown anyway.
11. Jeeeeeeeennnnnnnnsssssss! Ah, blessed is the asphalt you stomp upon...
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