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!
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1 comment:
Heh. You forgot Madiot, and the car-banging intensity of his team's (ahem, Turbot Pinot's) win. That deserves an award and a half. Oh, did I misspell Pinot's first name? Hehe, nah. That's gotta be his new nick - Turbo!
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