I Challenge Thee to a Duel!: A Practical Solution to the Wiggins-Froome Dispute

Look, here's what's clear: Wiggo can't man up and admit he's riding the Giro because he's more afraid of the Tour, so he won't cut the fantasyland bull!@#$ about a successful double, and Froome won't let Wiggins forget he'd be kissing Froome's !@# from the second spot on the podium if Froomey hadn't herded him up the Alps like a knocked-up goat, so he won't stand any challenge to his leadership at this year's Tour. Upshot: not only can they not work together, they're absolutely gonna sabotage each other, intentionally or not. Solution: cut the smack-talk, sissy-boys--we're havin' a duel! The rules:

Duration: Until (1) death or serious denting or (2) either one o' you runs crying home to momma. Anyone wanna guess how long this one's gonna last?

Coaching: well, we can't use Sky management--just look where it's gotten you guys so far! Wiggins--you get Pat "Dick" McQuaid. Froome--you get Travis Tygart. Just count yer blessings I didn't stick you guys with a Schleck or something!

Press Coverage: Nope, can't delay the fightin' that way. One overhead camera turned on at the start, no pre-duel press conferences or junkets. Nice try, Brad "I Hate Talking To The Media" Wiggins!

Location: Top of Alpe d'Huez. Caveat: you gotta get there under your own steam. See Froome, ol' Brad's half out of the running already!

Distance: With Wiggins' primordial pterodactyl wing-span, Froome is toast right off the bat if Brad is standing within 50 feet of 'im. 50 yards to start!

Weapons: Anything y'all can lift with that legendary cyclist upper-body strength, which I suppose, come to think of it, stops you both dead well before "seat post." Style points for "most original use of a spoke wrench"!

Attire: Regulation Sky team kit. Any attempt by Brad to wear his last year's yellow jersey to mock Chris, or by Chris to rip it off his torso and wear its tattered shreds himself to taunt Brad, will be punishable by one free hit.

Nourishment: Both parties must grab their musettes on the fly, during the match, from your soigneur, and either eat safely, or fall over trying. Just like a bike race!

Teammates: None. Neither of you guys needs anybody else, right?

Nature Breaks: What are you, animals? I can't even take it when the cameras catch that stuff during the Tour! You cyclists are always bragging how much you suffer on the bike--now prove it!

Testing: Any and all blood spilled will be collected, frozen, and tested ten years hence in accordance with then-current testing protocols. This way, we can see what !@#$ you guys are obviously both o--uh, how hematocrit naturally changes over the careers of top-level athletes. Anyone need a couple days to clean u--um, prepare yourselves mentally before we begin?

Reward: What, you want *another* knighthood, Sir Brad? This one's for the fans. Ya fought, ya won or ya lost--now ya quit yer whinin', and shut yer damn yaps about this stupid dispute from now on!

Well, dear reader(s), them's *my* fix. See you at high noon tomorrow, and may the best man *really* win!