OT (takes podium with entire Tinkoff-Saxo squad kneeling before him): Good morning. I've called you all here today to stroke my insatiable need for attention and to address the recent rumors that, despite a couple of minor early-season victories from my chief riders that have done nothing to bring me the glory that is rightfully mine, something is very wrong here at Team Tinkoff-Saxo. First, let me say, nothing is wrong at all. Instead, we have cannily been distracting you and our fiercest rivals from our inevitable immediate sweep of each of the remaining Monuments, every one of the Grand Tours, and all other races by completely sucking so far this season. Hah, I can see we've already psyched you out, you gullible weaklings!
Second, to extent anything *is* wrong over here at Casa Oleg, it is absolutely and utterly everyone else's fault but mine. !@#&, what's the point of throwing more money than God at everyone who looks good on paper in the cycling world if you can't unjustly blame them for the way I'm handling the team? At the same time, until my minions can find a way to completely screw him financially and professionally, I also want to express my complete support for Bjarne Riis. ALRIGHT I'VE SUPPORTED YOU, NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT OR I'LL REALLY "SUSPEND" YOU, YOU INCOMPETENT IDIOT!
Finally, I am here today to announce my great and dazzling plan to fix this team. Henceforth, *I*, Oleg Tinkov, will be the *sole* rider in every race. Therefore, I will be my own team captain, superdomestique, sprinter, lead-out train, and bottle-carrying workhorse. I CAN CLIMB THE !@#$ING ALPS BEFORE THAT ALSO-RAN CONTADOR CAN EVEN FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET HIS BIB SHORTS ON IN THE MORNING, I WILL CRUSH YOU AT THE TOUR DE FRANCE FROOME YOU OVERHYPED PIECE OF !@#$!
This of course leaves you wondering what will happen to those team members who are still under contract until they generously agree to rip them up or I break their knees off. Be assured, each team member will be assigned roles fully in keeping with his million-euro superstar status and particular talents. Peter Sagan, being so fast in the sprint, will fetch me my coffee from Starbucks first thing each morning. (Sagan runs up to him with small cup) I SAID *FOURTEEN* SHOTS OF ESPRESSO, YOU IGNORANT WORM! (throws it in Sagan's face) Alberto Contador, with his peerless stamina and climbing ability, will be in charge of carrying my luggage up to and down from the 14th-floor penthouse suite of my hotel each day until he proves to me he's sorry for making me look like a total asshat in front of everybody. And of course Bjarne, with his great tactical expertise, will be in charge of keeping everyone's dirty cycling clothes properly sorted, washed, and returned to their owners in neatly labeled laundry bags by 4 a.m. each race-day morning. DOES THAT EXPENSIVE RAPHA SOCK LOOK LIKE SOMETHING I WOULD DEIGN TO LET THAT BLOCKHEAD PETER WEAR WHILE HE STILL FAILS SO BADLY? HE'LL WEAR UNBEARABLY ITCHY SACKCLOTH KIT UNTIL FLANDERS IS MINE, MINE, MINE!
This concludes our morning press conference. Thank you for coming and I am truly humbled by your attendance. NOW KEEP YOUR EYES GLUED TO MY TWITTER FEED UNTIL I POST A PICTURE OF MYSELF LEAPING SAFELY BACK TO EARTH FROM THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION WITHOUT SOME WUSSY LITTLE "PARACHUTE" OR "OXYGEN" FIFTEEN MINUTES AND FORTY SECONDS FROM NOW, YOU COWERING LIFELESS LEECHES!