It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!

Seeing red--but traumatized because it's not the leader's jersey?  Bereft with the final Grand Tour done and dusted and only the Worlds and Il Lombardia left before the bleak slow descent into winter?  Well, cheer up, Debbie Downer, because it ain't over yet--yep, it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!  The schwag, should anyone burst through the impenetrable fog of my meaningless obscurity to claim it--I swear, I'm good for it!--(1) eternal internet shame (or glory!) for some future cyber-archaeologist to unearth 5,000 years from now; (2) a stunning custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to show off yer notoriety and adorn yer noggin; (3) a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to thwap on the bike of some loathed rival; and (4) a genuine indeterminate-metal-and-rocklike-base-material statute thingamajig foraged from a local second-hand shop, BUT WITH YOUR NAME AND PRIZE WRITTEN ON IT.  Suck on *that*, cheapskate Oscars goody bags!

Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Individual Edition): Valverde against his own teammate and co-captain Nairo on stage--wait, was that 3? No, 6? No, 19? No, all of 'em!  And I gotta say, I enjoyed every nasty, backstabbing pedal-stroke.  Alejandro Valverde, you wily s.o.b., you never, ever fail to disappoint!

Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Team Edition): Yeah, I *know*, Marc Soler is an upstart little snot and if far greater riders can cheerfully pull off to the side of the road to surrender a bike or wait for their team leader, then why couldn't *this* egomaniacal twerp?  Because he was right.  I don't care if Nairo managed to have the legs to win a mountain stage because he's spent the last 6 years saving energy glomming onto everybody else's wheels--it was a d#!k move to drag another team's leader up to Soler, *then* spin by just enough to take the stage but not even grab the red jersey as a consolation prize.  And no, Soler's scripted apology and his DS' public admonition of the naive wee thing doesn't fix it.  You *suck*, Movistar!

Listen All Y'all It's Sabotaaaaaage! Prize: And, in a spectacular three-fer, leave it to Movistar to only pull their !@#$ together as a cohesive squad to attack race leader Roglic when he was delayed by a giant crash that not only took out half the Vuelta field, but the Tour and Giro's just past to boot, as the entire peloton, gasping behind their hankies and pearls in horror at the unwritten etiquette breach, erupted in gestures and outrage, mostly after, of course, they went along and put down the hammer too to their benefit.   On the plus side, Valverde, who at age 346 certainly ain't stupid, totally coincidentally managed to screw over his chief teammate-rival as well.  Damn, these clowns really *did* deserve to win the Team Competition!

Ice Ice, Baby Prize: Hailstones on Stage 9, forcing these fragile stick figures to beg for cover from any team car, overhang, roadside bar, or thornbush they could find, with nary a peep from the weather narcs in charge of stopping the race.  What is this, the !@#$ing Classics? Drench 'em bake 'em or freeze 'em, sure--but *really* race organizers, letting the poor things get pummeled to death by Nature's evil golf balls?  *That's* too much to demand!

Crash o' the Race (Holy Crap!): Think the stage 1 team time trial was gonna be hard on the riders? Well, we haven't even gotten there yet, as the Euskadi-Murias team car overcooks a corner during the recon and goes screeching into a barrier then face-plants into an actual building.  Luckily, it being the recon, the crowd hadn't yet filtered in and no spectators were hurt, and the team car guys emerged with nothing worse than bruises. Whew!

Crash o' the Race (Near Miss): As if the Great Gardening Flood of 2019 didn't cause carnage enough, with Jumbo-Visma and UAE completely wiping out and throwing both their bodily integrity and race prospects into total chaos before the race even got to the Stage 1 finish line, the aftermath damn near took out a third squad too, as Jumbo Visma's team car, understandably caught up by mechanics frantically trying to get their riders and their wrecked bikes off the tarmac and replaced with rides that weren't in pieces, was still stuck on the road, unfortunately tucked invisibly at the corner right as the unknowing Quick Step boys came flying through.  Amazingly, they managed to dodge the enormous additional solid obstacle, and even further disaster was averted.  Oh, my--good reflexes, Wolfpack!

The Little Engine That Could (Until He Couldn't) Award: poor Fabio Aru.  Once hailed as Cycling's Next Great Grand Tour Winner, then ground down by the initially adoring, then ruthless, Italian press into a self-defeating insecure nub, then buoyed by the identification, treatment of, and actually quite impressive recovery from a power-sucking iliac problem, only to look on fine returning form for this year's Vuelta then ensuing exhaustion after initial hampering from Stage 1's surfin' safari.  Still, major points for grinta.  Wishing you a better 2020 Aru!

Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Metaphorical): Enraged Tour de France reject Philippe Gilbert's textbook breakaway win on the vicious, and pretty unsuitable for him frankly, Stage 14.  Oh, and he grabbed Stage 17 too.  Sure, Quick Step gets some of the glory--but take *that* for screwing me in July, you b*stards!

Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Literal): Tao Geoghagen Hart and Ruben Guerrero, so pissed at their jointly allowing Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway that spindly cyclist fisticuffs ensued after the finish line.  Note: the asshat who stole Tao's Garmin off his bike *during his podium ceremony* the other day is a complete and utter tool.  Repent, jerkface, and give it back before he finds you--you've been fairly warned he can go all Bouhanni on your !@# !

Doping Bust o' the Race: no, silly, it's not some game-changing multi-squad scandalpalooza PED ring, or a huge payoff for UCI's current strategy of vaguely waving an iPad someone's using to play "Fortnite" in the general direction of a bike shop in hopes of not discovering a well-hidden high-tech motor, or finally figuring out whatever-the-hell-they're-all-on-lately that makes 'em look like they've  been sucked dry by a 40-foot deer tick--it's because some dimwit who never heard of the word "tarpaulin" didn't think to cover his substantial roof-top weed farm from the indifferent eye of the race helicopter, which gave the local non-cycling narcs all the evidence they needed for a marijuana bust.  Wow, glad we've managed to bring integrity back to pro cycling again--great job, UCI!.

Domestique o' the Race: For a guy who doesn't owe Quick Step jack for leaving him outta the Tour de France this year, he sure knows how to give back anyway.  Double stage winner Philippe Gilbert, who tenderly shepherded young Vuelta newb James Knox the entirety of Stage 20 and right across the line after the poor kid suffered an excruciating crash the day before, in the helpful company of fellow bad-!@# big name Zdenek Stybar.  Gilbert, we can always count on you to go out in style!

Fan !@#$wit Award: aw, this one's almost *too* easy.  In a race where enthusiastic-but-polite fans are most likely to try for a selfie with a beloved hero *before* the stage, or at worst frantically fly a Basque flag a considerate two meters from a dangerous date with your wheel, one astonishingly clueless--if admirably diligent--landscaper surpassed even the most idiotic, vulgar, camera-whoring Tour de France speedo-screamer by unleashing a truly Biblical deluge right on a tricky corner of the opening Team Time Trial course that managed to turn an already-technical stage into something outta the final scene in "Point Break" where Patrick Swayze surfs himself to death in the HUGEST WAVE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY. The casualties?  Oh, just a surplus of stage hunters, indispensable domestiques, road captains, and 6 or 8 valid GC contenders--nothing enough gauze to shroud Buckingham palace, a few dozen gallons of alcohol, 8400 tubes of antibiotic ointment, and 35,000 meters of surgical stitching couldn't cure!

Grim Reaper Prize: to be honest, this is a sport that relies on outsize personalities to jack up the crowd and attack valuable sponsor Euros, so to expect Cipollini-like stud-muffinry or Saganesque joie de vivre outta everybody seems a little, well, unfair to the introverts in our midst.  So let's cut overall champion Primoz Roglic a little slack if he's not going all Suzie Sunshine for every interview, podium, and red jersey donned. The sole exception--his rolling cheerful last-day chat with Valverde, who since he helped shut down every threat from Movistar for 3 weeks without Roglic's boys having to break a sweat, damn well deserved one.  Go back to grumping all you want Rogla--the trophy you bagged today shines brightly enough on its own!

And Last But Not Least, Breakout Star of Vuelta 2019: 3 stages. One Young Rider's jersey.  And a tactical sense far beyond his approximate age of a nursery-school newbie.  Tadej Pogacar, this final one's for you--and enjoy it while it lasts, because you're a marked man from now on!

Well folks, that's the Vuelta.  Now let's take a deep breath, kick back the rest of the Cava, and get ready for the World Championships!