It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2021 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!

Yes, the Prosecco's been popped, the confetti's been showered, and Lefevere's discreetly slunk on home to make excuses for Quick Step, so what's left, after three excruciating, glorious, unpredictable weeks through most of Italy?  Well wash that chamois and step on up, because that's right, it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2021 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!  The prizes--I swear on Gilberto Simoni--for anyone so egomaniacal, so craven, or so desperate as to claim them: (1) a dashing, custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap for yer head; (2) a passel of handsome racejunkie stickers to adorn yer bike, yer helmet, or yer rival's face; (3) eternal shame; and (4) a genuine sports-related trophy tchotchke with your name and award either engraved, or, budget not permitting, written with exceedingly neat handwriting in genuine Sharpie right on it to proudly display next to your Trofeo Senza Fine, Tour de France honorary plate, or Paris-Roubaix cobblestone.  So fold down that middle finger, own the low-down things you've done the last three weeks, and let's get this Giro-pink party started!

The Entire Universe Completely !@#$in' Sucks Gut-Punch of 2021: look you bitter, cynical haters, I don't even want to *hear* a buncha crap about how he can never hold it together for three weeks or he courts disaster like Casanova courts chicks or whatever heretical anti-Carrot !@#$ you're spewing--Mikel Landa was happy, on the form of his life, and, may I repeat to you still suck Movistar, *happy* when he was taken out by the race's second-unluckiest man, the innocent previous-day's stage winner birthday-boy Joe Dombrowski, when the latter nearly plowed into some barely-marked road furniture, and, after several minutes of staying terrifyingly still, was loaded into an ambulance and whisked away with a thrice-broken collarbone, a nearly collapsed lung, and a pile of broken ribs, the perfect race and his perfect GC chances shot to hell.  !@#*dammit*, UCI,  can you either remove this !@#$ from the roadway or mark it with more than an invisible flag-bearer so nobody else has their triumphant win and maiden Grand Tour victory ruined already? 

Class Act o' the Race: yap, he's washed up, yap, he should be home tottering around his garden in Sicily, yap.  He's won the entire show twice while you were still figuring out where you were supposed to apply yer chamois cream, Bucko, he started the Giro with a broken wrist and zippo for training, and, through rain, snow, sleet, and idiot barreling team car, he still honored the race by getting out there and busting what was left of him to thank the tifosi, the race organizers, and the entire damn country as best he could.  More, after he crashed hard and hurt himself even worse, he stuck it out when no-one could've blamed him for climbing off his bike and heading off into the sunset.  But he's Vincenzo !@#$in' Nibali, and that's why the rest of the universe cowers before him.  Take a bow, Squalo, even if yer armchair critics haven't the grace to do it in front of you!

Fan !@#$wit Award: sure, it's gotta be both weird and unpleasant being pursued by wingnuts with growling chain saws, screeched at by an attention-whore in a mankini, or smothered by some dimwit with smoke flares, but what's *really* beyond the pale of ordinary bike-fan enthusiasm? Yep, thrusting yer maskless pestilence-ridden gob at and highly indecently mauling poor helpless Lorenzo Fortunato, about to take his first-ever pro win for his legendary bosses Alberto Contador and Ivan Basso after a miserable slog and incredible triumph on the iconic Zoncolan.  But a kid couldn't ask for a more ardent defender than two-time Giro campione Gilberto Simoni, who, not taking disrespect of his home stomping grounds lightly, piled on the interloper with the help of his wife and cousin and dragged him off.  Sempre grande Giboooooooooooo!  

Dumb-!@# Crash o' the Giro: look, I don't appreciate lurid crash porn, but occasionally, something so unutterably stupid and mercifully not life-changing happens that *someone's* gotta call it out.  This year, it was UCI's unbearably boneheaded anal-retentive rule-making that wouldn't let a rider dispose safely and sensibly of his rain jacket, leading the clueless BikeExchange team car, whose DS was distracted by coordinating the jacket's return with a passing neutral support vehicle, to plow right into the back of faultless and frankly perfectly visible rider Peter Thierry.  What the !@#$ is *wrong* with you, UCI? Now quit dodging that phone call from his lawyers, nut up, and take the (hopefully expensive) consequences!

Small Slice o' Marginally-Less-Pointless-Stupidity Thumbs-Up Emoji: and, to be fair--and believe me, that pains me--those idiots *are* to be somewhat commended, or at least, minimally less vilified, for bowing to near-universal outrage that they've taken all the fun outta cycling by not allowing the almost-always-super-generous riders to reward charming moppets, and the parents who just spent 7 hours freezing on a mountain top listening to their whining, with a prized, if slightly spit-covered, mobile souvenir, and permitted an approximately two-meter window for that to happen without incurring a huge penalty and lifetime imprisonment in some decrepit dungeon.  Well done UCI--Jaysus, would you *please* not DQ Bernal for his sock height til he's collected the trophy in Milan?

Brad Wiggins Memorial Bike Throw Hissy Fit Prize: yes, I spent the greater part of the race defending the kid from the ridiculous pressure and ludicrous weight of expectation dumped upon him, but still, you can't deny that jailbait needs to learn how to keep his cool--mm-hmm, a thoroughly distanced Remco Evenepoel angrily jerking out his radio--and thus the helpful, encouraging voice of his DS--as Egan Bernal blasted the time away on the strade sterrate of a legitimately epic stage 10.  You are, in fact, a humungous talent--but you ain't Contador yet, princess, so listen up when you're told to or else! Corollary Resentful Domestique Award: Joao Almeida, tersely acknowledging he was "disappointed" at having to schlep back to help the undeserving little twerp, despite being 4 minutes back on *him* on GC already on the first place.  That must've been one awkward dinner table that night--anyone got video?

Smack-Talk o' the Race: Stage 12. A rare opportunity (for second and third place, but whatever), as Andrea Vendrame capitalizes on some tactical dithering between George Bennett and Gianluca Brambilla to surge ahead unchallenged for the win. And after dangerously swerving to cut off Bennett to punish him for (arguably reasonably) not working in the chase, leading to relegation for jerkfacery, it was Brambilla lamming into Bennett to the cameras, sniping "just ask George Bennett how to lose the race. Sometimes it's better to watch some racing on TV so you know how to do it."  Still, Bennett does deserve kudos for managing to haul his musette for 60 kilometers to the line like he was about to ditch the corsa rosa for a leisurely stop at a farmer's market a few stages later.  Punk he may be, but litterbug he ain't!

Holy Cow That Could've Been Uncomfortable Mechanical of All Eternity: y'know, sometimes someone just drops a chain or gets caught on the wrong wheel to derail their sprint, and sometimes, you're about to be impaled with a giant titanium rod up your !@#.  This time, it was the latter, and monster points--and a fine save o' the delicate nether regions--by Fernando Gaviria on stage 13 for having the quick reflexes and mad bike-handling skills to stay airborne, upright, and miraculously uninjured after being startled by the snap of his seat post and subsequent unwanted ejection of his saddle with less than one kilometer to the line in a hotly-contested sprint.  Get that man a beer--and get his mechanic the hell outta Italy!

Shut-Yer-Eyes Save o' the Giro: sure, Astana's made a specialty out of attacking downhill under the slipperiest most treacherous conditions, usually, like Movistar's fruitless tactics, to no avail whatsoever.  But you gotta admire we love ex-and-ever-Euskaltel rider Gorka Izagirre, who came within a gnat's whisker of a painful face-plant into a roadside van skidding out on a Stage 6 descent in the Dolomiti before he pulled his foot outta the pedal and the rest of him fortunately outta harm's way.  Oh, give it up, you were too so either covering your eyes the whole time, there's no shame seeing that just in replays! 

Liar Liar Pants on Fire Statuette: yes, their team leader got knocked out early, so Bahrain-Victorious was honor-bound to do something special for him and salvage the race.  But an early stage win by Gino Mader, a second on Monte Zoncolan by Jan Tratnik, and a solo stage win and second on the overall podium by unsung worker-bee Damiano Caruso?  *That* was one bitchin' tribute, and no, you can't rewrite history and pretend you saw any of that coming.  Well done boys--now get a nice rest before you all humbly propel Landa to victory in the Vuelta!

Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: normally, this goes to Alejandro Valverde for ostentatiously undercutting his own team captain by attacking during a nature break, 'not seeing' his leader'd lost his wheel despite high-volume in-ear screaming from his outraged team car, or slipping a coupla doses of Ex-Lax into his bidon, but with Bala saving up for the Tour de France, this one goes to glamour-boy fan favorite and resurgent creaky old guy Peter Sagan, who, having the power and authority within the peloton to do so, relentlessly cut off and squelched any lowly peon with breakaway ambitions who could even remotely be a threat to his maglia ciclamino with such obnoxious efficiency that even UCI had to take notice and fine 'im.  Aw, he batted his eyelashes--wait, was that the Cutest Rider Ever Award we were giving him?

Like a Virgin Prize(s): Fortunato. Taco van der Hoorn. Alberto Bettiol.  Vendrame. Lafay. Mader. Schmid. Dan Martin.  Nizzolo, after 11--count 'em, 11!--second places at his home Grand Tour.  About 5 other guys you never get to hear of (I *know*, everyone's heard of Martin, I *know*).  This year's Giro, just about everyone who's never won a professional race, much less a Grand Tour stage,  and in particular a bunch of riders who spend 99% of their lives busting their rumps in obscurity for other, more heralded superstars, managed to take a Giro d'Italia victory, and even the occasional maglia rosa, from the expected usual suspects.  Love it, love it, love it--gentlemen, collect yer prizes!

Moral Outrage of the Giro: Sure, even Mario Cipollini was known to bail on the Giro rather'n 'honor the race' by facing the fruitless agony of his home-race mountains.  But when wee sprinter Caleb Ewan cuts his losses after a doppio of stage wins? Heresy! Aw, c'mon, he *said* he was only here to take a stage in every Grand Tour this season, and there pretty much *were* no other sprint stages left--*you* wanna be the teammate dragging his resentful carcass to the finish line within the time cut every day?

Last But Not Least, Domestique o' the Race: y'know, I was all set to hand this one to the fearsome Filippo Ganna, who has every reason to act like a complete snot of a prima donna and whose selfless unstoppable pounding of the terrified tarmac led the way for the most trouble-free fight for GC since the Armstrong PostalDiscovery train was--and I'm 100% sure this is a total coincidence--at the height of its, um, natural powers.  And Dani Martinez' inspiring yell and fist-shake into a lightly-cracking Egan Bernal's face at a desperate moment is the photograph that dreams are made of. But watching Bahrain-Merida's presumptive successor-captain we love Pello Bilbao grind to a near-halt on the final climb of the penultimate day to help ensure outta-nowhere Damiano Caruso's stunning second on the overall podium--and a gorgeous solo stage win to boot--it's pretty impossible to pick anyone else.  Well done ever-Carrot Pello--now let this guy off the leash for a stage win next year!

Well, time to dismantle the multilayered Giro shrine in my living room, mourn what wasn't (oh Mikel!), and celebrate what was til the Vuelta, or I guess that golden hype-fest in July's on too.  Anyway, thanks to all for sticking it out for a fabulous race, and congrats to all our worthy honorees--whether you should be proud of what you won for, or not!