All right, cycling fans: the Champagne's been quaffed, the adorable moppets have been lofted in their dads' arms on the podium, and the lively debate over whether this year's Tour sucked or rocked has devolved from semi-polite Twitter debate into mild fisticuffs and now into cars on fire, Molotov cocktails, and people sticking blazing flares up their butts. Oh wait, that's *soccer* fans! Anyway, for those of you still in deep doldrums from your post-Tour hangover, and the absolute decimation of your fantasy team due to that monstrous all-peloton crash the first week, it's time to reflect and celebrate the good, the bad, and god knows, the ugly with your annual Incredibly Prestigious 2021 Tour de France racejunkie Awards! Prizes--I swear on Andre Greipel's diplomacy towards Mark Cavendish over that snitty 2013 "shit race" comment I'm still pissed off about--(1) a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to deface yer rivals' team bus, teammates, or face; (2) a custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap so you need never get on a podium with a disgraceful baseball cap again; (3) a genuine promotional sportsy statue with yer name and awarded written nicely upon it in impermeable Sharpie if I can't afford the engraving; and (4) best of all, eternal glory, or shame, because the internet never forgets, baby! So bust out yer berets, hang on tight, and let's get on with the show!
Fan !@#$wit Award: y'know, normally, that eejit who let a renegade umbrella rip right in front of the wheel of the maillot jaune on a sketchy, rainy descent--which, thankfully, the rider was able to dodge--would win this no problem. But this year, of course, none can be the recipient but the insanely reckless, stupid, and attention-whoring lady in yellow with the ALLEZ OPI-OMI sign that, either that day or in the days thereafter, sent about 20% of the peloton home with gruesome injuries and foreordained the final GC almost right from the get-go. FFS, people--*how* many times can I run that !@#dammed etiquette post from like 2006 before you *listen*?!
Hissy Fit o' the Race: usually, you can count on some sprinter who lost entirely fair and square to unjustly attack the winner, or a little inadvertent argy-bargy to result in a full-on slap-fight and truly vicious post-race-interview slagging. But this year, our peloton was impressively well-behaved. So, even though it's not quite *in* the race, I'll give it this to Green Jersey champ/Merckx's Impossible Record-Tie-r Mark Cavendish, notoriously dropping the humble-pie bull!@#$ he seemed to have developed just for the Tour and going back to his career-long pissy prima-donna self by going absolutely off on his unlucky mechanic for some minor offense. I mean, sorry for the mechanic and all (and to his credit, Mark did promptly issue a lengthy apology)--but damn, I was starting to worry our Cav had been replaced by a pod-person there for a minute!
Superdomestique Prize: sure, he's by kilometers (literally!) the best lead out man in the business, and he even had to sit up and brake *twice* to let his charge come around him and actually take the win. So Quick Step's Michael Morkov, this is *almost* for you. But even better than Morkov's fine work, tragically, was the truly superlative job done collectively by Team Ineos. Trouble was, it was for deadly rival and final maillot jaune in Paris, UAE's Tadej Pogacar, not their own !@#$ed-up four, then, three, then two, then one-headed hydra. You're supposed to riding for the fast one in *blue*, kids!
Grumpy Old Man Yells At Clouds Award: at first, he wasn't even remotely concerned. Then, he was mildly amused. But finally, after Cavendish began to come dangerously close to tying--or heaven forbid, even almost *beating*--his hitherto-breakable Tour de France stage-win record, even the legendary, and truly still untouchable, Eddy Merckx had had enough. BECAUSE UNLIKE THAT !@#$IN' LOSER ONE-TRICK PONY CAV I'VE WON ALL KINDS OF STAGES NOT JUST SPRINTS AND I'VE WORN THE YELLOW JERSEY MORE DAYS THAN THAT PUNK HAS BEEN ALIVE PLUS I'VE WON THE WHOLE !@#DAMN SHOW 5 TIMES, CAN YOU SAY THAT YOU !@#$IN' AMATEUR?! In the end, Eddy relented--because he's the Cannibal, and he can--warmly embraced Cav, and ended the race with his stage-win record (if now shared) still intact. NOW WASH MY FEET YOU WORM!
Shake, Rattle and Roll Award: now, normally it's the armchair peloton jumping all the hell over a wheel suspiciously rotating at high speed several untoward minutes after the bike's actual rider has detached himself from the thing in a crash. But this year, it was the riders themselves who purportedly claimed to be hearing "unusual" sounds from their rivals' back wheels in the pack--rivals whose performance seemed uncharacteristically strong. And at least one gent apparently defended any untoward noises by claiming it may perfectly well have been someone's discarded rice-cake wrapper caught in the spokes making all the clatter. I mean, sure, a rice cake wrapper with wires, magnets, computer chips, and gasoline--but who the heck can reasonably quarrel with that?
Class Move o' the Race: honestly, even if you're Wout van Aert, you can't ask for much more than to beat the ageless Alejandro Valverde in a mountain stage and have him stagger in after you and graciously congratulate you on your win. But for my money, this is actually for the three-pack of Slovenians, including winner Tadej Pogacar, parading to Paris with crashed-out countryman and serious maillot jaune contender Primoz Roglic's race number held up between them for the cameras. Nice move, boys--but enjoy the symbolic thumbs-up, because next year, if all goes well, you'll be fighting the real thing right down to the wire!
Revelation of the Tour: yeah, Pogacar already *did* all that stuff in 2020, so while our tot wonder may still be quite impressive in bagging his second straight overall win and two stages to boot, anyone who expected Jonas Vingegaard--respected and formidable whippersnapper though he is--to step up after Rogla crashed out, stick with the tireless Pogacar for stage upon stage, blast fellow wee climber Carapaz by minutes in the final time trial, and lock in second on the podium by that kind of a margin is just a lying lying liar. Or just smarter than me--not all that hard, I concede!
Nice Guys Finish First (Sometimes) Award: he's in damn near every breakaway that ever broke. He works hard, does his fair share, and rides with class. And this time, he took an early flyer from the breakaway, storming steadily to a smashing win. Bauke Mollema on Stage 14. Chapeau!
Optics, People! Prize (Lucky He's Untouchable Edition): now, it's not at all uncommon for a rider to, after a herculean effort, collapse off his bike onto the tarmac, heaving for breath and dangerously close to projectile vomiting on the cameras. What *is* perhaps a little more uncommon is for said rider to collapse onto the tarmac and appear to be as unbothered and relaxed as if he'd just come off an hour-long massage and a nice mani-pedi at the spa. And the, um, bug-bite-shaped tiny red dots someone pictured on the back of knee at the start of the final time trial didn't help. Tadej Pogacar on stage 18. Kid, you may well *be* that incredible, but you oughta at least *look* like you're working for it!
Optics, People! Prize (Now *You* Ain't Untouchable Edition): Your entire squad's hotel has just been raided, and stripped of potentially incriminating evidence, by the narcs. So what better showing of certain innocence and humble submission to antidoping standards than by immediately taking a gigantic stage win and making the same classic "zip it" omerta gesture as you cross the line that Armstrong used to shut the !@#$ up Simeoni? Damn, Bahrain-Victorious, if you can't keep your boys off the juice, can you at least knock a little *sense* into their heads?
Last But Not Least, Our Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: look, I suppose you can hardly fault the guy--Lance Armstrong pulled the same trick way back in 2001, gasping ostentatiously for the cameras and helplessly struggling up two full mountain passes, only to give Jan Ullrich the infamous "Look" and blow poor Jan away on Mont Ventoux with barely a sweat droplet. But Richard Carapaz not only mugged for the motos to fake out his rivals, he actually sucked Vingegaard and Pogacar's wheels up the entirety of the Col du Portet, before wankerly blasting around them to take the wi--uh, screwing it up anyway as Pogacar came around him with a smirk and Vingegaard charged back from a near-crack to take second place. With all due respect, Carapaz, Armstrong you ain't--and next time, try at least taking a turn or two before you start pulling that crap!
Well folks, that about wraps up our golden freakshow. So winners, collect yer prizes, and let's hope more of you manage to stay upright and uninjured, and that we have a *real* battle for GC, in 2022!
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