1. Mikel Landa: the Giro. The GIRO. Not the "Jaysus How Many TT Kms Does It Have to Include Every Year To Convince You the Route is Always Absolute Complete !@#$ For You" Tour, the *Giro*, whose course is *perfect* for you this year. And I mean as your primary goal and smashing GC win for 2022, not as some lousy, doomed training ride for the TdF. And I know it's pointless and I know you don't want it, but I hereby unilaterally tuck the Vuelta into yer stocking to boot. Aupa Mikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel--landismo, beeyotches!
2. Alejandro Valverde: oh, c'mon, you want that intermittently disgraced, ever-wily ol' dog to take one more round of Ardennes Classics and a coupla Grand Tour stages--hell, why not a podium spot?-- for a send-off, assuming he *doesn't* tack yet another year on, which at the sprightly age of 847 I'm *still* not counting out. A guilty-pleasure gift for all of us of which Santa can be heartily ashamed. I'm at peace with it!
3. Alexander Vinokourov: You thing he needs anything from some freak in a red velvet suit, you mewling weaklings? He crushed up and spit out his entire well-heeled team management structure single-handedly in approximately a two-day period this autumn and got Astana, its riders, its staff, and its gigantic pile of dough and influence *right* back where it belongs--under his thumb, baby! Seriously, you think a Marshmallow Santa's gonna hold up to *that*?
4. Remco Evenepoel: An Edit function. Sure, he's no worse than say, a baby Cav or frankly any junior sprinter in his incredible ability to convey gratitude by way of relentless arrogant insults to others, but for all his powerful riding he's still just a wee thing who needs only a little help to learn the ropes and rein it in it with the desperate-for-entertainment cycling press. Ok Remco, take a deep breath, count slowly backwards from three--*now* see what comes outta your brain and into the microphone!
5. Marianne Vos. Road, cross, mountain--damn, is there anything the GOAT *doesn't* already own? Just one thing, folks: Paris-Roubaix. And if she doesn't win this before she retires for the sole sexist !@#$ty reason that it didn't exist for her to pound into submission until the very last years of her road career, it will be a crime against her and against all sport that will echo through time and space for eternity or til the beer 'n' frites run out. Now cycling gods, get the hell outta her way!
6. Patrick Lefevere: A zipper. For his mouth, of course. Is there any rider bringing you gigantic accolades who you *won''t* smack down into a quivering nub to stroke your massive ego? Thought not--but I guess the poor boys of Wolfpack will find out next year. Oh right, and I support women's cycling. Not that you don't all still suck, but my publicist sure says not to say so!
7. Mark Cavendish: I hate to say it, because he's not my favorite rider by a long shot, but I truly wish this guy another Tour de France sprint win. Just to stick it to Lefevere, but still, it's a nice present, right?
8. Bernard Hinault--YOU CAN TAKE MY STAGE-WIN RECORD AND SHOVE IT UP YER--um, stocking, I meant stocking! A genuine pat on the back for a legend who dialed it back and ultimately gave Cav the sporting good wishes he earned. That, *and* he can still kick your ass!
9. Anna Keisenhofer: Sure, she's already had a pretty good year and all; I mean, what more does she need than her stunningly unpredicted women's Olympic road race gold medal against one of the most formidable fields in history? Well, this being the women's peloton, I'm just gonna go straight to a humungous bucket o' cash. And while you're at it, get this woman *another* truckload--you can start your own damn World Tour team if you want!
10. Miguel Angel Lopez: An athletic cup. Because he's gonna need that protection when he pulls that crap on his new teammates and his DS tries to kick him in the nuts!
11. Andre Greipel: One more year and one more win. Okay, I know *he's* done--but yeah, I'm that lousy old aunt who's gonna give you itchy wool socks for Christmas whether you like it or not!
12. The Peloton: *One*, just *one* season in which some execrable !@#wit doesn't take half of 'em down into a bone-busted road-rashed pile o' agony with a stupid sign, promotional tchotchke, selfie stick, wandering dog, garden flood, or, for god's sake, even an inadvertent car blundering into the course. Stay safe, everybody--because we *really* don't want to see Tony Martin that pissed off ever again!
13. Last But Not Least, My Faithful Reader(s): May the mud smear your cobblestones, the rain pour upon your cross races, the sun shine upon those treacherous descents, and, above all, may every race in 2022 be free to be packed to the gills with all the riotous, drunken, joyful roadside fans the besieged host town can handle. Merry Festivus to all--now let's go get us some eggnog!
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