It's Yer Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!

Yes, it's the holidays, that glorious time of year when we wish good will to all our brethren and sistren, except Team Sky who's relentlessly crushed the fun out of all the Grand Tours with their boring lifeless death-by-power-meter approach so they suck but everyone else we'll cut some slack.  So who's been naughty or nice this season, and what do we gift 'em? Enjoy, dear peloton--you deserve it!

1. Gianni Moscon: how many racist sucker-punching wankmeisters does it take to change a lightbulb? Who cares, but I'll tell you what that kid *does* need--a damn muzzle. And viewing his latest obscene gestures to the cameras straight from the warm-'n'-fuzzy lovefest that is team camp, we should damn well slap on some mittens, too.  Now *don't* take 'em off til you've learned yer lessons, ya little punk!

2. Floyd Landis: All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, and I'm fi--oh wait, that's Jeff Spicoli. Let's just deliver this new team boss, and pleasingly perpetual annoyance to Lance Armstrong, a truckload of Doritos to go with his boatloads of bud!

3. Mikel Landa: the 2019 Giro.  Because until you get one, Unzue is *never* gonna 100% back you for the Tour, the new stupid "two team captain" strategy is *still* gonna fail, and you will always, *always* be !@#$ed.  We love you Mikel, you can do this--just maybe scarf an extra espresso before all those extra time trials this year and it's yours!

3. John Degenstache: damn, I'd love him to win Paris-Roubaix this coming year!

4. Peter Sagan: impeccable bike-handling skil--no, he got that.  A screaming horde of fanboys'n'girls second only to the Beatles--yeah, done and dusted.  More moolah in endorsements than god--mmm-hmm, been there already.  World cham--no, he has like a million o'those.  Aw hell, he doesn't need anything--maybe give the boy a Tour de France mountain stage, just to mix it up a bit!

5. Andre Greipel: a big ol' win on the Champs-Elysees.  Eat *that*, Lotto, you faithless goons!

6. Lotto-Whicheverscrewedhimover: a lump of coal.  You *suck* for jacking our big lug over!

7. Team Sky: Jiffy bags.  Ya gotta be running low by now, amirite?

8. Anna van der Breggen: La Course.  Because she was so, *so* close this year!

9. UCI: Salbutamol, or whatever performance-enhancing drug would give you the strength to bust anyone bigger'n some poor Master's racer for doping!

10. Alejandro Valverde: cripes, he's got the World Champion stripes and at least another 80 top years in the legs--I guess just that everyone won't have just ditched bicycles for flying cars and jet-packs by the time he packs it in?

11. Alexandre Vinokourov: Okay I don't really know what to get you Vino so please don't hurt me but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give Mikel Landa a nice contract and 100% Grand Tour backing, and lure that boy the hell outta Dodge!

12. Dave Brailsford: a crack legal team.  No reason--just good to have in your back pocket in case you ever need it!

13. Geraint Thomas: like, a nice little "participation" trophy or some such comforting trinket given to the kid who always gets picked last in gym class.  'Cause heck knows Froome ain't gonna let the mere defending Tour de France champion have another crack at it this July!

14. Our Baby Carrots: between Edu Prades, Oscar Rodriguez' stealth triumph, and every darn breakaway in every race you rode in--what more our future superstars need, except to continue on the same flower-strewn path?  A case of giant bottles of podium Champagne--you're gonna get 'em anyway, might as well enjoy 'em up front!

15. Marcel Kittel: a buzz cut.  I'm serious.  It's like a reverse Samson & Delilah thing--shave off the gorgeous pompadour, regain your winning ways. Worth a try, right?

16. Nairo Quintana: his mojo.  After Mikel Landa kicks his !@# at the Tour.

17. The Women's Peloton: a TOUR DE FRANCE. Not some bull!@#$ pacifier snoozer-to-watch throwaway circuit race, a REAL FREAKIN' TOUR DE FRANCE. !@#dammit, are you people *trying* to make me doubt the existence of Santa Claus, how much longer do I have to ask for this?!

18. Finally, My Dear Readers (Both of You): look, what with everyone *still* reeling from Alberto Contador's retirement and that catastrophic stick-figure's victory at the Giro, it's been a tough 'ol 2018. May all your cycling dreams, at least those of which I would approve, come true!

All right kids, that's about as much genuine goodwill as I can put out there in one go without passing out.  So crank those maudlin tunes, lift that tasty spiked nog, and Merry Festivus and Happy New Year to all of you!

BMC Doesn't Bite It Anymore! Carnage at the Tour Down Under! Landis for the Quote o' the Year!

Woot Woot Samu!: okay, The Squad Whose Team Kit Shall Not Be Showcased is officially out of the doghouse--as dear tweeps leapt to inform me, BMC's come back to their once-addled senses and re-signed we love Samuel Sanchez for another season. I hope you made them pay for their waffling Samu! Anyway, our ex-Euskaltel Holy Crap He's Still An Olympic Gold Medalist And Did You See That Tour de France King of the Mountains Jersey climber will be back at the Grand Tours where he belongs, and for my money, a guy who can bag a top-ten result when he's theoretically there just to mentor the whippersnappers is a bitchin' grab indeed. Woot woot--now help Cadel get one last stage win and be nice to Philippe Gilbert and you are *really* gonna redeem yourselves, BMC!

The Bone Collector: in the suckier side of pro cycling, the early-season body count's already piling up at the Tour Down Under after a crash near the line yesterday, with sternums, ribs, hands and wrists fractured, considerable road rash incurred, and, for Kenny Dehaes, a nasty mangling finger-catch in his own wheel taking him outta the race. !@#$, first some clown sucker-punches 'im last year, now this misfortune--can't the finish-line gods cut this poor boy some slack already? Get better soon everybody--and remember, the season's just beginning, so I'm sure you'll be back in one piece in plenty of time to enjoy the rest of it!

Landis on LeMond: meanwhile, disgraced ex-Tour winner Floyd Landis has laid into Greg LeMond for supporting Lance's lifetime ban while also palling around with doping-era suspect miscreants like Hinault and Indurain, and, in the early preemptive win for the 2015 Racejunkie Awards Quote o' the Year, blamed such favoritism and hypocrisy (along with, y'know, such fine team doctors as Rabobank's, and briefly Sky's, Geert Leinders) for legit sponsors fleeing the sport so that now it's being bankrolled "primarily by bored wealthy men who need a reason to give their wives about why they spend so much time with young leg-shaving men in tight pants." Really, it wasn't headlines like "PHONAK SPONSORS GIANT DOPE FIENDS" or "DISCOVERY--OUR GUYS HEART PEDs" that did it? Geez, Landis, you already had to keep outta France so they wouldn't prosecute your !@#, now you gotta stay a half-step ahead of easily irritated bored wealthy men like Tinkov talking smack like that too? Yep, takes a brave man to speak out--but it might explain a *little* bit why more discreet gents like, say, Van de Velde are still gettin' some love from the sport!

He's Got Le-e-e-e-gs/He Knows How to Use Them! Where's the Beef? and, Enter to Win! #Giro

Lookin' Good, Purito!: yep, the slick bloody carnage of the early Giro sprint days are over, and it's time for the *real* purpose o' the race, the hills! First, anyone who sez we love Samuel Sanchez lost time today for anything but the sole reason of his selfless service to Cadel Evans is a lying sack of hell-bound crap who oughta be power-noogied into total abject apologetic submission, *and* thwapped upside the head with a loaded musette. Second, leaving aside the fact that Purito's still gotta make up 1:32 already through no fault whatsoever of his own, he showed today he's feeling *strong*, baby! Third, while anyone who makes it clear they're riding the beautiful Giro only reluctantly because their bosses won't give 'em the Tour should be banned from cycling for life, Cadel Evans does at least work like a dog to honor any race he's in and does look great for the top spot in Milan. Nice work BMC, but pedala, pedala Purito--like some winky little 8-hour time deficit is gonna hold *you* back once we hit the serious mountains? Here, whippersnapper Diego Ulissi shows the Italians who they're gonna root for on GC a few years down the line: Tomorrow: somethin' about having to divert around a landslide. Which still sounds a hell of a lot easier than gettin' over the Gavia's gonna be, if today's any indication!

Well, At Least He Ain't No Shrinking Violet: and, Contador boss Oleg Tinkov, in what can only be reasonably construed as a giant "!@#$ you" to the noble guards o' virtue over at UCI, has actually signed on a beef sponsor for the squad. And yes, it's heck funny. But why is this even controversial--Amgen EPO Tour of California, anyone? Next year: Floyd Landis' new UCI Pro Continental Team Steaming Testosterone Nut-Patch. Put 'em all together, and you rogue old-generation dopers've got yerselves a paaaar-*tay*!

Enter to Win!: What? every week, answer the question right, be drawn from the Holy Once-Eroski Cap o' Destiny, and win bitchin' stuff! Why? it's the Giro for chrissakes! Where? enter here--and in bocca al lupo, the lot of you!

99 Luftballons (And One Colossal Freakin' Paycheck); and, News From the Department of PR and Bodily Safety Disasters

War! Huh! Good God, Y'All! What Is It Good For? Uh, His Wallet: uh-huh, just as Lance Armstrong gets all righteous at everyone throwing him under the bus--because, y'know, he didn't benefit more'n anyone else from his 7 Tour wins, ginormous cult of personality, thuggish omerta enforcement, and constant slavering planetary hero-worshiping butt-kissing from legions of adoring fans and journalists--and accuses then-UCI prez Hein Verbruggen of covering up a 1999 cortisone poz (and frankly, I think he's just ticked UCI apparently tried to cover up ol' Astana nemesis/next-gen-superstar kingship-thieving twerp Alberto Contador's doping poz, too) here comes that stinging wasp-on-wheels/demonic ex-teammate Floyd Landis, using a law apparently developed for wartime use to try to extend the time (and coincidentally, by truly humungous buckets, money) he can go back and dig outta outta Armstrong for his Postal-era nefarious weaseldry. Bet you'll think twice *next* time you wanna make a rude gesture to someone on Brasstown Bald, Lancey-boy!

Rider to Vino: Break My Kneecaps: well, *that* was a short-lived career: refreshingly outspoken--if perhaps not, well, brainiac--2nd-year American Astana protege Evan Huffman has just openly criticized erratic'n'ornery team boss Alexandre Vinokourov for his post-bio-passport-ban hiring of Franco-of-the-Euromullet Pellizotti. Oh well, kid, it's not like you needed those "unbroken bones" of yours anyhow--I'm sure Vino's goons won't put too much of a wrench into yer season! Now, upside yer *head* they might try to whack one...

!@#dammit Hire Samu' Already!: finally, as a truly galling number of cheating dirtwads continue to find gigs for 2014, most of dear departed Euskaltel-Euskadi continues to be hopelessly jacked for next season, including we love Samuel Sanchez, still trying to get a gig with Team Colombia or even Wanty but even allegedly considering a move to an advisory role with the growing world-o-cycling in Dubai. !@#$in' hell, World Tour, Horner I get but Sanchez? He's a spring chicken by comparison! And scandal-less! And--dag nabit, just hire 'im already! Look, look, remember when he was King o' the Mountains? Glory shall be yours, I tells ya!

Johan Bruyneel's Lament: Lance's Right-Hand Man Speaks Out (Sorta)

So lemme get this straight: if Lance hadn't had the desperate adoration-slut black-hole life-suckin' vortex-o-ego to come back outta retirement, *and* Johan had had the common sense to offer a bitter broke-!@# Floyd Landis a contract when he asked for one, *none* of this USPostalDiscoveryAstana doping'd've come to light? But I thought all these guys came forward solely outta personal regret and pure love of the sport! Damn, I *hate* being fooled. Anyway, it just goes to show, (1) hell hath no fury like a loogie-covered fall guy watching his equally-dirty ex-teammates still rakin' in the dough and fan-love and (2) Johan'd still have a pretty sweet job in this business if he'd only been a loooooooooot nicer to Alberto Contador. Live'n'learn! In further "woe is me" news, Johan is deeply--*deeply*--hurt by the allegations he endangered his riders' health with a coercive doping regime. You think he's some cloak-n-dagger back-alley-buyer home-fridge beer-cooler amateur? He bought those guys the best !@#$ money can buy, you !@#$ers! Oh, and he's not a "demon." He's a sasquatch. But aside from that, he can't say anything else for legal reasons. Uh, Johan, haven't you already said *enough*? Keep it comin' though, I say!

I Love You, You Love Me, We're a Happy Fam-i--You Suck You Worthless Vermin Dirtbags!

Yay, He's Back!: Geez, just as I was about to complain that Mark Cavendish's newfound happiness at Quick Step was making him into a vomitously saccharine gushing goo-goo-eyed alien pod-person whose brain has clearly been taken over by Smurfs, he's graciously restored my faith in humanity by immediately blaming his teammates for his humiliating 5th-place loss in today's Tirreno-Adriatico. On the plus side, Mr. Sensitive did say he would "talk about my feelings" with his lead-out train tonight. Awwwww. NOW !@#$ IT UP TOMORROW AND I'LL RIP YOUR HEADS OFF YER NECKS WITH MY GIANT TEETH LIKE YER A BAT AT AN OZZY OSBOURNE CONCERT! YAAAAAAAAA! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Here, why he's pissed, and how Gossy takes the win:

You're All Worthless and Weak!: meanwhile, Marianne Vos, natch, has not only already bagged a huge mountain bike event this week, but she's just nailed her first road race of the season as well at the Drentse 8, as well as the top spot on Wheel of Fortune, Project Runway, the Newlywed Game, and the Annual Betty Crocker Cake Mix Cook-Off, which, so far as I can tell, leaves even great rivals like former world champ Giorgia Bronzini and Emma Johansson pretty much scavenging for podium crumbs in her wake. Don't worry though, she still hasn't won a national election in the Ne--oops, hello, Prime Minister!

Sissy-Boy Slap-Fight o' the Week: finally, it's clearly gettin' ugly in ex-doperland, as Floyd Landis snarls that retired Rabobank doping-denier Michael Boogerd, who previously claimed Landis was only accusing him of drug use because Boogerd mortifyingly called him an "arrogant jellyfish", is still only coughing up half-truths now that he's confessed, much less total bull!@#$ artists like Tour de France second-place Oscar Pereiro, who still won't even cop to nothin'. In response to this latest salvo, Boogerd reportedly called Landis a "stuck-up hermit crab" and a "snotty-ass sea slug," while a less eloquent Pereiro merely labeled Floyd a "m!@#$%f!@#$$." I say, forget this whiny little smack-talk--you're tough, right, why not challenge each other to a duel?

Hein Verbruggen Bull!@#$ Alert!; and, Floyd Victims, Claim Yer Dough!

Now, That's Just Embarrassing: yes, in the latest CYA salvo, UCI ex-honcho/present PR nightmare Hein Verbruggen is defending its dirtbag-enabler practice of warning drug cheats that they were in serious danger of being busted, now on the grounds on that it was all nobly meant to "protect clean riders," because apparently, you "protect clean riders" by giving the dopers a heads-up to manipulate their blood values and snort those masking agents a little more carefully next time. Gee, *thanks*, Hein--why not protect the clean riders by actively sticking a giant drug-stuffed needle in the dopers' !@#es at the start line next time? *That'd* help the clean guys! Or, you could just slash their tires while they're waiting for the peloton to head off. Or, you could toss a coupla 50-pound lead weights in their musettes at the bottom of a climb. Or...

Money (That's What I Want): meanwhile, I see the FBI's sent out letters to the sweetly innocent donor-victims of the Floyd Fairness Fund informing 'em of their rights, but for my money, even better'n restitution--particularly if Floyd should run outta cash--would be some good ol' fashioned labor: y'know, he could come to your house and fix that leaky faucet, grout the bathtub, clean out your basement, all sorts of useful stuff. Hmmm, maybe I oughta call Armstrong about those posters I need framed--seems like he did a pretty good job with those seven yellow jerseys he posed under in his man-cave!

Brad Wiggins, Seeker of Anonymity: and, it seems Brad "I Hate the Press! Hey, Where Are You Guys Going?!" Wiggins has come back to earth about his chances to defend his Tour de France and decided to focus his energies on the perfect Giro, and, as I particularly hate to see anyone use either the superior Giro d'Italia or the Vuelta a Espana as a runner-up-!@#$% race for the Tour, I thought he just might want to take a peek at primo GC threat Vincenzo Nibali, who is apparently working hard to hone his time trial form:
Better watch out for him, Wiggo--'cause you ain't gonna have Froomey to balance 'im out in the mountains come May!

Speed Racer: last but not least, a big happy shout-out to Andre Greipel and Mark Cavendish, both starting off the Tour Down Under and Tour de San Luis with some respectable wins, and for Cav, anyway, laying waste to any doubts whatsoever about his spankin' new lead-out train. I got my own opinions on the sprint finishes, but I'm 100% sure Cav can take Andre in the smack-talk insult wars, so Andre, you might want to step it up on that front before the Manx Missile really puts on the hurt!

It's the 2013 Racejunkie Awards!

Oops, 2012, Whatever: It's been a smashing, exciting, surprising, and periodically squick-inducing year in our beloved cycling, dear readers, and in honor of all our sweet peloton's done to entertain, thrill, and even annoy us, it's time to honor and thank the worthy (and un-)with our Official 2012 Racejunkie Awards! The prizes: glory, immortality, and, as I cannot afford the 40-foot marble statue of a three-horned six-eyed four-clawed forked-tail fire-breathing bike-riding beast-demon that you know who deserves plunked right down flat in the middle o' Texas, I swear if any of these guys even hear of their awards' existence, I'll throw in a beautiful custom-embroidered racejunkie cap to boot, so without further ado, here goes!

The Holy Crap I Think He Just Restored My Faith in Cycling Award: Ryder Hesjedal, taking the beautiful Giro d'Italia--and his country's first Grand Tour win--for noble Canada. Humble, grateful, hard-working, and most of all just obviously so very happy in his shining maglia rosa--Ryder, this one, and hopefully many more, are for you!

Aiiiiggggghhhhh! What the Hell Are You Doing? Oh My God He's Doing It! Ride of the Year: look, with his brilliant snatch of the Vuelta on the verge of stinging defeat, the now-wily veteran Alberto Contador's come a loooooong way tactically since he couldn't find his outta the team bus without a DS, but if your heart wasn't in your throat when Tom Boonen took off solo a bazillion fruitless kilometers from the line at Paris-Roubaix, you were clearly tranquilized like a runaway rhino during the race. Faaaan-tastic, Tommeke!

Comeback Kid of 2012: yes, it's a double for our Belgian studpuppy--everyone, us included, who thought your best days might be behind you were clearly permanent residents in Dumb!@# City. Congratulations--and next year, let's all !root for Thor or Philippe Gilbert to bag this one, shall we?

I Call Bull!@#$ Award: no doubt, Wiggo deserved to win his Tour de France, and a cheery salute to him and the justly-proud Brits for his great accomplishment. But *really*, what's next, o Tour de France organizers--20 straight days of flat time trialling and maybe a speed bump on the Champs Elysees? No, it's not supposed to be the fearsome Giro or Vuelta--but dang, it *is* still the Tour, you guys!

Shut Up Shut Up Shut *Up* Prize: Contador, Valverde--heck, damn near the whole Spanish peloton while we're at it--the less you self-destructive nimrods keep defending Lance Armstrong, the better. You *want* a GPS implanted in your !@# by the narcs all next season? Just keep it up, kids, keep it up!

Doping Excuse of 2012: well, Frank Schleck didn't exactly *claim* monthly lady cramps as the reason for his banned-diuretic use, and frankly there's been rather a dearth of high-profile drug pozes since as we all know only the broke-!@# Masters guys are cheating now, so for once, this 'un was a toughie. Ergo, this year, it's a group award for all o' USPostalDiscoverySkank, with their two-toned mantra of "I Never Saw It!" and "He Made Me Do It!" I mean, don't parents call bull!@#$ on their *toddlers* for this garbage?!

Scandal o' the Year: the late-December Hinault/Lemondesque Wiggo/Froome smackdown over who'll get Sky team leadership at next year's Tour de France. Close, but just kidding--it's you-know-who, and you-know-why!

Punk-!@# Move of the Year (Road): y'know, with their boundless braggadocio, smug smack-talk, and zeppelin-sized egos, sprinters are pretty annoying as it is, but there's a biiiiiiiig difference between the usual adrenaline-fueled argy-bargy at the barriers, and flying across the helpless field like a rubberband-shot spitball, and Roberto Ferrari spectacularly--and obnoxiously--crossed that line, taking the helpless Tyler Farrar and enraged Mark Cavendish right down. Your award? Apologize for real this time, or Cav gets ten minutes alone with you behind the podium!

Punk-!@# Move of the Year (Wussy Little Bureaucrat): really, Pat "Dick" and Hein at UCI? You're gonna threaten a broke-as-dirt true-fan journalist for doing his job with integrity and rightly calling your own disgusting actions and self-serving motives into question? Yeah, hide behind your lawyers' skirts you squalling babies--karma, I say!

Revenge of the Little Boy Who Called Wolf Award: congrats Floyd Landis and Tyler Hamilton, it's a two-fer. Sure, you lied the first ten thousand times you spoke to the press and your trusting fans--but when you finally told the truth, you sure made it count!

Crash of the Year (Dog-Wielding Dimwit): to Philippe Gilbert, stage 18, Tour de France, taken out by a humongous canine whose owners apparently thought it was a dandy idea to let it wander into the road as the peloton passed through. Road Rage o' 2012 Corollary Award: Gilbert goes screaming nutwhack at the owner-dad and his sweet little daughter. Good thing John Lelangue was there to protect the guy!


Crash of the Year (I'm Sorry, Does This Look Like a !@#damn Bistro?): to the surely-well-meaning nice elderly gent who thoughtfully set up his lunch table and chair in the route of the Tour de France. You broke we love Samuel Sanchez' hand *and* made him cry, clueless sir!

Crash of the Year (Season-Screwing): honestly, I think this rightly goes to tough-guy Fabian Cancellars for his season-crushing crash at Tour of Flanders, but because it's Festivus, I'll give poor Andy Schleck the benefit of the doubt that his 'Skank-whipped mental fragility wouldn't have hosed him anyway and give 'im this one for his pure sorry suck of a pelvis-fracturing takedown at the Dauphine. Truly, get and stay strong, Andy--you're gonna need all you got next year!

What the !@#$? Head-Scratcher o' 2012: so lemme get this straight. Vande Velde, Dave Z, Hincapie, Vaughters, and Tommy D doped like fiends for years for their own personal bank accounts and glory, got a slap on the wrist for it--and at least two of 'em built freakin' retail empires thanks to it--and everyone still loves 'em. Meantime, Johan Bruyneel, who if nothing else generously helped make 'em the ill-gotten champs that they are, ends up desperate beleaguered and snarling in a dank mossy cave like a hound-cornered rabid wolverine. Jeez, Johan, maybe you shoulda been nicer to all those "douches" you called out, it mighta gotten you a few extra brownie points!

Rider Tweet o' the Year!: sure, Bruyneel's erratic see-saw of cheer and defiance was a lock--'til righteous (and righteously righteous!) car-victim Andy Jacques-Maines weighed in: "To the chickenshit motherfucker who rammed me from behind with their Black Chevrolet Impala, FUCK OFF. THEN DIE." And that's just him getting started. Oh, and nice work by 5-Hour Energy/Kenda to dump him from your roster via the press you clods--like he said, "I'm too drugged right now to deal with this shit."!

Dirty Dirty Dirty Award o' 2012: Alexander-freakin'-Vinokourov at the Olympics. Oh yeah, baby, cue the gross 70s blue-movie soundtrack, groom that porn-stache, and break out the gold chest-hair medallions. Clean sport, schmean sport--you loved it too, so man up and wallow in it!

I Swear To God I Feel Almost Really, Really Guilty About Being Delighted About This Award: oh, Roberto. As a faithful if slightly self-loathing Heras fan, and a devoted ween who still thinks fondly of Ivan Basso's peerless legal team from 2006, I've been whining for years that that undeserving freak Denis Menchov oughta give you back your Vuelta, and what happens just on the cusp of the New Year? That's right, this one's for the Spanish court that gave it to you--never has an act of technical if not factual justice been so sweet!

Saving Grace o' 2012: in an incredible year on the road for women's cycling, matched only by incredible disregard from the powers that be, Italy comes in to save the day: yep, it looks like the Giro Donne is back on. Thank you, thank you, whoever you are!

And Finally, Redemption Song of the Season: yeah, just *keep* complaining about Greg LeMond being a bitter ol' jealous once-was--aside from the fact that the man came back from a near-fatal gunshot wound back in the day for heck's sake, he was right all along, too, and a *bunch* of folks who ought to've known better were just too greedy, starstruck, glory-wh@ring, and dismissive to listen. Greg, vindication is yours--like you ever needed it!

Well, this year's sought-after and highly prestigious awards are out, the peloton's got the night off, and the champagne's popped--apologies to anyone whose accomplishments I've missed, and let the celebratory debauchery begin!

Good News for Lance Armstrong, That Lying Sack of !@#$; And, In Defense of Bobby Julich

Fear No More, Desperate Lance Fanboys!: yep, dry your tears, o innocent (stupid, whatever) ones: your spotless hero's got good news today, straight from the rich-guy-analysts at the venerable New York Times--sure, Lance may've lost his 7 Tour de France wins, destroyed the lives of countless whistleblowers who were actually telling the truth about 'im, orchestrated one of the most repulsive and potentially physically dangerous doping schemes ever for himself and his totally-whipped teammate-beeyotches, and besmirched the name of the worthy cancer charity he founded, but he's still gonna be mother!@#$in' rich, baby! Now, that is just news to warm my frozen heart. Why? One, because I naturally root for underdogs, and who is more of an underdog than poor beseiged Lance, and why should *his* sainted name go down in infamy just 'cause T-Mobile and them couldn't systemically dope for !@#$? And two--and best of all--Tyler, Floyd, Frankie, Betsy, Greg, and especially Simeoni: *now* there's a point to suing his goon-thug concrete-shoe-makin' kneecap-busting !@#, 'cause he's clearly got the dough to pay your damages! Hey, maybe now Landis can start payin' back the people he ripped off with his "Fairness Fund"...

Owner of A Broken Heart: look, I'm getting !@#damn tired of defending everybody over their stupid doping confessions they only gave under subpoena, after they'd happily sucked in millions of bucks worth of contracts or sponsor deals, or when they got busted doping like a moron. But I'm gonna stretch my neck out one last time for dear Bobby Julich, and before I get any crap about he's no different than anyone else and it's grossly unfair to penalize someone just because they're not widely reviled throughout the peloton as a colossal d!@#, let me say this: when Bobby Julich strode right past me into a vineyard at the 2006 Giro d'Italia and I had to immediately avert my eyes in horror when it turned it he was goin' in for a wee, all I can say is, well, I didn't *see* nothin' suspicious. Of course, if I'd seen *anything*, I would have passed out flat on the roadside, as I am a delicate lady, but still, that's gotta count for something, right? One interesting note in his confession, in his defense of Bjarne Riis: how he says he didn't see any systemic doping in the CSC squad. So does that mean he observed it on an individual level? Oh, right, Frank Schleck was just running off to Switzerland during the Tour to track down his favorite Swiss beer, and Ivan only *attempted* to dope...

You Can't Make This Stuff Up: finally, congrats to the perfectly wisenheimer Italians, whose newly-unveiled 2013 Worlds mascot turns out to be the unforgettable Pinocchio. Am I the only one suspecting that no matter how clean the current peloton yells it's gonna be, his nose is *still* gonna gonna grow a good half-dozen times next Worlds? Oh, Geppetto, I thought you raised that boy better than that!

UCI Wins Big Against Landis! Too Bad They Still Look Like !@#holes

It's a Brand New Drinking Game!: yes, a Swiss court has issued a stinging ruling in a defamation case by noble defenders o' cyclist virtue UCI against vocal critic/remorseful ex-doper Floyd Landis: Landis is now and forever strictly barred from calling UCI, crusading prez Pat "Dick" McQuaid, or former ruler Hein Verbruggen, "corrupt", "terrorists", "fools", "full of shit", and "clowns", or saying they're no different than "Colonel Muammar Gaddafi." That's OK Floyd--if it makes you feel any better, by my crack legal reckoning, you *can* still call 'em "d**chebags," "wankers," "tools," "putzes," and "mimes," and say they're no different than "Mitt Romney!" Best of all, since Landis has to take out ads apologizing in the Wall Street Journal (along with, for some odd reason, some cycling publications), he gets to repeat all his accusations all over again so long as they're simply preceded by the word "aren't." Oh, sure, he's already gonna appeal--but in the meantime, I call next person who comes up with a new name you *can* call Pat "Dick" has to drink--last one upright wins!

Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Ride the Tour de France: yeah, watch out Sandy Casar and Philippe Gilbert: according to CNN, and thanks to some scumwad owners who oughta have their pets taken away, that Golden Retriever or Newfoundland wandering out on the course while you're going 60k an hour ain't just stupid, it's high as a kite, and god forbid it hallucinates you're a cat or some !@#$, 'cause now it'll go all Cujo on your !@#! Oh, man, now we gotta get the *spectators* off the drugs, too--ain't UCI overwhelmed enough *already*?

No, Giro, No!: in total suck news, one of the most exciting underdog GC contenders we've seen in years, Purito Rodriguez, has apparently decided to bag the Giro d'Italia in favor of the Tour this year because the Giro's crappy excess of time trial kilometers makes it a fruitless waste of his time. Hey, I understand wanting to intentionally exclude, say, the Schlecks with those shenanigans, but we love Purito? Really? Oh, Giro, you will always be my first true Grand Tour love--don't break my trusting innocent heart this way, please!

Back in Black: finally, and speaking of whom, there's *some* good news for the injury-plagued Andy Schleck and his lost season: he's already been back in action in the peloton (however briefly) this week, and is now set to take on the Tour of Beijing. Don't sweat it, Andy, at least Jen, Fabian, and your big brother Fra--uh, at least Jens & Fabian'll be there to help you next year!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive: It's Yer Hit Parade of Cycling's Biggest !@#holes!

Okay, the national champions are being declared, the Tour de France rosters are out, and the Olympic teams are shaping up. But when a dear reader suggests a "Hit Parade" of the biggest wankers in cycling, who am I to refuse? Ergo, without further ado:

1. Lance Armstrong. One of the greatest cyclists of all time? Sure. An inspiration to millions for his triumph over cancer and awareness work? Yup. A grade-A primo !@#hole? Absolutely. Let's see. Your domestiques utterly bust their nuts for you all year, every year, at the complete expense of their own ambitions, so you can go down in history. And how do you thank 'em? Well, you spend the rest of your career ripping anyone who leaves your service; plow over anyone who breaks cycling's eternal shame of omerta; offer 1 single guy the chance for a Tour de France stage win after 7 seasons; and, the one time you're actually called on to play nice with a (now) better rider than you, slag him to the press, attack him on the road, and snub him on the podium. And that's just the people you're supposed to *like.* You're the most prolific Tour de France winner of all time, all right--too bad that don't win you class!

2. Johan Bruyneel. You're a Tour champ in your own right, and you brilliantly guided--by whatever means--the winningest streak in Tour de France history. And you've never stopped punishing those who came after him for it, including actively publicly berated the man who won you the Tour de France *again.* But when motivation-by-dope-slap failed? *That's* when you really got mean. How's that karma comin' back atcha right about now?

3. Pat "Dick" McQuaid. Doping's bad. Really bad. Especially if you're a no-name rider. Unless I like the rider. Then it's just a momentary lapse of judgment. Or didn't happen. Oh heck, why hurt the sport with all this tawdry mess? And if you apologize--better, cry--only after you've been busted, then you are not only morally superior but an absolute ambassador for clean sport. This, Pat, is why one of the most policed sports on earth is also one of the most ridiculed. Just *fake* some freakin' objectivity if you have to, willya?

4. Riccardo Ricco'. Y'know, I almost left him off the list out of the goodness of my heart, because he did almost accidentally kill himself with his fecklessness. But then I thought of his snotty disregard for his loyal teammates, the way he disgraced the mentorship of the great Gilberto Simoni, how he hid behind his mamma's skirts like some spindly wussbag, how he (dang, we're not done *yet*?) immediately threw the mother of his child under the bus and literally fled for the hills when *she* got busted for doping, and finally, the way he betrayed the anti-doping legacy of the late, great Italian trainer Aldo Sassi, who tried to rehab the ungrateful little SOB in one of the last acts of his professional life, and I thought, screw that! The "Cobra"? Yeah, you're a snake all right--there, you've earned your place in cycling history, you jack!@#!

5. Floyd Landis. I must say, I *was* a big fan once, so it truly pains me to do this. And he's repented and paid his dues, which is good, *and* smacked Armstrong, which I heartily appreciate. But the Floyd Fairness Fund was one uncool scam, and you took advantage of some really, really nice people. Better to just pull a Vinokourov, admit you're a slimeball, but point out you're no worse'n anybody else and why the hell should *you* be the scapegoat--and *then* ask for the dough. Hisssssssssssss!

6. Raimundo Rumsas. Telling the narcs you tested poz for coke because your grandma accidentally bought you some tainted candy in South America? Hey, could happen to anybody. Telling the narcs the dope in your trunk was for your drug-snarfin' grandmother's personal use? Punk-!@#. I suppose she explains the testosterone works-patches in your bathroom, too?

7. Dr. Manolo "Gyno to the Male Stars" Saiz. You got busted with a suitcase full o' cash and 46 bloodbags at a cafe'. And Roberto Heras made you do it? Man up you greedy dope-dealing wuss!

8. Maurice Garin. It's the 1904 Tour de France. 2,429 kilometers. Six stages, one mountain, five flat. Attacks by masked men, mysterious flats, illegal food, nails spread on the road. And one *really* major wanker: 1903 and 1904 GC champ Maurice Garin, DQd along with the next 4 finishers for taking a train. You think Landis/Pereiro and Contador/Schleck were big deals? Two words, honey: amateur hour. After extensive evidentiary hearings, 5th place finisher Henri Cornet is awarded the win. Great precedent you started there, Garin!

And, Yer Bonus Gallery of !@#holian Gestures!
1. Lance Armstrong, Floyd Landis, Brasstown Bald, "the Look." Is it *possible to win without being a jerk?
2. Dagnabit, Cav at the Tour de Romandie. Not sporting, old sport!
3. Alberto Contador. Every freakin' win. Do you *want* McQuaid to keep suckin' you dry like a vampire bat after every stage? Cut it with the "Pistolero" crap!

Well, folks, them's my picks, and I'm sure I missed *some* spectacular jerkwads. So 'til next week, when Johan throws someone under the bus again--that's all (mine) folks!

Alexander Vinokourov: One Wily, Dirty Mother!@#$er

I Love You, Vino!: y'know, I was actually planning to post today about Vinokourov bitching how someone, probably that techno-geek mastermind Floyd Landis, hacked into his email accounts and apparently uncovered his plot to buy out the Tour de France turn the Tour into a results-guaranteed fascist fiefdom take over Kazakhstan when he gets elected to office and throw any dissenters into some rock-breaking commie gulag, when Vino actually outdoes even himself: yes, the boy is accused of paying off Alexander Kolobnev a handsome $134,000 to throw Liege-Bastogne-Liege, which, Vinokourov quite reasonably explains in his own defense, was merely a "loan" which he totally coincidentally happened to offer Kolobnev on the run to the LBL finish line. Folks, if nothing else proves those wanker fans who hissed Vino as he won weren't a bunch of unfair doubting bitter meanie miscreants, this does. !@#$, Vino, it wasn't enough you pumped all that !@#$ into your veins, you had to buy out Kolobnev--Kolobnev?--at least show some !@#damn dignity and buy a race from Gilbert or Boonen! Oh look, here's the "win":

Just Because He's a Lying, Cheating Dirtball Doesn't Mean He's Not Right: meantime, hilarity no doubt ensues at UCI this very moment as Floyd Landis' allegation that the lab monkeys, dope testers, and entire "anti"-doping community are a bunch of favorites-playing hypocrite scum-weasels is backed up as "probable" by none other than the WADA head honcho himself, which has been a big 10-outta-10 on the "No !@#$, Sherlock"-o-meter to most of us, but still hasn't been publicly acknowledged by someone who wasn't a sore-loser whiner just pissed everyone else didn't go down with the ship besides him. Pat "Dick" McQuaid, lookin' forward to the standard denials!

Backtrack Alert!: finally, it's good luck to Andy Schleck for 2012 as he avers he might too in fact ride the Giro this coming year, which, one presumes, is not only a statement to Cadel Evans that he's not either a wuss, but also a convenient excuse for a massive meltdown choke at the 2012 Tour de France (should he need it). Well played, baby Schleck--but don't you feel kinda funny taking a page from Contador's 2011 playbook?

He Shoots, He Scores--Contador!

Just One Word...Plastics: score one for imminent-appeal-subject/inadvertent clen-snarfer Alberto Contador: WADA's bagged a test for plasticizers that could suss out blood-doping weasels--yes, the same chemical wee Alberto was reputed to have awfully funny levels of--on the grounds that there's so much of that !@#$ floating around in pleather, rainwear, flooring, food packaging, and kids' toys that a perfectly innocent person could have freakishly high levels of medical-grade tubing residue in their bodies, which means that, if CAS buys Alberto's argument that a Spanish farm imported a Chinese cow from Mexico, he's home-free 'cause they've got nothing to hang him on. One likely sticking point--killjoy good-guy Alex Rasmussen's noble insistence that he ought to be punished for breaking the CAS similarly zero-tolerance rules on rider location tracking, as it just wouldn't be *fair* to everyone else to let 'im off. You school-monitor goody-two-shoes teacher's pet--don't you realize how bad that makes Alberto look if he don't make the same gesture?! Anyway, I don't know about you, but in light of WADA's beautiful new cave-in, *I* see a pack of suspect two-wheeled dirtbags in the very near future conspicuously wandering around perpetually in trenchcoats with faux-wood planks stuck to their shoes pacifiers in their mouths and Sno-Ball wrappers stickin' out their pockets to cover their butts. You're almost there, Alberto, you're aaaaaaalmost there!

Like That Facebook Kid, Only More Annoying: and, technological whiz kid/Tour de France miscreant/fan-ripper-offer Floyd Landis was handed a cool 12-month suspended sentence in France for masterminding a computer-hack of the lab that, despite its spectacular incompetence, managed to legitimately bust him for doping nonetheless, which means that, so long as he acts like a wuss the rest of his life and stays the hell away from the country he disgraced with his cheating, he can continue his triumphant return to the Masters' ranks or, even better, have to jack up his car instead to take NASCAR by storm. Good thing there's no doping in Masters, so you won't have to worry there won't be a level playing field there!

Boonen: The Next Generation: meantime, in off-season hijinks news, wacky-but-talented Euskaltel party-boy Romain Sicard was busted by the cops while blotto stuffing a purloined street-sign in his trunk, and, as truly fortunately no-one was hurt except the street sign during the escapade, I imagine a sincere mea culpa, a little community service, and a heartfelt promise to the sponsors not to pull that crap while dressed in full Euskaltel-Euskadi team kit ever again oughta do the trick quite nicely. Romain, it's much less conspicuous to try this stuff while you're *inside* the club--just ask Tommeke!

Cadeeeeeeeeeeel!: last but not least, massive congrats to Tour de France bad-!@# Cadel Evans for his (obvious, but still!) win for Australian Cyclist of the Year, and if there's any doubt about how thoroughly I consider myself well and fairly nut-whacked for having ever criticized his less-than-flashy style in the past, here's another look at his smashing time trial at the Tour: Okay, I've been nice like you deserve, Cadel--now you better not pull a Vaughters and !@#$ over Thor Hushovd next year!

Yer Burnin' Cycling Question O' the Week: #whatthehellwascontadorthinking?

'Cause This Sure As Hell Wouldn't've Happened to Armstrong: so let me get this straight: Contador--yes, even our brilliant wee Contador--needs some more support in the mountains next season, Saxo boss Bjarne Riis has known for a *year* he's gonna need some more support in the mountains, the !@#damn 2011 Vuelta winner, Denis Menchov (hint: both these guys are decent climbers), and their support riders are all out of a job with Geox's implosion and willing to ride without saddles next year to get a new gig, and one of the winningest riders and winningest team bosses of all cycling history can't scrounge up enough dough between 'em to buy *any* of these guys for next year? What the hell is *wrong* with this sport? And no offense, Alberto--because your tactical sense has certainly grown all up of late, and no-one can blame you for bailing for *anywhere* much less Bjarne and a really very fine stable of talent after the last couple seasons you've had--but this domestique debacle would *never* have happened to Lance. Of course, Lance is the kind of guy who (allegedly!) corners ex-minions outside of bar-room bathrooms like high-school-bitch on dork at Homecoming, so I imagine one might reasonably stick with him for life or else--but dang, you can't even sell off the diamond-encrusted fuzzy dice from yer sportscar to raise a few euros for one of yer ol' pals to have yer back? Hey, Samuel Sanchez sez he'd like to work with you--sure, they got no money either, but maybe you could still ditch Bjarne for Euskaltel!

News From the Department of Total Pointlessness: and, say what you want about Jan Ullrich--'cause you can sure as hell say it about everyone else he rode against, including a few guys who've still got starring roles in the peloton--but to me, at least the guy kept to his twisted code o' silence and didn't fake a bunch of bull!@#$ crocodile tears in saccharine crap remorse for publicity points, and since he's spent the last five years in a tailspin and only just emerged back on the charity circuit, I'm inclined to say it is completely useless at this point for the selective hypocrites at UCI to continue to try to prosecute his !@#. Their reasoning? Apparently, they'll look even more randomly vindictive--or enabling, depending on the rider--than they already do, if they don't. Now *that's* the way to clean up the sport, Pat "Dick" McQuaid--anyone else you wanna yank outta retirement to make an example of? Didn't think so!

Gee, We Oughta Just Start a New Cable Channel For This !@#$: speaking of which, as technological mastermind Floyd Landis goes on trial in absentia in France for computer hacking--for which, if I interpret L'Equipe correctly, the penalty is a year's diet of Wonder Bread, Cheez Wiz, and rotgut foreign sparkling wine--I see associated drug-weasel Joe Papp has been sentenced as well, and I gotta say, if this trend continues, certain riders are likely to openly stick their IV bags right on their handleb--um, repent unprovoked and voluntarily ban themselves 'til their careers would've been over already anyway. The proof--there's been nary a doping poz this season, except for a freak group of renegade Canadians, so it's obvious these hard-line tactics are working. Congrats to all--now, pay no attention while I suddenly start having play dates this winter with Ferrari!

Back In My Happy Place: finally, as I offer my fondest wishes for future employment to the thanklessly ditched loyal-Lanceista Ekimov outta the Johan Bruyneel ranks, compliments to talented youngster Brice Feillu for finding a home after the LeopardSkank merger debacle, which means that between them, Geox, and HTC's collapse, there's only a mere 6000 or so worthy pro cyclists still left without a contract next season. Y'know, far be it from me to suggest that a dedicated cyclist consider crossing over to another sport or nothin'--but heck, if any of y'all are desperate enough, I hear that say the Mets could use a hand (that's *any* hand) next season!

Damn, Maybe These Guys *Do* Need Race Radios

Argh!: y'know, I'd pretty well resigned myself to supporting the use of race radios because, basically, Jens said so, but now there's an argument that actually has independent merit: if you watched Ten Dam, Schleck, and (sorry Ivan!) Basso's epic choke in the last 2k of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge, it's obvious some of these guys *cannot* be trusted to think for themselves. Geez louise, you have a *guaranteed* win by one of the best bike racers on earth--and frankly, some of you could use it this season--and you blow it by pissy wankerian knowingly self-destructive tactical dithering? Look, I was gonna get annoyed if Andy bagged it too, but better him than none of you for all that work y'all put in. But really, DSes, you've *got* the radios in the team cars, did it *occur* to you you're supposed to use 'em to scream instructions their !@#damn dimwit ears during the race if they need it instead of, oh, ordering a Big Whopper at the drive-thru as a post-loss consolation prize? Andy, of course, managed to whine like one of those horrid over-coiffed yippy dogs *again* about how everyone else owed him victory, though from my seat Ten Dam was at least trying the whole time and Basso jumped on every move no matter who wouldn't even try to help him. Yes, I know you're trying to divert our attention, Andy--but you've still got to learn to time-trial this winter! Anyhoo, big points to Tom Peterson for shoving Richard Nixon's mug out o' the way (serious, look for it): And that was some fine riding, Levi--Johan, with the win as extra leverage, I hope he *does* bail to Quick Step for more dough!

Your Vuelta Roundup: and, as Euskaltel's we love Igor Anton sneakily holds way, way back in preparation for stomping Nibali and Rodriguez next week (shut up! and you can all just bite me when Mikel Nieve wins the Vuelta in a couple years!), Monday's gonna be a big race to the bottom for the GC contenders as each tries not to suck *quite* as bad at the time trial as the next guy down, and I'm banking on Nibali, providing he's not too tanked from his mean ride today, to be the fair-to-middling best o' the bunch. But it's still your race to lose overall, Rodriguez--I hope you don't mind if it's to Anton!

Blast From the Past: meantime, nothing sets the ol' waterworks off and the heartstrings tuggin' like this genuine diamond I find I still have filed from, it looks like, the Financial Times right after the bust in 2006: "I'd no reason to know about testosterone," quoth Landis, "and, all of a sudden, 200 journalists are experts and they've all convicted me." Such cruel, unjustified doubts from those vultures--I'm gonna sue every !@#$% who slanders me! Oh, wait...

Yer Racejunkie Tweet o' the Week: finally, a warm congrats to Mark Cavendish for his comment on Tyler Farrar (sorry!)'s mash-up on this week's Vuelta sprint: "Just watched yesterday's crash in the sprint of #vuelta. I wonder who's going to be first person to blame me for it." Not me, Cav--maybe the field was just hallucinating one of your hired goons chasing 'em down instead?

The Whole !@#$ing Sport Makes Me Sick Right Now

Yankee Doodle Dope or Die: fine, I've read the entire Floyd Landis/Paul Kimmage interview, and all I can think is (1) bull!@#$ and (2) why, why, why? Great, you couldn't ride competitively if you *didn't* dope, so you had no choice. Yeah, I'm sure--we get it. Which means damn near everyone who's ever won a stage, much less a Grand Tour then or now, is a cheating, drug-sucking scum-weasel. Fair enough. But here's the problem--you *still* weren't competing on a level playing field, because if you think that the enormous money at the high end of the sport doesn't give those dopers an advantage over equally-talented, hard-training, broke-!@# domestiques from !@#$ squads in the form of better drugs, better doctors, more certainty, and less likelihood of being caught, you're !@#$in' nuts. It's the simple market-value difference between a $3 bottle of Thunderbird and a $3,000 bottle of Champagne. You benefited, unfairly, and while I highly sympathize with having to put up with Armstrong as the price for your magnificent success, suck it up. And you're just certain that the fans who believed in you and put hard-earned dough into your "Fairness Fund"--to which, for the record, I didn't contribute--would completely understand your thieving them personally if you had but ten hours to sit down and explain to them how right you were to ask them for money. Should they've known better, understood the real rules better? Sure. But the punishment for naivete is *not* to be screwed over for their faithfulness, whether they feel ripped off or not, so how the hell does that make it right?

Look, I'm happy Floyd's experienced some catharsis, and opened the lid on the ugly aspects of the sport, if only because it'd be a damned shame if some desperate kid dropped dead over the next fashionable drug cocktail before s/he ever had a chance to think it through, and if reading this interview fends it off, that's quite something. And I sincerely hope Landis, who clearly isn't much worse than a whole lot of folks but *is* !@#damn disastrous at PR, leads a long, happy, wonderful life and that whatever comes next is entirely better than the last five years've been. But let's cut the King Arthur crap, all right?

And while we're at it, I'm going to continue assume there's someone, someone in that entire !@#$ing peloton who isn't on the juice. And if I'm going down a fool, I'm going down a fool who believes that a sport this demanding, this grueling, and this paradoxically beautiful can still, in *someone* as flawed and tempted and conflicted as Landis and every other doper ever was, live up to its ideals. I sure hope it's Cadel, or Carlos, or Tyler, or Cav. But if it's not, it's gotta be someone. Otherwise, it's just one big WWF match in even gaudier clothing, and everyone who's ever known or been a serious cyclist who's suffered for the sheer love of it, has got to think it's more than that. Lanterne Rouge 2011--I'm rooting for you in July!

It's the 2010 Racejunkie Awards!

Yes, folks, with only two weeks left for either a brilliant move or, more likely let's face it, an act of egregious late-season stupidity on the part of some sap in the peloton, we here at racejunkie are nonetheless taking a chance and are both pleased and honored to present to you our ultra-prestigious--or, for the doofi among the roadies, ultra-embarrassing--2010 Racejunkie Awards:

Hot 'n' Sexy Scandal of 2010 (and All Eternity): What else? Alberto Contador poz for dope at the Tour de France with just 5 freakin' picograms of Clenbuterol. So was it the tainted meat, garden-variety cheating, or just, as some wags have suggested, a downright stupid re-injection of still-doped blood from this year's Tour de Suisse that sunk you? Only you, behind those big, pretty eyes of yours, know the truth. Aw, rats, say it ain't so--like, honestly!

Comeback Kid of 2010: Ivan Basso, this one's for you. After a brutal fall from grace, and a reassuringly so-so return in 2009, the patriarch of the Cutest Family Ever clawed his way back to a spectacular second win at the Giro--and without any of that 9-minutes crap that so awed and rightly disconcerted us in 2006. Welcome back, GQ man--and you *better* not be fudging it this time!

Stage Win o' the Year: yes, I've said it before. And no, it never, ever, ever gets old. Cadel Evans, Stage 7, Giro d' Italia. Smashing!

Cadel Evans Wins Muddy Giro Stage 7 - from Universal Sports - For more of the funniest videos, click here

Total !@#hole of the 2010: game, set, match. Congrats, Riccardo Ricco', you weenie--way to slither back to the peloton!

Come *On*, Come *On*, Come *On*! Prize: he's big, he's bodacious, he's rehabbed himself beautifully, and let's face it, he's just plain charming. I also hear tell--and indeed, fully believe--he's one of most fearsome classics and sprint men in the business. Tom Boonen, we *know* this year was an injury-plagued aberration--and we're all *so* pulling for you next year!

Absolute Yawn of 2010 Award: sorry, Lance, but you at the Tour. You're the greatest Tour de France rider of all time, and, not coincidentally, one of the greatest riders, period. You're a tireless advocate for those battling cancer, a cause whose nobility none can deny. And even if video of you actually grabbing a syringe from a FedEx package labeled "My Big Box o' Illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs" and shooting it into your personal butt should surface on YouTube tomorrow, your adoring American public would just completely ignore it anyway. So why, why, why, especially after a middling (by Armstrong standards, anyway) 2009 comeback, would you ever continue in 2010 with mere mediocrity? Forget the horridly-irritating press-whore orgy we had to endure at your every colon blow in every freakin' race you showed up to that was just nails-on-a-blackboard this year--baffling!

Now *There's* An Armstrong Who Don't Piss Me Off Award: yes, to the joy of her fans and the flat-out fears of her competitors, repeat world champ Kristin Armstrong decides to come out of her still-new retirement for another (likely successful) crack at Olympic glory. You *go*, Kristin--and all *she* imbibes for help is chocolate milk!

Punk-!@# Move of 2010 (Race-Day): really? You sent your lead-out hired-goon Renshaw up to head-butt Julian Dean and squeegee fair-play king Tyler Farrar into the barriers? Damn, Cav, sucker-punch a little old lady or somethin', why dontcha?

Punk-!@# Move of 2010 (Non-Competition): okay, it was actually when your book got published, but geez Louise, Floyd, writing a whole book to rip off your most loyal, devoted defenders for $24.95 or some extortionate !@#$ then admitting the whole thing was lying crap is just *no* *class* at all. But hey--after taxes, it shouldn't take you much more'n ten years of hard labor asking surly junk-food addicts if they wanna Supersize it at McDonalds to pay 'em all back, right? Now do it!

Karma, Baby! Prize of 2010: look, ya gotta give Bjarne Riis some credit--with a few little snafus, he was one of the winningest team leaders in the business. More, he had the exquisite sense to hire--and well support--we love Jens. But the minute you started being mean to the faultless Carlos Sastre--the guy who WON YOU THE FREAKIN' TOUR DE FRANCE YOU TOOL--your world started to crumble around you, up to and including the Schlecks bailing to create their very own squad *and* your little cash-cow savior Contatwerp's unfortunate little run-in with some drugged-up cattle. Not that it has anything to do with YOUR BEING MEAN TO SASTRE. Oh, Bjarne--maybe if you take 'im out for a nice lunch or something, it'll all come 'round next year...

Crash of the Year Award (Single): oh, Euskaltel. Oh, Igor. Yep, it's Igor Anton's instantaneous loss of the fabulous Vuelta a Espana that just about crushed my soul. How exactly do you type the noise where you bay like a heart-broken basset hound? Yeah, that!

Crash of the Year Award (Multiple): the little stretch of oil-slick on the downhill of the Col Stockeu that broke the bones of damn near half the Tour de France and killed poor we love Christian Vande Velde for GC. What the !@#$ is this, Paris-Roubaix?

Sissy-Boy Slap-Fight of the Year: If there's anything more enjoyable than watching one guy built like an elf whanging another guy built like a wood sprite upside the head with a $400 wheel with the clear intent of impaling his skull with it, I've yet to see it. Carlos Barredo and Rui Costa, this one's for you!

Everyone Else on the Planet Is a Wuss Award: yep, this one's for ever-winning Frenchwoman Jeannie Longo, stomping her toddler competition for national champ for the umpteenth year in a row. And not only were these women in diapers when she *started* competing, they're gonna all be in adult diapers before she stops. So tell me why the rest of you delicate flowers in the peloton all hit the showers in 30s, again? On second thought, explain it to Longo instead!

Tweet Rant of 2010: Don't !@#$ with Robbie McEwen, man. 'Cause he'll cut you. If you're lucky. And even so, you're still gonna be thankin' him for merely going all Gitmo on your !@#. To the nameless numb-nut who knocked McEwen off his ride after the line, hope livin' off the grid in a filthy hidden cave like some time-traveled Neanderthal is treatin' you well--and for years to come!

Embarrassingly Rah-Rah "USA Rules!" Bud-Drinkin' Beer-Gut Scratchin' Imperialist Moment o' 2010: Mara Abbott, 1st American woman to win the Giro. Forza, you goddess--and did I mention she conquered the Stelvio? So now, can we go back to humiliating the French instead?

And Last But Not Least, Doping Excuse o' the Year: yep, it's a two-fer for Contador--oy! Close second: Chuck Coyle's claim that a dear teammate used his computer, password, and home address to procure a whole bucket o' forbidden dope, but that he admitted to doing it himself because he was just too darned gentlemanly to call his good pal out. Yep, if *my* career depended on it, it'd sure be cool by *me* to have my BFF sell me down the river to protect himself! Darling peloton, can't we all just go back to blaming grandma's EPO habit, and try to retain at least *some* shred of plausible dignity?

Well, that's my year-end wrap-up--to any particularly glorious or disgusting riders whose hijinks I missed, don't worry, honey--there's always next year!

Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

Especially Ivan Basso, I Bet: sure, he just tweeted a lovely "Grande vince!" for Liquigas teammate Vincenzo Nibali on his inevitable Vuelta win tomorrow, but if *I* were Ivan Basso, and *my* younger teammate had snagged a podium spot in the Giro d'Italia I'd just won *and* then grabbed the whole damn Vuelta while *I* struggled from post-Giro fatigue at the Tour, I'd be having paranoiac Ullrichian nightmares that *my* own little Vinokourov was gonna talk sweet all winter and then whack an iron crowbar right into my kneecaps over team leadership next year. But then again, certainly there's nothing to worry about--I'm sure an up-and-coming Giro podium finisher and new Grand Tour champ whose nickname is "the Shark" doesn't have any dreams whatsoever about ever winning the Tour de France, Ivan!

Talk Dirty To Me: meanwhile, as doping prosecutions heat up from the US to Italy to Switzerland, certain guardians of peloton morality are outraged, outraged! over Floyd Landis' little self-invite to an anti-doping conference, and for my money it's not entirely clear whether they're afraid he's gonna (1) give valuable tips to the current riders (2) remind the broader public yet again about the sordid past problems the now-spotless peloton has faced, or (3) make 'em look all like the incompetent oily status-quo-protecting scumwad enablers they actually are. Floyd, however, is sticking to his assertion--which may well, to be fair, be entirely true--that he's trying to use his shameful prior behavior to educate the whippersnappers and clean up the field, which does, of course, tangentially make one wonder why this didn't happen to occur to him until after he solicited and accepted tons of hard-earned cash from his trusting blogosphere-defending fans knowing full well the entire thing was a flat-out lie. Feelin' bad enough about it to give 'em a refund? Just checkin'!

Lookin' Good, Saxo Bank!: yep, things are lookin' better every day for Bjarne Riis' about-to-be-reincarnated Saxo Bank squad, as Fabian Cancellara kicks poor Frank Schleck square in the works and contemptuously bails out of the Vuelta with nary a word to anyone. Needless to say, a crushed and ill-used Bjarne has finally given up and freed our time-trial god's right to court suitors elsewhere. Geez, Alberto, favored-domestique buy-ups on your behalf or not, I might be a little concerned about next year if I were you--Bjarne Riis is starting to make Lance Armstrong and Johan Bruyneel look good!

Mierda!: okay, I admit it: if Igor Anton couldn't do it (dammit!), I was seriously rooting for Ezequiel Mosquera to take the fabulous Vuelta, and watching Nibali claw back to him (aw, rats!) and almost take the stage on Bola del Mundo was a sailor-swear-fest 1 kilometer of couch-slumping misery. But Nibali earned the whole shebang fair and square, and Mosquera, to his everlasting credit, still valiantly took the stage. Congratulations to Nibali, and Mosquera--you still ought to be more than proud!

I'm Lookin' For Pound Notes, Loose Change, Bad Checks, Anything/Gimme Some Money!

Money(That's What I Want): Okay, I am absolutely certain that Floyd Landis of all righteous moralists filed a federal whistleblower suit--hilariously, of course, complaining that *Lance Armstrong* defrauded the Postal Service--completely unaware that he could, with no other livelihood anywhere in sight, score a cool 30% of the government's possibly enormous take for the (allegedly!) fake-sainthood hero-scam of of his former team captain. That said--and sincerely if doubtfully hoping that the man just truly had a change of heart about his own wrongdoing--can Landis do *anything* lately that doesn't make him look like a greedy bitter wanker just flat-out pissed that Lance's been treated like a god (by the US public, at least) while he's been treated like the slimy neighborhood schoolyard drug dealer handing out free samples of high-grade heroin to 12-year-olds? Me, I think Floyd could have a fighting chance of someday restoring his grossy-toileted reputation if he did something like, say, Tour de France cheat-scum Bernhard Kohl did--open a bike shop. Everybody likes a nice bike shop, right? Shut the hell up about your past, stay out of the public eye for ten or twenty years, fit the kiddies for their first Trek, secure a cute dinosaur-patterned helmet on their heads, toss in a couple of free energy-drink samples for Daddy--presto, by 2030 at the latest, redemption! Oh, if *only* dreams could come true...

Oh, Yeah, Baby--Look Who's In Red Tonight!: yep, that's Igor Anton of Euskaltel-Euskadi. Eat that, you big-budget rider-thieving ProTour bullies! Next up: Shleck and Nibali sob quietly into their muesli as Euskaltel kicks their !@# even at the hotel breakfast buffet. Yeeee-haaaaaah--all we need is Sastre to come storming back (shut up! will too! didn't you see him attack today?) and we've got hot'n'steamy Vuelta a Espana perfection!

Good News for Boonen Fans: and, in addition to filming all the soft-core shower-scenes one could ever want from a cyclist, big Belgian babe-magnet Tom Boonen looks to be getting back to his *actual* job: riding his bike (hey, no complaining!). Best of all, he's ridden 120 k on his comely if damaged knee pain-free, and expects to be back at the end of the month. Ah, well, I suppose it'll have to be pictures of some silly "bike race" from now on--but we'll always have Sea World!

Aw, Man, That's *Cold*!: finally, courtesy of valued reader Tom, the beneficiary of our Racejunkie Win Free Stuff Contest Two-Week Rider Insult Moratorium is--Denis Menchov! To that, I say...um, Denis looks very pretty in pink and orange. Dammit!

Remember, Week Two of our contest is on...so enter here to Win Free Stuff!

French Riders Who Don't Suck, Sissy-Boy Slap-Fights, and That Landis Thing

Chapeau, Sylvain!: y'know, just as I was explaining to a few dear family members how exactly it is the French haven't even won their own Tour for 25 years, comes boys like Sylvain Chavanel and Jerome Pineau to restore my faith that they're almost certain to win it again before the start of the next millenium. Toss in a win for Sandy Casar if he don't get taken out by a dog again and we've darn near got us a renaissance! Of course, Bweeguh BBox Whateverthehell promptly reignited the ashes of perpetual French self-destruction by ruthlessly hunting down their own countrymen like it was Armstrong in the lead, but I'm sure it was a brilliant tactical move in the end. Oh, to hear the brave chords of the Marsellaise again at the top of the podium in Paris...well, in the interim they can always figure out a way to give another tribute to the worthy Bernard Hinault instead!

Run! Run for Your Life!: in other news, I don't know who the heck the dim-bulb photog was who thought right in front of Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen's front wheel was a nice place to take a stroll, but our boy is still sore and, worse, irked today so if I were him I'd catch the next flight out of France and parachute into some remote jungle 'til Robbie calms down round about the middle of next year: Can this guy *ever* catch a break this year?

Catfight!: meantime, in an even worse example for the kiddies than Cavendish's tantrums, Boonen's former coke-snorting escapades and Armstrong's total lack of sportsmanship and class, a mildly put-out Carlos Barredo whanged his wheel repeatedly onto the head of elbow-jousting Rui Costa, proving that there's no misunderstanding between respectable professionals that can't be solved by impaling the jagged edge of a busted carbon bike part into someone else's brain stem. Your moms must be *so* proud--put these boys into cheap miniskirts and hooker heels, and they'd be right at home on any VH1 reality show!

In Quasi-Defense of Floyd Landis--Now Hear Me Out!: yes, as we all know, everyone from the fans to the sponsors to the One himself are in deep-implausible-denial mode over the explosive Wall Street Journal revelations of US Postal/Armstrong doping hijinks, with Interpol now on Lance's !@#, Hincapie and Hamilton called in by the federales, and Landis justly reviled as a lying, self-serving scum-pig. Still, in the interests of consistency, I think it's high time we forgiving souls here at racejunkie do the unthinkable: give 'im credit where credit is due. Now hold on before you start swearing at me! Landis is a weasel and a general tool. And while pursuing his claim of innocence was just a more hysterical version of the typical doped-cyclist jerkiness, it was in fact particularly odious of this loathesome creature to set up, seek out, and worst of all accept, money from some really lovely, faithful people who mostly made a hell of lot less money than him working a hell of a lot harder for it--and no, calling it the "Floyd Fairness Fund" not the "Floyd Innocence Fund" as some ween technocrat suggested does not excuse the disgusting dishonesty deliberately implied by the lack of the correct title, the "Floyd Get My Filthy Slimedwelling Carcass Off On a Bull!@#$ Technicality Fund," which Landis would clearly have known would've brought in waaaaay less ill-acquired dough. So why am I giving Landis credit for *anything* except being a swinemeister? Because (1) does anyone really think Lance never did *any* of it? and (2) at least Floyd, unlike every other rat, copped to his pathetic motives, specifically that he's accusing Lance not out of any sense of conscience or remorse--which he still seems not to have--but because he's pissed off he got busted when other guilty riders never did. Petty? Yep. Characterless? Ding ding--we have a winner! But I've sworn before I'd at least minimally respect these disgraces if they were just open about that, and gosh darn it, we're stickin' to it. So Floyd, take comfort--you've just earned a ticket out of eternal hell and into hell's eternally dull waiting room instead!

Up, Up with People!: finally, as the boys get ready to tackle the first serious shakeout mountain stage tomorrow--and it'll be interesting to see how baby Schleck hangs in without big bro Frank's help in the highest passes--the Giro Donne has already hit its Queen stage, conquering the fearsome Stelvio and crowning great US climber Mara Abbott as the likely winner at the final day. Also looking awesome: world road race Tatiana Guderzo. Forza, donne!