The Happy, Delusional, Rainbow-Brite World of Planet Schleck

Or Maybe My Little Pony. Or Strawberry Shortcake. Or...: yes, Frank and Andy Schleck are waxing poetic about the season ahead, and having read their interviews, my question to these brilliant young cyclists is, are you on freakin' crack? Andy, I truly believe you *will* win the Tour one day, so long's Cadel, Alberto, and basically any mountain-friendly dimwit with even dubious abilities to downhill and time-trial are all, say, simultaneously stricken with massively foul 3-week bouts of food-borne projectile vomiting starting on July 1 of the next five consecutive Tours de France--but barring mishap on someone else's part, which to be fair would never be the way you'd want to win, it ain't gonna be this year. In which case, *why* does Johan Bruyneel apparently want to screw you outta the support you so desperately need to have even a hope at the top of the podium by burning out Frank at the Giro d'Italia this year? Sure, the Giro's an easier course this season--but let's be real, if a nakedly brutal course could so viciously take out Alberto, even a routine Giro's gonna knock Frank flat on his !@# for July. And yes, it *does* also eliminate the possibility that Frank could be RadioSkank's backup GC hope should you choke in the time trials even more than usual, tho' I know you're both usually too united and gentlemanly to consider such a thing. Then again, it's RadioSkank, who gives--Johan, just let Jens the hell out the door to tear up the course and you can stick dirty doping (allegedly!) Lance in there for all I care!

Soler System: meantime, in recovery news, twee tenacious mountain god Mauricio Soler, whose very survival not so long ago was uncertain, is back riding his bike at home in Colombia, and while he may never get back in the actual peloton, I think one can say without reservation that in the hard-man standings this guy makes even Johnny "Barbed-Wire" Hoogerland and Stuey "Bend Me, Break Me, Any Way You Want Me" O'Grady look like a coupla playground knee-skinned kindergarten crybabies. Best wishes in your continued journey, Mauricio, you bad-!@#!

Money Money Money: and of course, while French squads continue to bite, Spanish squads scramble for new do--uh, delis, and even the lamer Continental teams have enough dough to lure the big boys, the superlative Euskaltel-Euskadi is dragged down to diggin' change outta the seat cushions in the team car, rendering it damn near inevitable that (1) Samuel Sanchez is gonna be sent out on the street-corner with an accordion and an organ-grinder monkey to shill for pennies from tourists when he oughta be out training for the Tour de France and (2) that mercenary pigvert Bruyneel is gonna get to buy the cream of the Basque talent pool for his loathesome squadly machinations next year, *again*. !@#dammit, people, do I *have* to start another Buy The Euskaltel Guys Some New Underwear Charity Campaign--we barely kept 'em in Garanimals *last* season!

I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty: finally, a big welcome back to golden euromullet Franco Pellizotti, no longer with a place at Liquigas after his two-year exile for failing to preemptively manage his blood profile, but, fortunately, being heavily courted by the morally flexible and even gaudier-outfitted Lampre. Look, he's taking his clothes off already--aw, just like old times!

They Blinded Me With Science

You *Suck*, CAS!: okay, poindexters, clear this up: why the !@#$ is Franco Pellizotti busted for two years under the bio passport when actual proven dopers get to go free or get some punk-!@# 1-year suspension? Fine, Pellizotti's blood values came up "funny." Is that really as incriminating and does it really warrant the same result as, say, your actual drugged-up bloodbag--like Ivan's or Valverde's? Or even, taking the strict-liability clenbuterol rule into account, some !@#$up buying a tainted supplement from some shady assclown off the internet or tainted steak from a farmer? I'm not sayin' Franco's innocent (tho' let's face it, he ain't dirtier than half the peloton last year), but I *am* calling total, complete, unmitigated bull!@#$. And no, I don't want to reward a pack of cheating scumlords for being rich, lucky, or savvy enough to beat the tests. But dang, oughtn't they be held *less* accountable than someone at *least* as stupid and inarguably more clearly guilty? You *suck*, UCI--now do you have the guts to go after a star who *really* broke the rules? And no, "Um, we got Pietro Caucchioli too" doesn't count!

Shades o' Contador: no, not an actual positive test--they wish!--but Franco, for his part, does claim he's been "cheated" and vows he's had it with the whole unjust circus and is quitting the sport for good. Oh, Franco, you cut off those lovely locks for nuthin'...at least you've got nuthin' but time for them to grow back! Anyway, here's our (ex) Giro podium finisher/polka-dot jersey winner in happier days:

The Spanish-Italian War: meanwhile, the tifosi, of course, are freaking out, claiming (1) he didn't do it (2) if he did, they don't care and (3) as usual, the guilty Spaniards get to walk or put off their suspensions til they're actually clinically dead, while the guilty Italians get hosed just in time for that little bastard Contador to ride and take their hometown Giro, *again.* Aw, don't worry, I'm sure Alberto'll dedicate a stage win to Franco in May...won't that make you all feel better?

Nice To Know You: in race news, it's alternately thrills 'n' carnage at Paris-Nice. Today's smashing win (and nasty fall): Get well soon, Sagan--and geez, did *anyone* predict Thomas de Gendt for Stage 1?

Bow, Bow I Say!: finally, for no particular reason except I was just so happy luxuriating in the dulcet tones of Phil Liggett 'n' Paul Sherwen from Paris-Nice this weekend, I bring you a wholly gratuitous tribute to Sir Phil himself: Oh Phil, *tell* me they're all clean, I'll believe anything you say, I promise!

Oh, Yeah, Baby, It's Team Schle--um, Leopard Trek!

Which Don't Explain at All Their Boring As Hell Team Kit: yep, as no doubt every damn one of us gets ready to unleash an entire season's worth of uber-lame cat metaphors at every irrelevant opportunity, Frank 'n' Andy've formally announced their new Leopard-Trek squad, so cower, suckers! Sadly, for a sport that routinely dresses up its macho-men to look like the Little Mermaid, they've shown no sartorial stones whatsoever, bagging what could've been a truly gratifyingly eye-scorching leopard-hooker team kit in favor of a sedate white-blue-and-black. Dammit, first the argyle's gone from Garmin, now this? Anyway, here's the press conference:

and the bike porn:

The first big test of Team Leopard: an injured-as-usual we love Stuey O'Grady still beats the crap out of everyone at the Tour Down Under later this month. Do 'em proud, Stuey!

Dead Cows Tell No Tales: meantime, the Spaniards have announced they need extra time to dig through the massive wad o' documents in the Alberto Contador case to find an iron-clad, WADA-proof justification for letting that guilty little rat Contatwerp off the hoo--I mean, to reach a fair, thoughtful, and just determination in the controversial yet reasonably-disputed Tour de France doping matter. Lookin' forward to that objective decision, boys--but probably not as much as your golden idol Alberto is! Lucky for him his tainted dinner's no longer around to swear a cloven foot on a stack o' Bibles that it got off the drugs months and months ago thanks to his concerned barn-mates' last-ditch, tv-crew-recorded "Intervention"....

Hear, Hear!: over in racing news, the pro cyclists' union has released a key poll of its members in favor of continuing the use of race radios. Me, I'm conflicted--sure, it turns the riders into puppet automatons jerked around on strings by the brain trusts in the team cars, and kills the excitement and unpredictability of the riders actually thinking for themselves to shape a race--but really, can't we all think of at least one or two guys for whom that might actually be a benefit? Ah, well, thrills, shmills--so long as Jens gets let off the leash whenever he wants it, you can keep the dog collars I suppose!

Free Franco o' The Euromullet!: finally, I see former King of the Mountains Basso-rival Franco Pellizotti is at last ready to sue the pants off everyone for completely screwing his 2010 and 2011 seasons, and considering that clearly he has the flowingest locks in the peloton, in addition to being let's face it the least of that smashing seedy entity's problems, I say, unless you can prove something other than that you were really, really, desperate to nail anyone higher-level in the UCI rankings than--um, who *have* you nailed so far?--and until you can show he actually *is* on the juice, you really oughta let 'im ride. I mean, that writhing little ferret Riccardo Ricco' gets a team gig, and Pellizotti's left out to dry? You *suck*, UCI!

Jens Voigt Explains It All

Jeeeeeeennnnnnsssss!: look, I feel very, very sorry for Bjarne Riis. After watching 3/4 of his squad bail only to replace it with the hugest, doe-eyed-est cash-cow the cycling world has ever seen, only to have said cow squirming under the thumb of a giganto doping investigation, the poor guy can't be feeling exactly on top of the world right now. And in fact, I feel so sorry for Bjarne I won't even remind him it's clearly planetary-justice karma for him being a wanker to dear little Carlos Sastre after he won him a freakin' Tour de France a ways back. But if Jens Voigt sez he had a good reason for leaving Saxo for baby Schleck's new squad--and even if he sez it's just like being his old team, except with different jerseys and, y'know, a slight change in management--then that's damn well good enough for me. Oh, and if you're *really* worried you're just gonna end up "the boring, established rider who takes a paycheck and says 'Yeah, I'll do whatever you want'--with all due respect, lay off the java for a while, o godly one, we all know *that* ain't gonna happen. Sorry, Bjarne--and bow, peons!

Cowabunga, Dude!: speaking o' Contador, it's good news and bad news for our jailbait (maybe jailbound) dreamboat as Spain arrests 34 evildoers connected with unlawful clenbuterol distribution 'n' use--including, apparently, some nefarious weasel funneling the stuff to innocent cattle. Yeah, Bessie thought that internet !@#$ was a harmless supplement--and look what it did to my damn career! I wonder if one *can* sue a steer (or his estate, anyway) in Spain...

Uh, Oh, Ivan!: man, not only does posterstud Ivan Basso have that up-n-coming Nibali to worry about--with Franco Pellizotti off the hook for his bio-passport prob (at least til UCI appeals it) and, presumably, back at Liquigas, now Ivan's gonna have to convince an insanely pissed-off, entirely season-deprived superclimber teammate to domestique 'im at the Grand Tours between depositions in his monster lost-earnings suit against UCI. Y'know, class, I think we all learned from the Armstrong/Contatwerp Astana debacle that you can only have so many princesses vying for the prince (maillot jaune, whatever) at the ball. Hell, with these two's primping you'll be lucky to get 'em out of the ladies' room in one piece--good luck, and if it comes to fisticuffs, for god's sake Ivan don't mess up Pellizotti's hair!

And You Thought Lampre's Outfits Were Chic: well, they ain't anymore, and neither are those lame, say, ultra-aero time-trial helmets, because according to cicloweb, the hot new protecto-trend for the pro peloton 2011 is: air bags! Yeah, just try to head-butt me in the sprint, pal--when you bounce off this sucker and into the barriers like a rag doll you are gonna *pay*!

"God bedring", Thor!: at least, I *hope* I'm wishing him "get well soon" in Norwegian as opposed to, oh, insulting his mother or committing hell-bound blasphemy, but anyway, holy-crap-he's-the-new-world-champion! we love Thor Hushovd's finally fixed that pesky collarbone and is well on track to humiliate Mark Cavendish and any nit who dares challenge him in the Classics next year. Se deg snart, you big lug--and if that means something I didn't intend, please don't hurt me!