A UCI Love-In! A Spanish/Italian Bloodbagapalooza! A Saganarama!

Age of Aquarius: yes, it's just all peace, love, and--surprise!--total impotence at UCI, as they finally confront on the hard questions like, how much exactly did you cover for Armstrong? why do you only go after cyclists who piss you off? and, how come you haven't caught anyone higher'n a cul-de-sac tricycle rider for the last five years? with this scorched-earth, once-and-for-all solution to the scourge of doping in cycling: come bang on a snare drum in the woods chanting around a campfire wearing a loincloth, and, like, share your innermost feelings with us, man! Gee, *thanks*, Captain Love-In, *that* oughta solve all our problems! Oh, fine, break out the body paint Pat "Dick", we can all just paint flowers and peace signs on each others' torsos while you ignore everyone who could possibly change cycling for the better, *again*...

"Danger" to Public Health? But Fuentes Doped Me Up Just *Dandy*, Thank You Very Much!: and, as Ivan "So Close, But Yet So Far" Basso tries to sell the same ol' "I only attempted to dope" snake oil again, and the far more plausible we love (shut up! is too! I'm in my happy place!) Joseba Beloki claims never to have met Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes at all, legendary pin-up/sprint icon Mario Cipollini has just dodged a close one: apparently, the Italian narcs are already calling off their new investigation into his highly suspicious links to Fuentes because, the good Dr. has reportedly testified, the 70,000 euros Cipo gave to him was not for blood doping, or even the notoriously bull!@#$ "training advice," but for a strict and highly complicated regime of chest-hair waxing. Saved by the manscaping, Lion King--now cough up who frosted your highlights, or we're gonna slap your !@# in prison!

Hasta la Vista, Baby!: finally, in actual race news, it sure looks like Peter "The Terminator" Sagan is getting ready to whomp on his fast-men competitors in the big races, as he starts his season off with a sharp attack and the lead at the Tour of Oman. Watch out, Cav, and don't get too smug, Classics men--swooning fan club or not, this flashy kid's set to take you *on*! Here, the win on the day:

It's Time for Milano-Sanremo, Baby!

Too Bad There Won't Be Anyone To Ride It: yes, the magical Milano-Sanremo is upon us, baby, and with guys like Thor and Gilbert gettin' dropped like Andy Schleck on a half-assed descent, it looks like it's up to Tommeke, Freire, or Cavendish to take the win, and, according to my meticulous analysis of their physiological data, since Cav always wins everything anyway *and* has been annoyingly genteel of late, and Tommeke's gonna beat the crap out of everyone on the cobbles, I'm hoping that if it's not our charming Belgian redemption song it's retiring 3-time champ Oscar Freire to make it a four-peat and tie the great Erik Zabel on the top of the podium. Yap, yap, Spartacus, yap--until Cancellara repudiates RadioSkank and begs forgiveness for riding with the dark side, he can !@#damn well stuff it!

Oh Gyno, My Gyno: meantime, in heroes o' cycling news, famed Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Peloton" Fuentes is defending his lame Spanish charges of "endangering public health" with his by-the-gallon blood transfusions during the Op Puerto debacle in 2006 by contending that a hotel room is a perfectly sanitary, acceptable alternative to a hospital for the discreet publicity-shy drug-weasel, and, for *my* money, if anyone doubts it, they can always go back and confirm the sterility of all those syringes Astana (allegedly!) tossed in their Tour de France hotel garbage back in the day. Besides, what else are all those little nips in the hotel-room minibar for if not to clean up medical equipment, I ask you? I still hate your guts for throwing Roberto Heras under the bus, Eufemiano--but as a housekeeping expert, you're a peach!

Holy Crap, Cipollini is Serious!: y'know, I, like Paolo Bettini, thought the Lion King's dreams of return were just the nostalgic ramblings of a timeless legend alone with his memories of glory and podium babes, but when Cipo drops trou for the cameras again, you *know* this !@#$'s for real. Forget the admirable scenes of the man training with his crew--just dig that soundtrack, honey!

A Compliment for Pat "Dick" McQuaid: finally, I'd just like to express my shock and genuine admiration for our darling grumpy UCI gadfly, who managed to gack up on UCI's very website the news that his second-favorite Spanish dope-fiend, Alejandro Valverde, is back at the top of the UCI rankings just moments, it seems, after his return from his ban. Look, he posted this photo of Alejandro himself: Glad to see you can forgive and forget, Pat!

Baby Got Back (To Belgium, That Is)!

It's Kuurnage, Kuurnage I Tells Ya!: yes, the early season perma-snoozeathon of perfectly flat roads (though some pretty exciting sprint finishes) is over, the fast men are kickin' back, and it's time for the hard-men o' the cobbles to come out to play at Omloop Het Nieuwsblad and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne this weekend and the upcoming big-!@# Classics, which means (1) Tom Boonen is ready to !@#$-smack every wanky naysayer who dissed 'im last season (this includes you, Lefevere!); (2) Thor Hushovd's finally gonna take Roubaix (shut up! go to hell! bite me!); and (3) Philippe Gilbert's gonna leave pretty much everyone else in the peloton crying into their beers like guys when that pilot "Goose" gets killed in "Top Gun." Me, I love underdogs, so I'm rooting for Tommeke--that is, at least til he starts seriously winning again!

Well I've Had/The Time (Trial) of My Liiiiiii-iiife: and, it's exceedingly bitchin' to see smashing comic-con fan-boy/aero-king Dave Zabriskie tearin' up the tarmac at the Tour of Langkawi, which so far as I can tell means just one thing--yap, yap, one of the best riders of his generation, yap, legacy, yap, papa's gonna be gettin' himself a whoooooooooooole lot of new action figures! You go, Dave--and nice ride! >

Mario "The Chest"'s Words o' Wisdom: man, not only does one of the most legendary sprinters of all time look mighty dashing in his birthday suit (and, y'know, is one of the most legendary sprinters of all time), Cipo also generously provided some surprisingly sage advice for disgusting worm-weasel/aspiring barkeep Riccardo Ricco' on a companionable ride together: get a respectable freakin' job already! Oh my god, I didn't realize my Dad was Mario Cipollini! Anyway, no word from the boss on whether Ricco' is gonna drop his quest for revenge, redemption, and new and exciting ways to poison himself doping--but I ain't gonna let that little clown mix *me* a drink if I ever happen into his little pub, that's for sure!

Show Me the Love!: finally, let's all have a colossal contemporaneous moment of silence and general karmic flow of good wishes for poor Saxo-boss Bjarne Riis as he gets ready to go before the power-drunk blood-lusting hypocrites at UCI to grovel for his ProTour license, not because he clearly acted like a monster tool by driving away the perfect Jens Voigt to the horrid RadioSkank, but because by betting the entire farm (get the "cow" reference? what a knee-slapper!) on Contador, he's just about hosed a whole lotta awful nice domestiques, mechanics, and assorted other team minions outta the rewards, and dubious glories, o' the highest ranks of the sport. Dang, Bjarne, that kid hypnotize you with those pretty long eyelashes or what? Snap out of it!

UCI Sticks It To Valverde (Tho' Frankly, He's Been Stuck Harder)

Nyeah, Nyeah, Nyeah, Nyeah, Nyeah!: yes, right as Movistar gets set to throw on the disco lights to welcome back drug-stuffed Op Puerto degenerate Alejandro Valverde, the tough guys at UCI have stepped in, declaring they're gonna completely clamp down on widespread systematic doping in the sp--uh, make Movistar cancel their press conference. Oh, snap! Um, not to rain on your parade, McQuaid, but all things considered, isn't better you *don't* give a guy like Valverde any more unsupervised free time off than you absolutely have to? Still, I'll give it to Alejandro, at least he's open about not giving a !@#$, instead of faking some unbearable self-righteous teary-eyed jailhouse-conversion yip-yap wah-wah. So let's see what Valverde can do riding without enhancement in 2012--if he'll show us, that is!

Cipo For Prime Minister!: in other news, we all know that eternal sprint god/women's cycling impresario Mario "the Chest" Cipollini is not only an icon of the noble sport of cycling, but an inspiration to clothes-conscious manscapers everywhere. So imagine my surprise and delight when a headline in the venerable New York Times proclaimed that if he weren't cool enough already, Super Mario is poised to lead the great nation of Italy! Sadly, it turns out to be a boring reference to some random politico, but still, I can't imagine a better candidate than the real thing himself. So suave, so smooth, so chic--who even *cares* what he thinks? All hail the Lion King!

!@#$ that Rocks: okay, a little slow on the uptake here, but given my distinct peeve with that reptilian little drug-sucker, I gotta say, this "Ricco" edition T-Shirt freakin' rocks: . And no, I'm not a paid spokesperson--but for those of you interested in highly prestigious product endorsements like mine, I *will* take bribes, particularly, in the off chance you're broke, Mallomars. Nice work, Dopers Suck!

Because It Just Ain't Cycling Without a Post About Contador: finally, as CAS sets a rough decision date for January, reports abound that among Alberto's approximately 678 personal-domestique character witnesses will be a lie-detector-test expert, leading, natch, to the exciting conclusion he has taken or will pony up a fateful test against the machine. Next up after the November slugfest: Alberto appears on a Very Special Maury "Are You My Baby's Daddy?" Povich. Lookin' forward to the show, Alberto!

Yer Racejunkie Hall o' Shame

Okay, aside from ex-cycling gadfly/newbie car racer Floyd Landis saying Alberto Contador's former coach is a "drug trafficker," Gilbert still deciding whether to screw over Boonen at Quick Step or tag-team Cadel doing it to Thor Hushovd at BMC, Horner recovering well (thank goodness) from a blood clot and Levi Leipheimer taking the Tour of Utah while new Sky signing Henao climbs like a monster, there's really not that much goin' on today, so that said, except for maybe Jens and Cav, it occurs to me lately that there's a certain "je ne sais quoi"--French for "total lack of entertainment value," of course--missing of late from the peloton. Oh, and before I get any crap, yes, although a *few* of these selections *may* have had issues with doping in the past, I'm against it. Extremely against it. So against it, in fact, that I'd rather listen to Andy Schleck wh--well, maybe not quite *that* against it, but trust me, *really* darn against it. Therefore, without further ado, Guys I Really Miss From the Peloton But Probably Shouldn't:

1. Jan Ullrich. say what you will about his strict fidelity to omerta' and the fact that he was a frustrated constant second fiddle to Lance Armstrong for the better part of a decade--and we all know why *that* was--but god love 'im, that man was a glorious mess. His power, undeniable; his performances, gorgeously erratic; his weight-piling off-season schnitzel binges, just plain lovable. At his best, as he chomped his way up a mountain in some ridiculous gear, he was simply a marvel to watch. And lest we forget, the man *did* take a Tour de France. Glad to see you back in action on the charity circuit, Jan!

2. Roberto Heras. like most climbers, Heras never yapped on much--no small part of why I tend to like them--but what you could count on, no matter what *he* was on, was his impeccable form on a climb, and drugs just can't buy that !@#$. And with no glory left in sight, the man's still riding his bike. Oh stuff it, like you don't think noone else at the time was any cleaner!

3. Alexander Vinokourov. Damn, it's barely been a month, and already the roads seem almost sane. And with Vino, you always knew to expect *some* race-course freak-show, whether it was a wholly pointless acceleration 70k from the finish line or his impish tendency to inflict sudden pain on an exhausted-but-inevitably-winning GC contender just because he could. Vino, please do get a handle on Iglinsky so he doesn't hurt anyone--but if you could imbue yer little Astana acolytes with your random torment, we'll all owe you big time!

4. Mario "the Chest" Cipollini. Look, it's no secret that I normally can't stand sprinters--their arrogance, their braggadocio, their squicky tendency to be caught making out with their own reflections in the men's-room mirror--but I gotta say, Cav excepted, the politesse of these guys lately is really getting on my nerves. But not only is Super Mario fielding a personal squad of exceedingly formidable female cyclists, you could always rely on him for, if not a sparkling quote or a brilliant finish (and he dished out plenty of those), a buck-nekkid photo of him around a bicycle. Damn, don't people think their mammas look at the internet?

5. Gilberto Simoni. Y'know, there's nothing I love more than to hear Cav go off on a teamful of guys who've just helped him take a win, Cadel snap on a posse of friendly press corps, or McEwen threaten to personally dissect anyone, on any basis, who !##$s with him. But these guys are frankly Amateur Hour next to the great two-time Giro d'Italia champ Gilberto Simoni, whose enormous capacity for vindictiveness and utter lack of self-editing led to some of the nastiest smack-talk of the last decade. Best of all, the man *can* back it up in the heights. Come back, Gibo--maybe your ol' pal Basso could use another DS to help him out over at Liquigas?

6. Erik Zabel. Don't tell me the sight of a hot-pink Telekom jersey didn't whack 14 or so years o' fear into the sprint kings! Oddly, there's rather a dearth of Zabel greatest-hits compilations on the web, though, in a disturbing harbinger of this past year's cow-carnage, I did find this interesting clip of poor Erik being clobbered by a pony. This isn't why I miss you Erik--but Phil and Paul's commentary *is* priceless!

Yes, I've left out many deserving greats, and you and they all know who they are. And no, Lance isn't one of 'em, 'cause frankly, we *still* hear too much about that !@#$. So back to the countdown to the Vuelta, and good luck Contador with your Landis response!