Oleg Tinkov Takes On Nibali (In Case Alberto Contador Can't): This Tour Just Keeps Getting Weirder #letour

First, Chris Froome crashes out *not* on the cobbles, so whoever wins is already gonna be in a lifetime rage being perma-dogged by the question, "What if?" Meantime, half the peloton's having knee surgery, Cancellara's outraged at the pave he adored before Boom kicked his !@# on 'em, Andre Griepel's been sprinting like a freakin' climber til this afternoon, Sagan can't time an effort with Big Ben bangin' out the tempo, still-recovering Purito's snailing along at the back of the gruppo like he's looking for a lost contact lens, Eddy Merckx is mocking the entire peloton as a pack of blanky-snuggling wuss-weenies for not having to ride 50 k of cobblestones in a Tour like he did, and not only was Contador's thorough recon of Stage 5 clearly useless after he dropped 2 minutes 40 he'll have to climb like it's 2010 or hope Nibs forgets to eat for a week to have any hope of getting it back, having already been screwed out of primo help by Kreuziger's bio-passport snafu he's now lost poor other-key-mountaineer Jesus Hernandez to quite a serious concussion on today's crash-fouled stage (get well soon and stay safe, Jesus)! What the hell is going *on* out there? Well, crazy-!@# Contador boss Oleg Tinkov's got an answer: he's tweet-warned the remaining GC contenders that *he's* already conquered Saturday's mountain stage, even if *Contador's* gonna !@#$ it up. Jaysus, I'd be more afraid as a Tinkoff rider that my own boss'd toss me off one of those peaks to be picked apart by vultures than of Nibs beating me a up a climb, but either way, that's all just freakin' scary!


A Gentle Plea: and what the !@#$'s with all the Phil and Paul twitter-hate?! They're gods, I tell you, gods! They can announce my !@#damn breakfast for all I care, they can start mistaking the riders for show dogs, they can repeat Jens' age 'til it feels like the ear-worm chorus of every crappy overplayed pop song on the planet, they can jump in on the jersey presentations and pretend they're podium babes, just leave them be !@#dammit!

La Vie En Rosa: finally, I'd be reporting buckets more on the beautiful Giro that's underway if it weren't such a one-handed slaughterhouse by the best cyclist in all human history out there, though of course we love speed demon Giorgia Bronzini did grab a sprint and Emma Pooley thundered to the win in the first mountain stage. But we're hitting the key stages now, so Mara Abbott, these heights are your playground--forza ragazza, and Marianne, throw *someone* else a bone out there!

Leave Phil Liggett Alone (Again), !@&dammit!

Fine, Phil Liggett said today he thinks the young peloton is clean, and of course, now everyone's piling on him for it and for his years of denial about everyone else. Let's get this straight--!@#$ off! Lookit. Phil is the sweet innocent kid whose sadistic smug bastard of a big brother just told him there's no Santa Claus. (Okay, like ten years ago, but still.) He has heard the words, he has seen the proof, he has seen the fake beard and cheap red suit in his parents' closet, and nonetheless he believes. He is marshalling every bit of evidence in his favor. There are presents under the tree. The milk and cookies left for him have objectively been nibbled at. He has personally sat on his lap at the mall. There are whole Christmas specials about the man. You can send him letters, even e-mail him. NORAD tracks him by satellite every year for Chrissakes--the government wouldn't lie! And whether you like Phil or not, we still need him. He is credulous--yes, he is a flat-out naif. But all arguments (and not all unfair or unreasonable) to the contrary, he is not the, or even really a, problem with this sport. He reminds us, with every breathless broadcast, with every unquestioning cheer, with every visceral memory of a particular local wine and particular local cheese in a particular local bar that calls up a particular stage that he talks about, that the fantastic, however unlikely--and however brief if it is likely--can still occur. That years of relentless dedication can lead to one perfect suspended moment, that eight people with completely different interests and skills and egos and desires can yet unite for a few short hours in a single goal, that physical effort and achievement--so far from those of us who can't bike out of our own driveways without gasping for a water bottle and power bar--can be its own kind of art, that one stupid random millimeter can snap a life's work to pieces in an instant, that the fleeting fragile beauty of this sport, however flawed and worldly and conflicted and dirty and downright mean it can be, is nonetheless something worth cherishing. Otherwise, why do any of us care about any of this? Every dream needs its dreamers--don't blame him, even now, for not being the cleanup crew. We still love you Phil!

It's Yer Tour de France Rest Day Roundup Part Deux! #tdf

Unbelievably, there's actually been other news beyond speculation over Chris Froome's Vo2 max, Valverde's agonizing flat-stage meltdown and the peloton's collarless-skinsuit fashion tragedy, so in the few hours we've got before the breakaway gets going, here's the 'nother stuff:

1. If Alberto Contador sez Chris Froome ain't doping, I believe it. After all, who'd know better?

2. On a related note, if Contador can't take a stage, and *well*, his whole career looks like a lie. Uh, I think he's got a "virus," Bjarne!

3. Mark Cavendish finally *did* get Alessandro Petacchi as his lead-out! Not for the Giro or Tour though. And he can't help him in the Worlds. But Cav'll probably ride *something* after the Tour. Cage fight for Steegmans and Ale-Jet over who gets to be Cav's top main! Since Petacchi'll probably stop for a spa day and a nice mani-pedi, my money's on Gert for a surprise mid-sauna bushwhack...

4. Thor Hushovd won a race! Like two weeks ago, and not near the caliber of his earlier wins, but still. It just goes to show ya, BMC, don't screw over the Thunder God ever again!

5. On the topic of BMC, winless reigning world champ Philippe Gilbert just looks so glum. Can't the peloton discreetly give *one* stage away for this poor sod?

6. I think Sagan is genuinely heartbroken he can't show off more for his fans at the finish line, considering all his countrymen and women and like half the rest of the earth's female population took a three-week holiday to follow 'im. C'mon, Kittel, you've bagged three stages, show this guy some mercy already!

7. Andy freakin' Schleck, man. Even *I* can't pile on 'im at this point. He'll be lucky to get a contract scrubbing his own stage-soaked chamois next year.

8. Kittel's 80s mousse-fest blowout, or Uran's 80s mullet? Discuss.

9. Jens Voigt is still a god. We love you Jens!

10. !@#$ off, Phil & Paul haters. Phil Liggett could accidentally announce those irritating Michelob Light commercials the entire coming week and he'd *still* rule the airwaves, so like I said, bug off!

11. Cut the crap, UCI--the women deserve their own, real, permanent Tour de France. At least we *know* you jerks won't pay 'em enough to dope & destroy the sport like the guys have!

12. And if you really saw Bauke Mollema in second place, as opposed to just a dark horse for the top five, you are either Laurens Ten Dam or a lying lying liar. Allez Bauke--keep proving us wrong!

Well, onto Alberto's and Valverde's and Cadel's assault on the Alps. Good luck, 'cause with how Froomey looks, you're all gonna need it!

In (Increasingly Frustrated) Defense of Phil Liggett, *Again* (Yeah, So Bite Me! Go to Hell!); and, Thor for Four, Baby!

Oh, *Phil*: okay, let's get the latest news outta the way: Levi's been sacked, Nike (allegedly!) paid Verbruggen a cool half-mil to cover a doping poz, Frank's gonna get off for his diuretic poz, everyone who benefited from joining in Lance's disgusting doping is SO RELIEVED to tell the truth now that they officially get to keep the millions they earned off it, and the peloton has traded its charming multiplicity of languages in for the harmonious and near-universal sound of crickets chirping. Now, on to Phil. As dear reader karl kindly pointed out, Phil now concedes Lance may have done it. But--BUT--Lance is still a bitchin' asset to the sport. Aiiiggghhhh! Phil, you tryin' to *kill* me here? Anyway, the twit-sphere is going nutwhack, and folks, here's why I'm calling on you all to lay off: Phil Liggett is an innocent lamb who is only *just* realizing that that big hairy razor-toothed bastard across the pasture is a mean, nasty wolf all ready to eat 'im. In short, Phil just cannot help it. Yes, the paranoid conspiracy theory bull!@#$ was beyond--way beyond--the pale. But tell me, any of you, since you first fell in love with this sport--as a cyclist, or as a mindblown armchair athlete--have you *really* never once had a sense of romance about it? And if the romance wasn't ever about Lance the Triumphal Hero, not even over its weird cult of suffering, its pursuit of perfection, the terrifying joy of a 70 mph descent, the thrill of seeing a lone rider emerging triumphant and wholly spent at the top of one of the highest peaks of Europe? Hell, I'm still willing to buy that Iban was framed, Ullrich benefited from fattening up over the winter, Heras improved like a freak in the time trial by tweaking his position, and Dave Z was just high off of Pop Rocks. Yap, money, yap, reflected glory, yap--Phil is *heartbroken*, I tell you, and it's gonna take time for our dear Voice of Cycling to heal. Me, I suggest Irish whiskey, in quantity. But if takes Phil another Tour de France reminiscing over the '68 Chateau Lafitte Effete he enjoyed when Lemond won his first Tour or the charming castle he stayed at with Paul the very eve of Hinault's final win, for mercy's sake, just let 'im--who the hell can't sympathize with that?!

Thor for Four, Honey!: in *happy* news, meantime, we love Thor Hushovd is swearing to come back from his excruciating suckfest of a 2012 to take his dream Paris-Roubaix in 2013, and 2014, and 2015, *and* 2016, and no, he's not a decaying old mummy you haters, he had a virus !@#dammit! Hey, Gilbert came back, right?--allez allez Thor! Challenging Thor on the cobbles, however, is new World Champ/serious bad-!@# Marianne Vos, who's calling for all the Classics, Hell of the North of course included, to have women's races, since there's certainly no question she and a heck of a lot of other smashing riders can more'n conquer the long bone-rattling mudfests o' the cobblestones. Or I suppose Marianne could just "handle" a freakin' cobblestone right upside the race organizers' heads if they say no...

Phil Liggett Flips Out (and Breaks My Heart); And, Let's Give Lance Armstrong's Tour Wins to Ullrich

Okay, I've had it: Lance Armstrong, instead of shutting the !@#$ up like he's repeatedly promised and failed to do, has gone before yet another unquestioningly adoring audience deeply (and certainly justly) grateful for his fine charity work, and used it to proclaim he's always gonna be the winner of 7 Tour de France's anyway. I call bull!@#$! Why don't you pull that righteous crap in front of an audience of every teammate, sponsor, narc, journalist, friend, fan, and competitor you've ever screwed and *then* wait for the applause? Look, I don't expect anyone to be a saint. But if you're gonna be a smug little jack!@# about it, and particularly if you're gonna benefit from the fear, silence, or even just plain discretion of others, I say if you *did* actually do it (not just "tested positive"), the hell with putting some stupid asterisk next to your name in the history books, then let's give 'em all outright to none other'n fellow dope fiend Jan Ullrich for all posterity! Why? Okay, I like 'im better. But I've even got reasons here!

First, I don't care what the hell Jan was on, he was a beast. A beautiful, powerful, fragile, unpredictable, uncontrolled force. Sure, he maybe went a little wild at the schnitzel bar on the off-season and packed on a few kilos--who gives, it beats being some joyless wheat-germ-counting automaton, right? He succeeded despite his entirely human (okay, a pretty-jacked human, but still human) weakness. Second, bitch about omerta' all you want--and as to the aspect that shuts down any discussion of systematic doping in the peloton and its grievous harms, I surely agree--but at least Jan shut the hell *up* eventually. Isn't that at least more bearable than writing some lying sack-o-crap bestseller or crying like a self-serving baby for years after you're busted or making up some ridiculous excuse how you got like 80 gallons o'blood sucked outta you but not a single tiny drop ever got put back in? Please--give me silence!

Third, he's clearly been humbled, if still not forthright. No, he hasn't outed anyone who helped or joined him--which would surely be both helpful and cathartic for the sport. But he hasn't exactly blamed everyone else for his actions or gone on scorched-earth total-character-assassination search-and-destroy mission on anyone else who's ever criticized 'im, either. Yes, bonus points for honor among thieves! Finally, noting his kinder side--and he did do a buncha charity stuff, too, without yappin' all day about it--he'd probably be game to toss one to Joseba Beloki or Ivan Basso, too, one of whom looked pretty spectacular even among dopers before he hit that tar pit and the other who at least has won another Giro in much less spectacular fashion since his comeback. So join me in my new campaign to Give Lance's Tour Wins to Ullrich!

Say It Ain't So, Phil!: all right, I'll defend Phil Liggett over damn near anything. But as the whiskey haze wears off and the relentless pounding begins, I gotta concede defeat--Phil, you've just completely wigged out on this one. We know you love Lance. And we understand, really. Heck, I'm still in total denial over we still love Iban Mayo (oh Iban!). But this paranoid conspiracy theory !@#$ has sent you absolutely off the rails, Phil. And while I know everyone's calling for yer head, as one still besotted by the dulcet tones of your charmingly old-married-couple on-air spats with Paul Sherwen, I'm just gonna gently ask--please, please lay off the Lance commentary for now. Look--there's Jens! Let's talk about Jens! Jens couldn't screw anything up, right? We love Jens! Isn't that a nice bike he's riding today? See Phil, forget the naysayers, there's always gonna be a good place for you after all...

It's the 2012 Olympics Time Trials, Baby!; and, In Defense of Phil Liggett (Shut Up! Go To Hell!)

Faster, Pussycat!: Okay, both defending time trial gold medalists, Fabian Cancellara and Kristin Armstrong, are still recovering from prior season-wrecking collarbone snaps *and* freshly-incurred bloody crashes. So while I'll concede to my British reader(s) that even with gents like Phinney Tony Martin and even LL Cool Sanchez in the hunt Wiggo's pretty well a lock on the men's race unless, say, a giant flying smoke-spewing swoops down from the sky plucks him off his bike at 200k an hour and eats 'im like a canape, I do think there's a little more surprise on the women's side, with Amber Neben Judith Arndt Noemi Cantele and Great Britain's own Emma Pooley all set to lay out some serious hurt on the course. So wake me when the men's time trial is over, and go Kristin--hey, remember this?

Lay Off of Phil, You Freaks! so, I've been pondering this situation where cycling announcer for the ages Phil Liggett ignited a firestorm o' outrage for saying BMX and mountain biking don't belong at the Olympics--though he clarified, !@#dammit, that he doesn't have anything *against* 'em, he just feels track is being hosed--and I've come to the thoughtful and well-reasoned conclusion that his critics can all just !@#$ off. Why? Because he's Sir Phil freakin' Liggett, I say, so he gets a Special Total Lifetime UCI Dispensation To Say Crazy !@#$ That Makes People Screaming Insane. If Jens Voigt said he wanted to eat your cat for dinner, would you object? No! I rest my case. But before I hear any bitchin' from folks who wouldn't read this anyway, let me say I think we can all agree that not only do BMXers and MTBers have lovely bike handling skills, but let's face it, they're generally a liiiiiitttttttle less anal-retentive than yer average blinged-out full-kitted ascetic plain-pasta-snarfin' energy-gel-debatin' power-meter-obsessive roadie. And can we keep to the *real* Olympic debate, which is why is stupid crap like "rhythmic gymnastics" still *in*? Free Phil--and apologize to him too, you peons!

A Humble Question: finally, in reviewing the Liggett dispute, I came across a very lively UK site which asked if Phil was "Right, Or A Colossal Nob Jangler?" I gathered, with my incredible powers of perception, that "nob jangler" is *not* a compliment. Still--dear Brits, kindly humor your ignoramus across the pond--translation, please?

A Groveling Apology (And A Bonus Offer!) to #PhilLiggett and #PaulSherwen

I'm *Scum* (Oh, Screw, I Mean on This Specifically): yes, I've done a grievous injustice to lords o' commentary Phil Liggett & Paul Sherwen: according to their interview in Bicycle Times, Phil gets "annoyed" when they get criticized for talking nonstop about Lance !@#$ing Armstrong, because in fact, it's the doofus US TV producers who *make* them do it. In my defense, I've only slagged 'em here for it 40 or 50 times total while lauding their godly superiority to all other creatures except maybe the boys at Euskaltel an estimated 3,650,000 times per single actual post, but still, I can't bear having done them wrong for a minute, so not only do I most humbly beg your forgiveness for being a complete twit, if you guys stop on by Rancho Racejunkie, I'll take you on a sojourn--on the fine racejunkie steed of your choice--down the path to one our truly superlative ice-cream emporia. Heck, I'll even pony up if you're one of those inexplicable "sorbet"-eating freaks. Sure, you'll drop me thirty yards out the driveway, but I'll catch up in a week or two. And I highly recommend the Vienna Finger Cookie, but if you're of a mind for a pint instead, I'll even make sure ahead of time they have the Guinness ice cream on hand. So Phil & Paul, mea maxima culpa, ditch those boring $10,000 Cervelos or whatever astonishing !#@$ you've been comped, and step right up to my smashing 1973 copper Ross Apollo 3-speed stick shift, or whatever else you can find amidst the chaos!

Yer Doping Excuse o' the Week: no, I didn't get around to this about five days ago--and really, can you blame me for not keeping up with the sheer quantity of postaldiscoveryastanaradioskank riders that've been dropping like flies every day?-- but while it's awful hard to beat Riccardo "Hey, *Anyone* Can Mistakenly Tell Their Doctor in a Total Delirium That They've Removed Their Own Blood, Pumped It Full of Illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs, Stored It Improperly In the Fridge Next to the Yogurt for Three Weeks, Then Re-Injected It Back Into Myself In the Breakfast Nook" Ricco', former Lance minion Max Van Heeswijk's doing us all proud, claiming that when he admitted to a Dutch reporter he'd taken EPO on Lance's watch, he was really just referring to some "pre-race vitamins" he'd taken. (Unfortuntely, there's no record either way, as Van Heeswijk allegedly took the recording. D'oh!) Y'know, I hear you, Max. Truly. It is *so* hard to distinguish my Dora the Explorer Chewable Vitamin C Supplements from my SpongeBob Squarepants Gummi EPOs, especially when Lance is screaming right in my frickin' ear to get my lazy !@# to the start line before he rips my legs off. So remember next time--the *vitamins* have Dora and Diego on the label!

Oh, Cough It *Up*, Honey!: meantime, speculation continues as to where sprint king Mark Cavendish is gonna end up in 2012, even though he already knows, but it's clearly gonna be one of two places: (1) winning every race he's in, or (2) staring at Tyler Farrar's spandex butt in every sprint next season if he didn't get to take his crucial lead-outs Renshaw and Eisel with 'im. Wiggo, I see, has decided to welcome him with open arms if he goes to Sky, unless that is he fails to help him get and keep the yellow jersey in the Tour next year, in which case I imagine it'll be open fists in the team bus instead. See, they're best buds already--so long as Cav understands his place!


Your 2012 Rider o' the Year Is...: finally, I know I should be posting about Philippe Gilbert winning every post-Tour crit that Samu didn't whack him in (woo-hoo Sanchez!), and being all about to pulverize the peloton like stale breadcrumbs in this week's Eneco Tour, but since Euskaltel of course has come up with a stellar first-ever win for young talent Mikel Landa, I'm going to suggest y'all just su--um, sure enjoy the videotape:
Lookin' good for the Vuelta, boys--the rest o' you saps might's well just unpack yer bags at home right now!

What the Schleck?!

Gilbert on a Tear: y'know, I'm quite fond of the Schlecks (yes, I know Frank's got a checkered past, but since he's not Roberto or Iban or even Simoni snorting his grandmother's coke-tainted "candies", I'm not particularly gonna defend him), but if the two of 'em together can't tag-team Philippe Gilbert out of a win, classy as the boys were in inevitable defeat it's a pretty good thing for everybody's egos that the Ardennes classics are history and they can all just pack it up 'til he bags a few rolling stages in the Tour and Andy still snuggles safe in the GC. Next year the whole peloton can go all Cancellara on his !@# marking him and regain some dignity then. Here's the last 3k: You go, Philippe!

You Suck, Versus!: meanwhile, can I just say as an American viewer that you !@#$in *suck*, Versus! Don't !@#$in' tease me with Phil all tweeting the impending coverage and then tell me in 3 different places on your damn website you're gonna show it at 3 different times, then replace it entirely with an entire afternoon of Captain Inbred's House of Bass-Fishing 'n' Banjo Playin' or whatever catastrophically non-time-sensitive bul!@#$ you're gonna show instead--*dammit*! Look, frankly I'm inordinately grateful whenever you show a freakin' thing related to cycling besides that poison-ivy irritation of a Lance Armstrong Amstel No-Cal commercial or whatever it is, but is there *anything* we American cycling fans can do that won't make our mommas wash our mouths out with soap to make you pony up a !@#damn race on TV before it's time for the next year's edition to be on already? You *blow*--now double Phil and Paul's salary and put 'em on in a timely manner you !@#$%&%#*s!

Fear And Loathing In Italy: in upcoming race news, I see even wavering-vegan Contador's a bit freaked by some of the climbs he's been recon-ing for the Giro d'Italia, and for my money, if I were the brilliant little squirt, I'd be more afraid of an angry Italian tifoso whackin' him off the side of the mountain than the climbs themselves. Don't worry, Alberto--I'm sure with your (alleged!) connections, you can find *some* !@#$ that'll make you grow eyes on the back of your head! That said, even I can't help but be truly suckered by a guy who's clearly so nice to his dog: Heck, you just name a blood bag after him, kid, and you've got Basso and Valverde written all over you!

Cat. 2s, Cavendish, and Carnage

Vino's Back! (Again, and Again, And Again): yes, one can almost feel the excitement of the cycling narcs (for no reason! no reason whatsoever!), and the thrill o' the crowd, as completely reformed Alexander Vinokourov takes off on a hilly Vuelta a Pais Vasco stage for the win and, to the Schleck brothers' and Contador's likely interest, Ivan Basso withdraws to head home for some serious medical tests on what the hell has gone wrong with him this month. Dang, Ivan--forget that saint and fair-play !@#$, it *clearly* ain't payin' to ride clean!

Oh, the Agony!: all right, *now* what the hell do I do--while indisputable god Jens Voigt sez race radios are a must, and I must defer to his total stompin' perfection in all things even though I actually think otherwise, no less than Lord o' the Commentary Phil Liggett has weighed in with a slightly conflicting (and for me, a preferable) view: if safety's the issue, and the riders are to ever think for themselves, then that's all--all--they can be. Well, great--*now* who the !@#$ are we supposed to bow to? There can only be one sovereign at once, dag nabit--perhaps a jousting match between 'em is called for to settle the whole thing?

More Things That Make You Go Hmmmmmm: y'know, it's great to see Benna-jet back in the game after a truly crap 2010. But I don't care *what* the hell kind of course it is, or how great his form's just become--Daniele Bennati beating Dave Zabriskie in a time trial just plain makes me nervous. Please don't say it's the steak, please don't say it's the steak...anyhoo, congrats, I'm sure, Daniele!

(Un)Pretty Prijs: and, it was a nasty end, but a great win for the lately beleaguered Mark Cavendish, at the Scheldeprijs today. Down like a brick: US sprint king Tyler Farrar. Aw, heck! Still, it looked darned unlikely anyone else would've taken it, and it's awful nice to see you get your legs back under you, Cav--now all you have to do is kick in with your vicious tirades of verbal abuse aimed at innocent compatriots, and you're 100% on for the season! Here's the carnage: Get well soon, everybody!

It's A Bike Porn Contest!: finally, it's with great regret that I report that, due to "work" and "I have no particular desire to be mistaken for a bigger freak than I actually am", I recently missed my local bike porn film festival, but, in honor thereof, and because I love you all, we here at racejunkie are officially taking up a contest for, and a collection o' euros to hire, the Cyclist You'd Most Like To See In A Bike Porn Flick. Me, I don't know if the laws of physics allow Tom Boonen to bare his butt for the cameras for more gigabytes than are already currently available on the internet, but depending on who you vote for, I'm willing to ask. Reader(s), name yer poison, and yer contribution to the pot!

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!

Your Handy Tour de France Glossary

Yes, cycling fans, with the Tour at hand the commentators'll be using lots of unfamiliar language, and as I've already done at least 1 dictionary in years past, I'll keep this one short'n'sweet:

Allez: what you yell at the cyclists to encourage them. Example: "If you *ever* try to leave this team again, I'll have my goons drag you down that allez and break every bone in your body!"

American: the retina-burning abomination running alongside Lance dressed in a Speedo, a giant foam cowboy hat, and the Stars and Stripes painted across his gut. Use: "I can't believe we can't beat the !@#damn Americans in our own Grand Tour!"

Climbs: climbs are divided into Categories: Cat. 3 (small), Cat. 2 (medium), Cat. 1 (large), and Hors Categorie or HC (holy crap!). Example: "HC, I can't believe Vinokourov made it up that thing so fast unassisted!"

Cracked: when the clean rider that can't keep up with the dope-stuffed autobots who're about to take the podium. Example: "Cadel Evans has cracked!"

Directeur Sportif: if you're not Lance Armstrong, he's your boss. If you are Lance Armstrong, you're his boss.

Doping: what there wasn't a single instance of during last year's Tour, and what there won't be a single instance of this year, either. Usage: "I have never tested positive for doping. Suckers."

Enjoy myself: what you're at the Tour to do when you've just realized you're gonna lose the overall.

Entire annual steel industry output of China: what Stuey O'Grady's got holding his body together after 968 consecutive crashes. We love Stuey!

Gods: Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen. Kneel, beeyotches!

Musette: the little cloth bag of food the riders pick up on the fly in the feed zone. Usage: "I'm sorry, Lance, did I accidentally toss my musette into your chain ring?"

My Grandma's: the blood bag/syring/white powder/notorious doping doctor found in your hotel room.

Promotional item: what you just sliced Thor Hushovd's arm open with two feet before the line. You idiot, you just lost him the stage!

Road rash: when you rip your skin off in a crash. Example: "if you drop me in the mountains when I need you, I'll give you !@#$ing road rash you weakling!"

Sprint: what Mark Cavendish interferes in to screw you out of a stage win. Wanker!

Stomach ailment: (1) a stomach ailment; or (2) what you suddenly drop out of the race for the night before the race organizers announcing your doping poz. Alternate use: "Man, I said I was coming back to win, but then Contador kicked my !@#. Must've been, um, that pesky stomach ailment!"

Team Car: where your DS keeps the little cooler with the "Fanta" in it.

Water bottle: what gives you a total bull!@#$ excuse to hang on to the team car for half an hour when you're about to croak on a climb. Usage: "Oops, the cameras are on us--I better 'pass' you another water bottle!"

Well, that oughta hold you all for this race. And hey, Buster--quit staring at my tete-de-la-course!