Sissy Li'l Slap-fights! Team Hijinks! Oh, Right, and a Few Folks Ride Their Bikes, Too #cycling

Cav Gets Huffy (the Mood, Not the Bike): well, I guess Cav's decided to call bull!@#$ on accusations he's "gone soft", because this week, as Marcel Kittel stormed to two stage victories and the overall at the Tour of Dubai after a miserable 2015, and Cav started to look all last-March Peter Sagan with all the "almosts", the Manx Missile finally lost patience and (gently, for sure) head-butted a fellow sprinter unsportingly getting in his face in the final dash to the line. And, over at the Herald SunTour, some rather unpleasant words were exchanged between Sky's Peter Kennaugh--just losing the overall GC on the final day to deeply irritating teammate Chris "Pterodactyl" Froome--and whiny domestique Pat Shaw from Avanti over Sky and Kennaugh in particular allegedly riding like total wankers on the final day, among them maudlin pet names like "selfish"--whoa, I'm way too much of a delicate lady to repeat *that*! Hey, if you can't beat the guy on the bike, you can at least use up all those words you learned in the schoolyard in third grade--*that'll* teach the snotty bastard!

Quick-Slap: Over at the Tour of Qatar, the organizers have decided not to invite back INeverRememberWhoTheNewFirstSponsorIs-QuickStep for 2016, not because the other teams have been bitching for years that their own guys can't take out QuickStep in any of the sprints and it makes them look bad, but because the squad's preening prima donnas not only insist on delaying the podium ceremonies by demanding to change out of their cycling shoes and sit for a minute after wrenching their guts out in the life-threatening heat, but they were also (inexcusably, to be fair) rude to the woman sent to tell them nicely to get the lead out (the element out of their !@#, not the sprint term), *and* they were seemingly causing all kinds of unseemly ruckus in the hotel, presumably by lighting stink-bombs in the stairwells doing cannonballs off the hotel pool diving board and splashing the well-bred guests and pulling the fire alarms to elude the 3 am doping controls. Oh, lighten up organizers and let 'em back--and let's get this party *started*!

Seeing Red (Though Maybe Not for Long): meanwhile, some punk little assclown over at Katusha has now put we love dear Purito Rodriguez' early season in doubt, as this nobody kid Vorganov gets popped for some weird drug that's apparently banned in most of Europe anyway but is (or has been til quite recently), it seems, available from our fine friends at Amazon, potentially opening Katusha up to a 45-day ban for the whole squad as it's their second offense in recent months. Holy crap, PEDs *and* Free Two-Day-Shipping with an Amazon Prime membership? Doping scumbags, sign me up! Honey, did we *not* just cover "If you're gonna dope, at least don't dope and suck" in our *last* post? And Vino, you and the rest of Astana management get back to admiring your gold-plated bicycle, and get that !@#$ing smirk off your face!

Motorin'...What's Your Price for Flight?: finally, when you start calling out dear ex-Euskaltel Ion Izaguirre for motor doping for having his wheel seemingly continue rotating for some time after a crash, all I can say is, go to hell for slandering a former Carrot, after nearly 10 years of blogging I'm damn well running out of defenses for riders I like, and even if he is which he isn't, what, you want him ending up in the !@#damn emergency room with some fridge-spoiled Riccardo Ricco' death-drug-cocktail, if anyone *has* to be enough of a thieving weasel to cheat I'd frankly rather them raiding the local hardware store for some wires and a cheap-!@# soldering gun where the worst damage they could do to themselves is a minor electrical shock versus damn near croaking from liver failure so yap yap it's lazy and against the Official Martyr Sufferfest Code let's stop acting like a pile of pills and a syringe is some kind of relative freakin' moral high ground if they're gonna be a disgusting disgrace to the entire sport anyway because at least if it's repugnant it's not gonna actually get them killed. Didn't *anyone* watch that Time for Timer thing between Saturday morning cartoons on how the human body is a just a big machine anyway? Man, now I've taken a universally-reviled position *and* dated myself back to the Pleistocene Era....anyhoo, here's our boy showing off one of his special new wheels, so enjoy!

It's Yer Handy 2016 Peloton Team Kit-o-Rama Part One: None More Black Edition!

Yes, after the long, cold, miserable off-season--at least for the tifosi--it's finally that time of year when all the teams assemble in an orgy of training, press conferences, and (with the exception of a few eejit DSes still sticking with the delusional concept of "willing co-captains") brotherhood, and, even better, confuse the whole lot of us for the first two months of the year by screwing with their team kits. So how're you gonna tell a Cavendish from a Kittel from a Contador? Here, it's Yer Handy 2016 Team Kit-o-Rama: None More Black Edition!

Sky: The black is for bad-!@#. The blue is for "sky"--get it? Bonus--a blue stripe down the back with the magical ability to prevent the pasty Froome from immolating into an actual fireball on Mont Ventoux. Now that's protecting your investment, gentlemen!

Trek: It's all business for these pinstripe assassins, complete with exceedingly practical coffee sponsor! Helpful hint: you can tell 'em apart from everyone else by the nice starched white shirt peeking out. And Fabs looks so suave!

Giant-Alpecin: Watch out for this outfit, tiny climbers--'cause this guy, breakout mountain goat Tom Dumoulin, is gonna kick your !@# next season. Best you know who to look for--or aim for, after he blows by you while you're cryin' on a col!

Etixx-Quick Step: It's blue, it's black--aw, who cares how it fits in, Marcel Kittel *still* has better hair than you!

All right, there's yer men in black--on to the rest of the rainbow (and yeeeesssss, I'm getting to Peter Sagan, people)!

Which the Hell One is Cav? It's a 2015 New-Team-Kit-O-Rama!

None More Black: look, there are certain eternal truths in this world: that Jens is a god, that Vino is a darling dangerous nutjob, and that AG2R's outfits're gonna always, always--despite the fact that brown is a lovely color--be butt-ugly. But sponsors 'n' team kits do change, and with black apparently being the new black this year, how the hell can you tell 'em apart so you know you're rooting for Cav not Kittel? Here!

Quick Step: Black, but with some lovely trademark blue to stand out. Lookin' sharp there, Manx Missile!

Giant-Alpecin: now I'm pretty sure "Alpecin" is some kinda gnarly dandruff shampoo, but surprisingly, they don't have snowflakes on their jerseys. What they do have: yep, black. The allegedly distinguishing feature: a coupla white stripes with a little red. Mark Cavendish, you better hope you don't see these guys in front of you!

Trek: uh-huh, black black black black black. All-business pinstripes on the bottom, and a let's-party white'n'red on the top. They may be down a Schleck, but they're back to business, and ready to get wild on the podium!

Lotto: if ya can't see Greipel because he's the size of Mount Everest, you still oughta be able to pick 'im out in the thundering herd stomp at line: the guy's gonna be a six-foot bumblebee. Black, yet so much more glaring!

Cannondale-Garmin: jaysus, still more black! Still, Vaughters being a rakish, argyle kinda guy, and Cannondale still harkening to the Liquigas of its past, they've still snuck that in with subtle lines of neon green. Tres chic!

Astana: god love Vinokourov, he's got 20 guys testing poz for dope a day and he *still* can't resist the urge to have his boys blindingly obvious targets for the narcs. Blue as Vino's eyes, with a little gold for his hair to boot. Good luck out there guys--just hope no-one's lookin' too closely!

Tinkoff-Saxo: sure, they went all camo stealth-mode for their training camps, but now Oleg wants the rest of the GC contenders to see the pain a-comin'. And Sagan, how dreamy!

Katusha: Purito IS SO A PODIUM CONTENDER! And you are SO GONNA NOTICE HIM PASSING YOU VALVERDE YOU S.O.B.! Red as the Vuelta jersey Rodriguez'll be taking on the final day. Go Puritooooooooooooooooo!

Movistar: alone among the garish braggadocio of the Grand Tour tough guys, wee Nairo Quintana and his demonic frenemy Alejandro Valverde are tick-tick-ticking up on you in subtle navy with a hint of green. See who snagged the center "power" spot in the photo?

BMC: screw you, you still haven't given we love Samuel Sanchez a contract--wallow in anonymity, or change your nasty ways!

Well, them's the biggies. Alberto, you know we'll be seeing you on top in Paris!

Peter Sagan vs. Mark Cavendish: Yer Handy Primer

Okay folks, there's been a loooottta flashy ridin' lately and a looooottta fan fightin' over who reigns supreme, upstart young Slovak Peter "Pop-a-Wheelie" Sagan or less upstart but still young Brit Mark "Colgate" Cavendish. And frankly, between the sprinterly arrogance, lightning-fast finishes and whack-job victory salutes, it's sometimes hard to tell who's who. So who are they, and who's the bitchinest of them all? Here, Yer Handy Racejunkie Primer:

Early History: Sagan: junior world mountain bike champ. Cav: gold-medal world madison champ trackie. And yes, they both rode everything else, too. Mountain bike's more beery 'n' fun, but track's just wicked cool. Advantage: Cavendish.

Palmares: Sagan: this year's Gent, possibly Sunday's Flanders, 5 stages and the green jersey at last year's Tour, points classification in basically everything else last year, too. Cav: 2011 world road champ, Milano-Sanremo, a mind-boggling couple dozen stages at the Tour de France, points classifications in the Tour and, miraculously, the fabulous Vuelta. Yes, Sagan's younger, but boy--you've got some more work to do!

Nickname: Sagan: the "Terminator." True, to be sure, but holy crap is that overused, and his sponsor should still be thwapped for that obnoxious green bike last year. Cav: the "Manx Missile." Cav takes it by a landslide!

Victory Salute: Cav: a clean, straightforward, chest-thumping, finger-flippin' "screw you!" Sagan: a masterpiece of arcane movie gestures, crowd-pleasing showmanship, and just plain goofy joy. Sagan, you charmer--sure, your elders are miffed, but then, they're jealous of you, too!

Strengths: Sagan: jack of all trades, master of...well, it's still a little too soon to tell where he's gonna really go, right? Cav: undisputed fastest man on two wheels in a pure sprint. Cav 'til Sagan gets a little more experience!

Weaknesses: Sagan: uh...I dunno...he's too darn big to be a Sastre-esque pure climber? Cav: can't climb for !@#$, but man, does he ever stick it out. Cav, we'll see if he out-chokes you at something!

Team: didja know Sagan's a Quick Step reject? Well, I didn't, you insufferable bike-stat snotwad! Lookin' a little green there, Lefevere? Anyway: Sagan's the better natural Classics rider, but Cav's got the better Classics squad. Sagan wins on the smashing Liquigas (Cannondale, whatever) team kit, which is almost as garish as he is, but Cav's already smacked his new Quick Step minions into a solid lead-out. Me, I love any team that's got Chavanel and Boonen, and Cannondale's still pissing me off for losing Nibali. Toss up!

Team Camp: sure, Liquigas is admirably sadistic, but it was Quick Step that had Cav and everyone else go special-ops Rambo on everyone's !@# this year. Drop and give me 20, Sagan you punk!

Argy-Bargy: there's still some debate about whether Sagan's De Panne win the other day was a bit of a punk-!@# move for changing his line, but did you know Cav once single-handedly flung Tyler Farrar over the border into the Spain by grabbing his bike jersey with his teeth? Yup, they still haven't found 'im! Gotta give Cav management points for delegating half his dirty work to his domestique goons, though. Sagan wins for cleanliness!

Smack-Talk: Sagan is relentlessly, heck, almost freakishly, polite. Cav, on the other hand, will not only blame the weather, the announcer, the race moto, and the other squads failure to support 'im for his loss, but will publicly rip into his own teammates to boot. Wait, do we give this to the diplomat, or the !@#$-you guy?

Eye-Candy Quotient: oh, gimme a break, you smug little purists--you think Mario "the Chest" Cipollini made his career on results alone? On this, I defer to my loyal reader(s). 'Cause it's not like you all hadn't thunk about it anyway!

Well, them's my assessment, and honestly, I'm surprised how Cav's more'n held his own against the Sagan hype machine. So slug it out on the road, boys, and let's see who earns the vulgar victory display at the end of the season!

Wiggo In Denial, *Again*; Thoooooooooor!; and, Quick Step Goes All "Gangnam Style"

We *Get* It, Bradley, *Jaysus*!: All *right*, Wiggo. You're the only Tour de France winner in history never to want to win it again the least teeny tiny super-miniscule damn-near-invisible sub-atomic bit *ever*. And of course, we are convinced 100% that it has absolutely nothing with the 2012 Tour being a once-in-a-century course seemingly tailor-made just for you, the 2013 Tour being back to its usual hilly self once again, and the 2013 Vuelta set to be even more sadistic, if that's humanly possible, than last year's. Which is why you're so much happier maybe committing to help your TdF team captain/resentful ex-backup man Froome win the big maillot jaune if you feel like it and if you don't have something better to do like mow the lawn or trim your toenails or sit around in a pub crying your eyes out over a beer for three straight weeks in July. We *hear* you, we *believe* you, we swear it--now run off to Jan Ullrich for some tips on safely losing that surprisingly big off-season weight gain, and prove how much you want the Giro by laying it down on the tarmac in May, already!

It's Race Roundup Sunday!: and, suck it Hushovd haters--as if such an undead mutant twisted freak could actually walk the earth, but I digress--as Thor clearly puts his miserable 2012 in the past with a bangin' win at this weekend's Tour de Haut Var, the triumphant Froome exceedingly ticks off Contador, Tony Martin aims to scare the time trial right outta Cancellara this season, and, creepily disconcerting as always, Alejandro "How I Got Out of Yappin' Blood Bags at the Fuentes Trial Sure Beats the Hell Out Of Me, Too" Valverde himself taking the time trial at the Vuelta a Andalucia. Not that I'm suggesting anything here, Alejandro, but remember what happened to Schumacher when he started with that !@#$--dial it back a little, would ya, even if it *is* (as it certainly is) totally legit! And no, it weren't flashy, but here's Thor: Allez allez, big guy!

"Harlem Shake," Whatever: well, newly-serious Belgian studmuffin Tom Boonen may not be doing nekkid shower scenes or posting apres-race massages to porn music on-line anymore, but his Quick Step ("OPQS", whatever) squad has gamely taken up the mantle for him, with a surely prize-winning Dance Fever-worthy performance of their own. Well done, gentlemen--but don't you clowns even *think* of pulling a quad and hosing over Boonen or Cav unless it's during a race this season, you hear!

Time for Team Camps, Baby!

Yep, the brief off-season binge o' blissful relaxation, DS-enraging motor-sports indulging, and desperate squad-seeking is about over, folks, and it's time for the riders to bond, train, and smack down their potential intra-team rivals because it's Team Camp Season, baby! In: live or let die, sucker! Out: that pansy-!@# coddling massage-mani-pedi-and-'stache-grooming spa simpiness that's paid off only in total team implosion for places like Garmin and Lampre. First outta the blocks this year: ever-sadist Bjarne "Survivorman" Riis over at Saxo-Tinkoff, Patrick "You Better Not Screw Over Boonen" Lefevere at Omega Pharma Quick Step, and, in a scrappy little move, the always-underrated Vacansoleil. Here, Bjarne drops his boys into the Hunger Games, Lefevere throws his troops into bootcamp in Slovakia, and Vacansoleil...uh, sends the guys into a salt mine or something?:




Next in line: Purito breaks rocks with Katusha in Tuscany, Euskaltel teaches its managers how to fend off hails of rotten produce from enraged Orange Army fans, and RadioSkank--well, they all just slump in a fleabag-motel conference room somewhere, crying their poor little eyes out. Now drop and give me fifty, you worms, and thank me for signing your worthless carcass to our squad!

The Worlds Are *On*, Baby!; And, Can Even Jens Save Andy?

Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: yes folks, the World Championships are underway, and it's time for the races o' truth to decide who will grace the noble striped jersey next year. Lookin' good there at the Tour o' Britain, Cav, but it still ain't your course! Today: the men's and women's first-ever team time trials, hailed by besieged and desperate Pat "Dick" "I never met Armstrong! He's a figment of your imagination!" McQuaid as a wild success. Victors: Specialized's all-star lineup of Ina Yoko "We Love You! Please Don't Kill Us!" Teutenberg, Amber Neben, Evelyn Stevens, and too many other bad-!@#es to count, making the most of a rolling course with a fine-tuned lineup, and, to even their own surprise, Quick Step, as BMC's Tejay was just a little too strong for his own damn good and inadvertently dropped Taylor Phinney in the screaming chaos on the Cauberg. But even though Phinney was mad, he's not mad--honest Tejay! Completely in the doghouse: Lampre, whose director slapped his helpless squad by saying he was waiting for at least "a show of pride." Ouch! Next up: The 24.3k women's individual time trial on Tuesday, with a flat finish after the top of the Cauberg, with Emma Pooley and unexpected London bronze medalist Olga Zabelinskaya looking for stripes. Oh, come on--like it wouldn't be fun to see Zabelinskaya come outta nowhere again!

Going to Schleck in a Handbasket: and, back in the 'normal' road world, Schleck-brothers guidance-counselor Kim Andersen has confirmed what's been so painfully obvious to us all: with the occasional exception of big bro Frank (who I always thought could've won a Grand Tour by *some* means if not stuck babysitting his more-hyped little sibling), the Schlecks just can't function without each other. So leaving aside how diplomatically Andersen just called Johan Bruyneel a !@#$head--and you gotta admire that--here's my question: so if Frank gets banned this year for using a masking agent for no doping-related reason whatsoever--a-yup!--how the !@#$ is Andy possibly gonna be able to win the Tour de France next year? Forget that he can't time trial or descend for dirt! Oh Andy, *so* fragile--I wonder, (forgive me Jens o great one!), can even Voigt save you next year as he hopes? Aw, the hell with that--Johan, you know you're gonna hose Andy anyway, just give 2013 to Jens right now!