It's The Final Week of the Giro d' Italia, Baby!; and, Fun 'n' Games With Team RadioSkank

Up, Up, and Away!: screw all that tiresome sprint crap: after the Alps failed to winnow the field, the Giro gets serious in the Dolomites this week, and for my money, if Ivan Basso don't change tactics but quick, he's !@#$ed in Milan. Y'know, I admire Liquigas for its sensible containment tactics, I suppose, but Rodriguez is gonna attack, and smooth and steady as Basso is, if Purito can otherwise stay more or less with him, he's gonna smoke 'im on the steeps. Even Scarponi was the only one who could grab onto Alberto Contador's shirttails last year, and if he can get over his own preference for response rather'n independent attack, he could take Basso too. And frankly, I don't know that Ryder Hesjedal, who I'd love to see on the podium, is any less reliable despite his less formidable squad, and he's distinctly shown some punch this Giro. Ivan, you can't just minimize your losses any more--you've actually gotta *gain*, and before the penultimate day on the Stelvio. Am I the only one who thinks this?

Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhhh/Caught In a Bad Romance: geez, I honestly didn't think it was possible, but things are getting even worse between the Schlecks and Johan Bruyneel, as Frank drops out of the Giro with a popped (though apparently re-located) shoulder, and not only does Johan immediately pronounce him a "total wuss," (c'mon, you know what "disappointment" means), but Johan implies that he'll screw his *own* chances for another Tour de France credit by keeping Frank out of the Tour just to hose over Andy. Man, Johan, just grab Alberto Contador for a hot night out at a nightclub and rub the Schlecks' nose in it, whydontcha--are you really gonna be *that* much of a cad, especially when it's *you* who miscalculated hiring 'em? I mean, sure, the boys get the hell on my nerves, too--but show some class you punk!

We Love You Robbie "Head-Butt"!: last, but absolutely not least, a tearful farewell to the great Robbie McEwen on his retirement, because not only *must* one love a man who threatens to shove a fist down Lance Armstrong's throat, but the three-time green jersey-winning "Pocket Rocket" was truly one of the greatest sprinters of his--hell, any--time. Robbie, we'll miss you--and we look forward to watching your upcoming proteges stomp the field! Here, a few of this fantastic Aussie's greatest hits (literally, if you count him grabbing that fan by the throat):

Deep Thoughts on the Giro d'Italia (Oh, And That Other Race)

1. Either Peter Sagan is the Next Lance Armstrong, or that kid is doped to the gills. Wait, wouldn't that make him the Next Lance Armstrong anyway?

2. Every time Jens Voigt talks about retiring, isn't it like the sky's suddenly turned black, the earth's opened up beneath your feet, and a giant plague o' locusts has just whacked you smack in the face?

3. If a tree falls in the forest, will the Schlecks *still* whine it's another rider's fault?

4. Dave Zabriskie. !@#damn, his upper body is absolutely motionless in a time trial. How the hell does he do it, Botox?

5. Pat "Dick" McQuaid--Alberto Contador just lies awake at night thinkin' of ways to piss you off every day, doesn't he? It's *gotta* be killin' ya!

6. If David Millar *really* felt so crappy about doping, he'd turn down his Olympic spot even though the rules now say he *can* ride.

7. The only consolations whatsoever about Robbie McEwen calling it a career are (1) he's gonna coach other sprinters in the fine art of trash-talk and (2) Roberto Ferrari's even more of a wingnut. Why head-butt a rival when you can just bring 50 of 'em down into the barriers?

8. Saturday and Sunday at the Giro. Yap, Baldy, yap--this weekend we hit the real mountains, honey, and the race of truth begins in the Alps--forza Purito!

9. I don't *what* the hell kind of painkillers Levi Leipheimer's gotta be on to ride the way he's ridin', but don't tell me you wouldn't take 'em!

10. The Giro d'Italia really fixed things this year. It's much, much better for the riders to have to navigate incredibly narrow 180 degree turns 300 feet from the line on every stage, than to have a bunch of those "mountain" things. Good work guys!

I Feel Love: finally, the Giro d'Italia has announced it will have a special tribute to Donna Summer tomorrow, and tifosi, let's get it started right here: Thank you Donna!

Better To Have Loved And Lost (Your CAS Appeal), Than Never To Have Loved At All

Felicitaciones, Alberto!: yes, many wishes for a long and happy life together for wee champion Alberto Contador and his equally-adorable fiance Macarena on their marriage today, and as Alberto gives quite a nice interview on his training routine (he takes naps!), the current state of cycling (too many racing days!), and his upcoming season (Tirreno?), he remains tranquillo about his prospects for his upcoming CAS appeal, as, he sensibly reasons, he's got nothing to fear since he's done nothing wrong. Right, like that matters to UCI if they hate your guts today anyway! Of course, if I were a complete bitch as well as just a total ween, I'd've tangentially thought to idly google the state of spousal privilege in Spain, but since I'm hoping to come off for just one sweet shining moment as a far better human being than I actually am, I've decided to just look it up on another search eng--uh, confine myself to sincere expressions of happiness and success for Alberto's future in all things. And sorry he's off the market, Contador fans (not that you *don't* just love him for beating Armstrong down at the Tour)--but I'm sure there's another unattached dreamboat substitute left in the peloton!

Aw, Rats, *Now* Who's Gonna Bushwhack Cav?: and, it's with deep regret that I report that the great Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen has now formally announced his long-expected mid-2012 retirement into the management scene, which means that, I suppose, while there's not gonna be anyone left on the road actually as ready as Mark Cavendish is to go all goon on a rival's !@# (seriously, can any of you picture Tyler Farrar sending his lead-outs up with a two-by-four to accidentally tank someone else's sprint?), Robbie will at least be left in a position to give the overly-amiable Aussies at GreenEdge some hard-won personal pointers. Today's tip to the youngsters: that innocuous plastic clip that fits under your earlobe to adjust your helmet can, in the right amoral rider jerkface's hand, make a formidable offensive tool. Oh Robbie, just *one* more go at the line for your faithful fans, *please*!

What the !@#$ Is Wrong With You People?: meanwhile, ever-trusting Vuelta god Juan Jose Cobo is even now confident Geox can find a new sponsor this season, raising the question not only of why Johan Bruyneel *still* hasn't sold himself on ebay to come up wih dough for him, but late in the season or no, what the hell is this sport coming to when a pack of proven-doper-dirtbags can land lucrative gigs with gigantic ProTour power squads and a spankin'-new Grand Tour champ is left begging !@#$in' Big Wheel manufacturers for a last-ditch ten-euro handout? You *suck*, people--now pony up and don't waste this guy, am I the only one who watched that freakin' race this year?! Oops, bad question--anyhoo, pony up I said!

Money (That's What I Want): last but not least, our beloved Euskaltel=Euskadi is *still* in danger of going under, and if any of you ever wanna watch anyone climb anything bigger'n a walnut ever again without the direct aid of IV drips, discreet frame-hidden motors, or tainted livestock, I implore you to please, please, quit being such callous cheapskates and donate some moolah to the Official Racejunkie I Said Save Euskaltel !@#dammit! Campaign. C'mon--the first one to give Samuel Sanchez a raise gets a really hearty thank-you. No, some cool racejunkie stickers. No, a four-week rider insult moratorium. No, a whole post's worth of soft-core Tom Boonen shots. No...

The Great RadioSkank Bail-out

Go Green!: okay, Levi's apparently bailing for Quick Step, the squad's already lost half its young talent, Klodi--aw, Klodi'll probably stick it out--and now, the exodus continues, as the great Robbie McEwen decides to wind down his peloton days with new Aussie supergroup GreenEdge. Woo-hoo Robbie--especially if it's gonna be the Johan Bruyneel all-Tour-de-France Schleck Show, there's no need for you to put up with that !@#$! In other transfer news, future Grand Tour winner Tejay Van Garderen is headed over to BMC, which at this point is either gonna be (1) the best team on earth in every race next season or (2) a thrillingly catastrophic implosion of egos, conflicting goals, and bloody team-bus smack-downs. Me, in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I know what I'm rooting for--but Thor, I'm on your side just in case! Check it out Cadel, you gonna mess with this?

Ow Ow Ow Ow Ow: meantime, a big--and fast!--"get well soon" to Tom Boonen, hit hard by an excruciatingly-detailed chafing injury to his manly parts, but still determined, tough guy that he is, to continue on in the Vuelta. Damn, can't this poor thing get *any* type of break this season? Oh well, at least we all know he won't mind wandering around in public without his pants on while he heals!

Ever Wanted to Wear the Maglia Rosa Without Looking Like a Total Poseur?: well, now you almost can, as the Giro's running a bitchin' promotion where if you tweet why you love it, the man in the lead at the race next year may wear it right on the podium. Just think, your own words on some dreamy chest--I know who certain faithful readers are gonna root for!

Some Good News For A Change: finally, congratulations to the late Wouter Weylandt's family, as girlfriend An-Sophie De Graeve has given birth to baby girl Alizee', and both mom and daughter are doing well. Best to all!

It's A Holiday Gift List For the Peloton!

Yes, fellow fans, as cyclists everywhere get ready to celebrate probably some sort of wintry holiday or 'nother, but most certainly their latest scam escape from that pesky doping ban they so wholly deserve on some bull!@#$ technicality, it's time for us to turn, with all the love, respect, and spirit of giving that this charming season elicits, to our heartfelt wish list for all our fave denizens of the peloton:

The Climbers: yeah, you *wish* it was that crap the Spaniards are snarfing. But since it ain't, I wish you all those wee little motors that Cancellara was accused of hiding in his frame. Heck, they gotta be cheaper than those slimy gyno drug pushers you boys are paying now!

The Sprinters: blinders, like the ones those thoroughbreds wear. No fair that Cav can send 'em all crashing into the barriers just by blinding 'em with the glare off those giant Colgate teeth!

The Domestiques: ever-unheralded, but never forgotten. To you, I bequeath Lance for a day. Coffee gone cold? He'll warm it right in his very own armpit. Constant fan adulation getting you down? That's okay, he'll body-block 'em. Motos spittin' gravel in yer face? No sweat--hey, he don't mind going in front. So damn sore from a hard day in the maillot jaune that you can't reach where that chamois cream ought to go? The man is *limber*, I tell you. Levi, Klodi--it's payback time!

Tom Boonen: just as we all know there's a Santa Claus, Tommeke, we know there's still beyond greatness in you. Paris-Roubaix for our blushing babemuffin!

Robbie McEwen: you *suck*, UCI! And Pegasus. And anyone else who had a hand in ruthlessly driving the baddest man in show biz to the very brink of retirement. Dag nabit, get this man a contract! Just not with RadioSkank. Please, please, not with RadioSkank...

UCI: speaking of these clowns--cojones. Either the lady or the gentleman variety would nicely suffice. I mean, you simps are already promising to slap Contador on the wrist because EPO is so, so much worse than the new !@#$ he's taking? Santa, a real pair for these odious appeasers--stat!

Lance Armstrong: surprised I'm giving him a present? Don't be--'cuz it's really, and I say this with all due nonexistent shame, for the rest of us. Can we get, oh, 200 million or so of Bose noise-cancelling headphones, so we don't have to listen to the inevitable 2011 24/7 freakin' Lanceathon media coverage instead of news about guys who actually, y'know, still ride?

Thor Hushovd: Give our new world champion a minion to strew rose petals in his path wherever he walks. You rock, ya big lug!

Riccardo Ricco': coal in yer stocking. 'Cause if you *ever*, *ever* do anything to sully the legacy of the late, great Aldo Sassi who so faithfully and generously deigned to train you on your way back from your disgusting cheat-ban, you are gonna *need* it to heat whatever miserable damp leech-lurkin' Gollum cave craphole you're gonna have to flee to so the entire world o' cycling don't hunt you down and *beat* your !@#. Alright, ya got yer present--now scram!

Mara Abbott: a pink bike, helmet, wardrobe, and car. Come to think of it, let's just dip-dye her entire house til it glows like a bottle of Pepto. No, not 'cuz she's a girl, or 'cuz Lampre's got so much extra Barbie spandex on hand--'cuz she won the Giro d'Italia, baby, and pink is the official color of whup-!@#!

Floyd Landis: damned when he did, damned when he copped to it, double-damned when he completely jacked his loving fans and triple-damned now that no-one believes a word he says about his repugnant doping teammates even when a good 1% of it is probably true. A cloak of anonymity for this man--at this point, we're all better off!

Jens Voigt: whatever he wants. Seriously. Heredity kingship of some rich-as-sin playboy principality? A passel of subservient slobbering suckups to obey his every whim? A $25 Starbucks card? Andy Schleck, he's your responsibility now--Tour de France my !@#, pony up!

Carlos Sastre: come on, karma gods--just one more little Tour stage. Shut up!

Dave Z: forget this facial hair shtick--what are you, a one-man Burt Reynolds tribute band? So get this man a dreamy Justin Beiber haircut! 'Course, he'll have to get a bigger helmet too, to avoid the dreaded post-race hair-muss...Garmin, get your people on the problem!

Cadel Evans: the Tour. No, he won't get it. But he works like a dog, defends his dog like a dog, and is an all-round stand-up guy. So yes, he darn well ought to. Cadel, we'll see you in Paris!

And Finally, My Faithful Reader(s): no, I can't promise you Contador is innocent, your favorites will win, or that Cav will run off with you into the sunset and marry you. But what I *can* wish for you is another year of scandal, glory, and massive seasonal muckraking. Happy Festivus to all!

No, No, We're Only Protecting *Two* Doping Pigs!

Tricky Dick Steps Up: yes, UCI's Pat "Dick" McQuaid, having so far used the phenomenally expensive and incredibly underwhelming biological passport to nail Franco Pellizotti and such other prominent riders as...um...and...um..., has in no uncertain terms lashed back at his accusers: UCI's only hypocritically shielding *two* favored doper scumlords by ignoring their bio-passport violations, *not* the five scumlord dopers previously reported. Even better, none other than WADA is proud of their fine performance in assis--that is, eradicating wrongdoing throughout the sport. Well, I'm sure glad these cowardly enabler dirtwad slime-lovers are around to make sure the clean riders never have a chance against just a *coupla* well-stoked, UCI-beloved supertalents--thanks, skanks!

Lay The Hell Off Sastre, Already!: alright, I can't believe I've got to take the great Thor Hushovd to task--but screw you, buddy! Suckage enough that Cervelo's team boss had the total lack of class to announce that our Tour de France champ/new Geox prize wasn't offered even a lousy punk-!@# uncoordinated-neo-pro 10-euro Klodenesque wash-your-team-leader's-shorts contract for next year--*must* Thor of all riders have helpfully told the press that it was because Carlos--not having the best season, I'll concede, but still a force to be reckoned with dammit--really, really, really incredibly blows the last two years? I defended your sorry !@# in the green jersey hunt this year at the Tour this year, Thor--apologize like a man (or woman, maybe that would be better), we'll forget it all happened, don't *make* me say it, boy!

Vacansoleil, For the San Tropez Tan: and, as nimble climber Riccardo Ricco' waxes poetic about the joys of signing with Vacansoleil after his deal with Quick Step fell through (woo-hoo!), his new DS is equally showin' the love, enthusiastically proclaiming that first, they really tried to sign redeemed Op Puerto skeezemeister Michele Scarponi, then that tanked, *then* they wanted Euskaltel god Samu' Sanchez (who of course should have been their first choice, the undeserving goons), then when *that* tanked, he "kept looking and finally came up with Riccò." Damn, it's almost enough to make me feel sorry for the little weasel (cobra, whatever)--nope, that moment's already passed!

He Shoots, He Scores!: meantime, major congrats to Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen, largely luckless this season, who validates his fabulous decision to ride another year by winning a stage at the Eneco Tour. However, as there's yet no video of him taking the sprint for me to poach, let's completely randomly enjoy our etiquette expert teaching a young fan not to grab !@#$ off his bike without asking:

On the Road Again: finally, it's a warm, warm welcome back to everyone's favorite party boy, the knee-walloped Tom Boonen, back training at last and hoping for one last thwap at Cavendish & Co before the end of the season. Chin up, Tom--we believe in you! 'Til then, we'll just have to content ourselves gratuitously watching Tommeke getting a massage set to a 70's soft-porn soundtrack. Really, does it even matter what they're saying?

Sleaze and Glory Is *Right*, Baby! and, Holy Crap, Carlos!

The Sprinters Are *On*!: first, the glory stuff, 'cause heck knows that's often in short supply in this agonizingly engaging sport: Tyler Farrar is kickin' !@#, Robbie McEwen is coming back for one more year (thanks Bikezilla!) to, if not win quite so often (shut up!), certainly throw a classier temper-tantrum than that brilliantly unbeatable two-bit whiner Cav, and damn near everyone worth watching (except Tommeke--dag nabit, get well soon already!) for the Worlds is lining up for the perfect, underrated, wholly ignored and completely smashing (hopefully not in the 2010 Tour de France, total peloton bodily immolation sense) Vuelta a Espana. And because we love dear little Sastre is riding his third Grand Tour this year, and I deeply regret being so broke- and cheap-!@# for the Tour, the 2010 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Win Free Stuff Contest is on, thereby improving the odds, one hopes, that some grotesque little Lance-apologist gnome won't take the prizes. Vuelta lovers, this one's for you!

Blast From the Past: yes, enduringly beautiful total train wreck Jan Ullrich, having lost his entirely pointless defamation suit over doping allegations that clearly could've been a !@#$load worse than they even were (tho' as his rollin'-in-dough lawyer in this thankless enterprise, I'd certainly be appreciative), has been diagnosed with "burnout" and is taking a break from his admirable charitable-kids'-rides activities, and while we'll never see the boy on a bike with any seriousness again, and of course he's part of the scourge of scumliness that brought the sport to its knees in 2006, yap, and we should all just hock giant lougies in his general direction, yap yap yap, here's hoping that the Janster (1) recovers his energy and (2) never wears embroidered flowered national costumes again. Get well soon Jan--don't let those demons get you down!

Ah, Young Love: meantime, the deal between fickle fianceesRiccardo Ricco and Quick Step, virtually assured a day or two ago, may yet be on the rocks, with his manager remaining hopeful and his much-desired Vuelta now in doubt. What's more, his current shoe sponsor Vittoria, while congratulating him on his advancing career, is already reminding him he's got a two-year contract and threatening to sue. Hell, he couldn't be more of a cheating doped-up embarrassment than Valverde, I suppose! In other scuzzwad-signing news, Stefan Schumacher is back with small squad Miche; Lampre--well, who knows what those dirtbag-lovin' pervs are thinking signing every jacked-up reject on earth, and Patrik "I Accused a Whole Lot of Other Riders of Doping And All I Got Was This Lousy Continental Jersey" Sinkewitz is riding well--though not as well as he used to, for no particular reason I'm sure--in Portugal. Oh, you silly boys, didn't you learn *any* lessons in redemption from comely cash-cow Basso?

Watch Out, Andy!: speaking of whom, as the Schleck brothers get set to run a 100% perfectly clean team with no suspect riders ever whatsoever (and because I do love Frank against all justice and fair play, I'll conveniently forget his payments for "training" to Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno To the Stars" Fuentes, none other than St. Ivan of Varese has taken a crit in Holland over baby Schleck, making one wonder if Basso's really gonna focus on his beloved hometown fans and beloved hometown race in 2011, or if he's gonna make a serious stealth bid for the win once thought inevitable--over and over again, at that--at the Tour next year. Ivan in yellow? Hmmm, still better chance of that than Menchov...

Lessons from Leadville: last but not least, as a dear reader opined how deeply dope-smacking it is as a matter of relative form that an American Euro roadie should smoke a domestic field of incredibly experienced mountain bikers so badly at their own game this weekend, one cannot help but wonder, despite my fondness for Levi, unless the US riders really do completely lamely tank compared to their European compatriots on pure talent, which certainly seems rather an odd possibility when you see these guys actually in the saddle, doesn't this make RadioSkank look, um...yeah, look like they need a re-do on those dull grey-and-red jerseys to jazz 'em up a bit, that's what I meant to say!

What the Hell--Who Saw This Coming?: okay, really finally, cyclingnews has just broke the word that Carlos Sastre has signed for new squad Geox for 2011, whose announced formation I concede I met with a monstrous yawn and raising the crucial question, what the hell is this gonna mean for we love Thor Hushovd, Carlos?! Of course, Sastre, like, say, Jens, could join Igor's House of IV Equipment Egregious Blood Doping and Human Trafficking and I'd give him a pass, but still--*what*? Who else is coming with him? Oh, the suspense...

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!

Robbie McEwen Weighs In; and, Right On Levi!

Aw, *Man*: All right, I'll pony up: I think there's no freakin' way Alexander Vinokourov is riding clean, unless, perhaps, you consider him on a sliding scale relative to, say, Valverde. Allegedly! But when a guy who I love specifically because he's been known to head-butt rivals at the line, go absolutely snarling wingnut at the press and routinely smack down other riders as scumweasels says Vino's paid his dues, apologized humbly, and deserves to be back and lauded for his win unmolested by continued accusations, I concede, such gentlemanly behavior does give me pause. Except the part about the humble apology. Unless "!@#% you!" means "mea culpa" in Kazakh?

Oh, Water Beeyotch....Here, Water Beeyotch!: okay, before I get a ton of crap from a bunch of holier-than-thou tree-huggers, (1) I *have* hugged trees, so lay off and (2) green good, I heart Mother Earth, yap. But what the hell is this stupid lawsuit against a wunk of teams and some harmless schmo from Landbowkredit for polluting the environment by tossing water bottles off the road? First, if this truly *is* a disastrous scourge, how hard is it for you martyrs to just pick the damn things up yourselves, if the many roadside fanatics who actually beat each other senseless trying to claim one from their favorite rider as a prize don't get 'em first? Second, do you freaks know what this means? It means Klodi's gonna have to sling a 50-pound Hefty bag over his shoulder and haul it up the !@#damn Alps to the finish line every day at the Tour de France like some spit-covered garbage-toting Santa Claus! Oh, Klodi...

Or, we could just save the environment by having the team-car staff chug along in donkey carts. Hell, if the peloton *really* gets off the juice, the team cars'll even be able to keep up!

Give Levi a Grand Tour Shot Already!: meantime, over at the Gila Tour, look who's winnin'!:Woo-hoo Levi!

Want Freis With That?: over on the Planet of Dubious Accomplishments, I suppose some accepting-the-inevitable bonus points go to BMC dope-fiend Thomas Frei, who, wracked with guilt immediately upon getting busted by his A-sample, admits to micro-dosing EPO and being thwarted only because he failed to properly flush the evidence out of his system, which begs the question, if dutifully hitting the Gatorade is all it takes to successfully beat the tests, how many of these clowns active right now this season *do* have the attention spans to set their watches and grab their sippy cups? Whew, good thing UCI's been yellin' how the cyclists have completely cleaned themselves up nowadays--50-odd doping pozes into the season I was actually starting to have my doubts!

Don't Let the Door Hit You in the !@# On the Way Out!: last but not least, as Cav continues his Boonenesque downward spiral--without the fun of piles of blow, random club hookups, or playing F1 driver on the autobahn in his sportscar--current nemesis/beloved teammate Andre "!@#$-Race Winner" Greipel has announced his intent to find a team that'll let him ride some real races, specifically the Tour de France, next year, and given the squad's frankly nose-pickin' ennui in response, that team sure ain't gonna be HTC. Oh well, Andre, you tried--at least this way you can settle things with Cav at the finish line next year!

Lessons In Love...

...From Doping Investigators: so yap, there's another giant doping scandal involving 54 skankmasters in Italy, yap, Lampre's a giant easter-egg-colored pack of drug-snarfers, yap, but more interesting, in my view, is that the rat in this case is a woman and hospital employee close to alleged head pusher Guido Nigrelli, who, according to gazzetta dello sport, acted out of twin motives of "passion" and "economics." Which leads us, class, to *two* important life lessons: (1) never piss off your woman, and (2) never, ever stiff an employee. After all, just think of the poor sweet cheating scumlords whose palmares will be destroyed by such careless folly!

The Man With the Golden Arm: man, can Alejandro "Bloodbag" Valverde's life *get* any more charmed? Not only is he allowed to ride everywhere unrestricted except (and for the hilarity factor on this one, see above) Italy, and not only did he genuinely win the stage today at the Vuelta a Pais Vasco, but he even "won" the opener there yesterday when we love Oscar Freire was !@#$ed and relegated in the sprint. First, judge for yerself. Second, Oscar could bodily whack Valverde off his bike with a giant medieval battering ram and I'd still pick Freire, so the actual merits are moot. Gee, if *I* install a permanent IV port in *my* !@# and hire top-flight legal and publicity goon squads, will someone pay *me* a gazillion euros a year to be a doping cheating dirtwad?

Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing: meantime, over at Columbia-HTC, the boys are getting along just great, as Andre Greipel discreetly suggests that he'd've been a better pick than an off-his-form Mark Cavendish for Milano-Sanremo, and an excruciatingly polite Cav rather begs to differ, opining he's happy to ride on the same squad with such a talentless assclown as Greipel and that there's no way in hell Cav's gonna let that loser ride on his Tour de France squad. C'mon, Andre, take the high road, apologize, kiss, and make up--that is if Cav doesn't chew your face off with those giant teeth of his first!

Tweet o' the Week: yes, this one's a two-fer, as amiable George Hincapie takes on Podium Cafe wisenheimers who tell him he blew Flanders by using completely the wrong wheels for the cobbles, and righter-of-wrongs Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen comes to his chivalrous defense. Damn, George is like 8 feet tall and Robbie could beat the crap out of even all of Cadel's enormous entourage with both arms tied behind his back--good thing no-one reads *this* drivel!

Too Much Is Never Enough: finally, I see Lance has decided to bow out of the Ardennes classics, but lest any of you Armstrong fans are freaked you won't be getting a play-by-play update on how many times he picks his toes today, never fear: as our bike experts at the AP were quick to post, oh my god he's riding the Circuit de la Sarthe this week! Too bad we'll never find out the name of the rider who actually *wins* the thing, at least from the American press anyway....