Trick or Treat!: nope, no word yet on which T-Mobile boy yapped to the German narcs that the docs handpicked for the squad by the team leaders were handing out pre-race EPO to riders during the 2003-2004 season like Sweet-Tarts to sugar-shocked miscreants in Batman costumes, though one thing you *can* be sure of--and how comforting is such certainty in an uncertain world!--is that no-one in any team hierarchy'll ever be held responsible for anything if they should personally walk down a team time trial lineup jabbing needles into rumps for the assembled press corps. How very jolly it must be, UCI and WADA, to live in a happy, sun-dappled world where the flowers are always in bloom, the birds are always singing, the rainbows always a-glimmering, and each of 8000 doping pozes from a single team in a single season is caused by a rogue individual rider acting completely at odds with the desires of the DSes, the managers, and the sponsors! Um, not to quibble with the infallible Pat "Dick" McQuaid or nuthin', but *how* much PCP do you have to take to believe this !@#$?
Ivan the Terrible: well, "Ivan the Impending Likely Badass," anyway, as one certainly can't help but feel that if the comely boy's already taking third in a one-day race his first day back against the even dog-tired likes of Cunego, Lance Armstrong is in for a serious beating by his handpicked ex-Chosen One at the 100th Giro d'Italia. I mean, if Basso can race this well clean at a one-day gig--and of course, on-line Mapei snoop software and all, that's a big freakin' if--can you imagine how he's gonna perform in front of swooning rosepetal-strewing hometown tifosi at the 100th Giro d'Italia he's so well suited for next May? You might not have really saved yourself so much dignity over Contador smacking you out of your Tour, Lance, if you're just gonna get your !@# whupped in the Giro! C'mon, don't be such a baby, there's no shame in being Alberto's bottle-boy...frees up Andreas Kloden anyhow!
'E's Not Dead! 'E's Restin'!: yep, thankfully, as most of the rest of the peloton has headed off on holiday, returned to the comfort of their homes to make babies in the off-season, or sneaked off to some skank to cancel their CERA order in favor of the recently-cleared autologous blood doping, recent retiree (you *suck*, Lefevere!) we love Paolo Bettini is still on the bike, riding to a respectable result in a recent six-day, headed off for next weekend's ride in Milan, and, even better, reportedly in talks with Gazzetta dello Sport to broadcast the action at next spring's Giro live from the back of a motorbike. Oh, Paolo, like some bonking domestique from the squadra azzura wouldn't bail on his DS, hop off his ride, and lend you his bike if you asked him nicely...allez allez il Grillo!
Sing It, Sister!: and, a colossal shout-out to Shameless St. Millar Defender for her countrywoman/reigning Olympic track goddess Victoria Pendleton calling bull!@#$ on the Olympics for not giving the women enough track events, and making a bold 'n' bitchin' pitch for more cycling in 2012. Now if those of us stateside could only persuade Vs. to ditch the 24/7 coverage of guys in chaps and 10-gallon hats tormenting bulls by cinching ropes around their nuts and, worse, making 'em confront rodeo clowns, in favor of a little more action from the peloton...
Landis of the Free: finally, Floyd Landis, who no matter what you think about his actual guilt or innocence clearly isn't half the skank of 3/4 of the boys still sliming about in the peloton and is damn near back from his two year ban, has just announced his new gig, named, appropriately enough after both his excruciating rendezvous with a new hip and the Most Ludicrous Monkey Trial in History built on the flawless work of the Most Incompetent Lab Chimps on Earth, OUCH. Okay, I still miss Iban Mayo more, and wish Floyd were back on a Bassoesque-level squad, but I'm happy enough to see our boy race wherever he is--cheers, trustbutverify!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
God Save the King
The Emperor's New Clothes: so dreamy reformed attempted delinquent Ivan Basso's new web site is online at last, and holy moly, is this the most smashing sophisticated propaganda campaign in cycling history, I mean, has this boy got me sincerely convinced he's one miracle away from well-earned sainthood, as the page starts off with truly charming pics of the Most Adorable Family On Earth, invites you to sign on to his no-holds-barred-test-my-blood-you-doubting-vulture-meanies Mapei training page, sets up a wholly worthy and touching children's charity link, gives you the Teen Beat dish (he's a simple guy who loves to chill with his friends! His favorite food is pizza!), and writes a long and loving tribute to his wife for standing by him in his journey from heaven to hell and back (and because I trust him, I won't say he must've *seriously* been in the doghouse to put this one together, in addition to being genuinely grateful and all). Best of all, if even this didn't hook you, o vicious doubting cynics, click on "Personale", look to the right of the screen, and yes, you can still revel in a major rotating man-candy GQ photo montage that reminds you just how very, very smokin' this humble family man still is. Oh right, he also rides a bike from time to time. Geez, Ricco', you're really gonna have to step it up if you even remotely want anyone to give a rat's !@# when you come back--a buncha crappy Polaroids of you on your website smirking as you cross the finish line in triumph can't possibly compete with this pedaling Adonis!
The Tour de Contador: and, as everyone now knows and has minutely scrutinized, the 2009 Tour de France is out, with a disappointingly naturally-achievable 3 mountaintop finishes, the return of the beloved team time trial, a we-love-Carlos Sastre-friendly lack of individual miles in the discipline, and, most bitchin', a nail-biter of a penultimate day up Mont Ventoux which, while it won't allow any of the favorites to break away unwatched, will provide the cringe-inducing possibility of a spectacular GC-crushing crack among the most tired, dented, or unsupported among them (hi Cadel!). Sure, Lance won't be riding because he's afraid (1) Contador'll bushwhack him and (2) he'll taint his legacy and is now concentrating on screwing over my beautiful Giro instead--but with Valverde now rejecting his emerging status as a Classics god and proclaiming yet again his intention to disgust everyone by choking at, that is, delight everyone by winning the, Tour, can anyone doubt that finally after years of discord this often-tiresome three-week publicity stunt'll be a show worth watching, and not just for the repulsive National Enquirer scandalfest?
The Rider Formerly Known as Little Prince: okay, at his age he's not *so* very long in the tooth as to have to ditch the nickname, but thinking of the Giro next year I must say I'm almost tempted to root for Damiano Cunego, finally pulling out of his 4-year post-victory slump (shades of we-still-miss-so-bite-me Iban Mayo!) with a gorgeous threepeat in the Giro di Lombardia and, most admirably from my perspective, firmly brushing off suggestions that he's the New Paolo Bettini which, in addition to being blasphemy punishable by eternal immolation in roaring hellfire, it's a goddamn good thing he did 'cause my head's gonna explode if some numbnut journalist even thinks about repeating that stupidity again. Forza Damiano, as long as you remember where you stand in relation to (y'know, below) Il Grillo!
The CSCity of Brotherly Love: finally, so long as we're talking family loyalty here, big points to precocious soon-to-be Grand Tour winner Andy Schleck for waxing poetic on the new Tour route, particularly how he looks forward to sharing team leadership with big brother Frank next year. Say it ain't so one more time, Frank (or at least that that bastard Bjarne made you do it), and I swear, all is forgiven!
The Tour de Contador: and, as everyone now knows and has minutely scrutinized, the 2009 Tour de France is out, with a disappointingly naturally-achievable 3 mountaintop finishes, the return of the beloved team time trial, a we-love-Carlos Sastre-friendly lack of individual miles in the discipline, and, most bitchin', a nail-biter of a penultimate day up Mont Ventoux which, while it won't allow any of the favorites to break away unwatched, will provide the cringe-inducing possibility of a spectacular GC-crushing crack among the most tired, dented, or unsupported among them (hi Cadel!). Sure, Lance won't be riding because he's afraid (1) Contador'll bushwhack him and (2) he'll taint his legacy and is now concentrating on screwing over my beautiful Giro instead--but with Valverde now rejecting his emerging status as a Classics god and proclaiming yet again his intention to disgust everyone by choking at, that is, delight everyone by winning the, Tour, can anyone doubt that finally after years of discord this often-tiresome three-week publicity stunt'll be a show worth watching, and not just for the repulsive National Enquirer scandalfest?
The Rider Formerly Known as Little Prince: okay, at his age he's not *so* very long in the tooth as to have to ditch the nickname, but thinking of the Giro next year I must say I'm almost tempted to root for Damiano Cunego, finally pulling out of his 4-year post-victory slump (shades of we-still-miss-so-bite-me Iban Mayo!) with a gorgeous threepeat in the Giro di Lombardia and, most admirably from my perspective, firmly brushing off suggestions that he's the New Paolo Bettini which, in addition to being blasphemy punishable by eternal immolation in roaring hellfire, it's a goddamn good thing he did 'cause my head's gonna explode if some numbnut journalist even thinks about repeating that stupidity again. Forza Damiano, as long as you remember where you stand in relation to (y'know, below) Il Grillo!
The CSCity of Brotherly Love: finally, so long as we're talking family loyalty here, big points to precocious soon-to-be Grand Tour winner Andy Schleck for waxing poetic on the new Tour route, particularly how he looks forward to sharing team leadership with big brother Frank next year. Say it ain't so one more time, Frank (or at least that that bastard Bjarne made you do it), and I swear, all is forgiven!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
!@#% Armstrong !@#$%$#@ !@#$!
Cause and Effect: so poor Andreas Kloden is officially screwed *again* for an entire upcoming season and, of course, it's all Lance Armstrong's fault. Here's why. Schumi wins two time trials at the Tour de France, and gets busted for doping. Bernhard Kohl is third on the podium and king of the mountains at the Tour de France, and gets busted for doping. Therefore, the Tour of Germany announces it's shutting down for 2009. This means that Andreas Kloden, who rocks at the TdG, can't even ride it, much less be allowed to ride to win it by that ruthless tool Bruyneel. His upcoming season, ergo, is complete crap. It's complete crap because, having signed with Astana, Klodi was first forced to be Contador's minion for the 2007 Tour, kept out of it entirely in 2008 because of Contador's ex-Liberty Seguros teammate Vino's poz in 2007, then was forced to be Contador's !@#$% this year in the Vuelta. And next year, when he might've had half a chance of racing for himself, Contador--having kissed and made up with fickle suitor Bruyneel--is naturally taking the Tour, Levi and now Haimar Zubeldia (and don't even get me started on how screwed *he* is)'re gonna get the Vuelta, and while Klodi might otherwise at least have been given the Giro, that egomaniacal selfish sinkhole Lance Armstrong has now decided he's afraid of looking like a colossal wussbag if Contador crushes him in July, so he's prevailed upon Johan to hand him Italy instead, which leaves Kloden with no races of his own at all to ride and the rather dubious consolation prize of getting whacked upside the head with a 2 x 4 by his team leader every time he gets in the saddle and made to skulk off back to the team car every ten seconds to be a subservient underutilized errand-running waterboy. !@#$#$% Armstrong you !@##$!
I Think I'm Turning Japanese/I Really Think So: yes, to the delight--and total hypocrite unadulterated forgiveness from the same folks jabbing pitchforks and blazing torches at fellow cheat-skank countryman Riccardo Ricco', I might add, though I assume the difference is the simple fact that our dreamboat only *tried* to dope--of swooning Italian tifosi of every persuasion (save a few tiresome zero-tolerance purists who'd better stay under the radar if they don't want the !@## beaten out of 'em by his rabid defenders), Ivan Basso is back for the Japan Cup, wheeling suavely into his press conference in full Liquigas kit and ready to start from "kilometer one" to earn his place in the peloton and the faith of his fans anew, though considering rumored plans to erect a humungous golden temple to Basso in his hometown with an eternal flame tended by fifty vestal virgins, I rather imagine that even if he should hook up to an IV right in front of Pat "Dick" McQuaid, their faith is unlikely to be shaken so long as he just keep batting those lovely eyelashes of his. And, lest anyone doubt he's been reborn, his largely-dormant web page assures us it's gonna debut its all-new season in a mere 5 days 1 hour 50 minutes and 28 seconds, though if you click on the tiny print for his blog next to his wee-but-still-pouty photo, you can already get pics of him posing with his spankin' new bicycle. You're exceedingly thrilling to watch, Ivan, but even that unbearably wanky Simoni was right-on calling you an "extraterrestri"--we'll see how you do now that you've been brought so rudely back to earth!
The Densest !@#damn Thing I've Ever Heard Of: no, not everything UCI and WADA have ever done, though that comes close, but this one's for the crybabies over at German TV, apparently dead set on depriving an entire nation of cycling heavyweights of the Tour de France, all because Bernard Kohl and Stefan Schumacher have brought the entire sport into disrepute with the only two doping positives this sport has seen since the invention of television. Leaving aside the fact that Kohl's actually freakin' Austrian, you guys kept the klieg lights on for the entirety of T-Mobile's dirty doping existence and you're seriously gonna say with straight faces that *that* boy is your moral dealbreaker? What the hell have you guys been taking the last 10 years? Don't tell me you've been partying with Jan Ullrich again...
Chat Stuey: finally, a big shout-out to the Aussie contingent for their boy O'Grady's smashing win at the Jayco Herald Sun Tour, capping off a self-sacrificing season with a little well-deserved glory of his own and not only warmly complimenting every past and future Australian rider in cycling history (and there's a lot to fawn over, to be sure) but, even better, declaring himself ready to take the fearsome Hell of the North once again next year. Finally feeling all better, are we?--
Go get 'em Stuey--let them eat pave'!
I Think I'm Turning Japanese/I Really Think So: yes, to the delight--and total hypocrite unadulterated forgiveness from the same folks jabbing pitchforks and blazing torches at fellow cheat-skank countryman Riccardo Ricco', I might add, though I assume the difference is the simple fact that our dreamboat only *tried* to dope--of swooning Italian tifosi of every persuasion (save a few tiresome zero-tolerance purists who'd better stay under the radar if they don't want the !@## beaten out of 'em by his rabid defenders), Ivan Basso is back for the Japan Cup, wheeling suavely into his press conference in full Liquigas kit and ready to start from "kilometer one" to earn his place in the peloton and the faith of his fans anew, though considering rumored plans to erect a humungous golden temple to Basso in his hometown with an eternal flame tended by fifty vestal virgins, I rather imagine that even if he should hook up to an IV right in front of Pat "Dick" McQuaid, their faith is unlikely to be shaken so long as he just keep batting those lovely eyelashes of his. And, lest anyone doubt he's been reborn, his largely-dormant web page assures us it's gonna debut its all-new season in a mere 5 days 1 hour 50 minutes and 28 seconds, though if you click on the tiny print for his blog next to his wee-but-still-pouty photo, you can already get pics of him posing with his spankin' new bicycle. You're exceedingly thrilling to watch, Ivan, but even that unbearably wanky Simoni was right-on calling you an "extraterrestri"--we'll see how you do now that you've been brought so rudely back to earth!
The Densest !@#damn Thing I've Ever Heard Of: no, not everything UCI and WADA have ever done, though that comes close, but this one's for the crybabies over at German TV, apparently dead set on depriving an entire nation of cycling heavyweights of the Tour de France, all because Bernard Kohl and Stefan Schumacher have brought the entire sport into disrepute with the only two doping positives this sport has seen since the invention of television. Leaving aside the fact that Kohl's actually freakin' Austrian, you guys kept the klieg lights on for the entirety of T-Mobile's dirty doping existence and you're seriously gonna say with straight faces that *that* boy is your moral dealbreaker? What the hell have you guys been taking the last 10 years? Don't tell me you've been partying with Jan Ullrich again...
Chat Stuey: finally, a big shout-out to the Aussie contingent for their boy O'Grady's smashing win at the Jayco Herald Sun Tour, capping off a self-sacrificing season with a little well-deserved glory of his own and not only warmly complimenting every past and future Australian rider in cycling history (and there's a lot to fawn over, to be sure) but, even better, declaring himself ready to take the fearsome Hell of the North once again next year. Finally feeling all better, are we?--
Go get 'em Stuey--let them eat pave'!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Kohl-d As Ice
The Curse of Cadel Evans: yes, unlikely '08 Tour King of the Mountains Bernhard Kohl is the latest chump who's positive for CERA, but for my money it's really crap news for stolid ever-the-bridesmaid Cadel Evans, as his new ticket to the top of the podium after Popovych pulled a three-week bonk on him this past July is already on his way to having his spankin' new contract with Silence-Lotto "annulled" and leaving our hardworking if dull hero without the support he needs in the high passes yet again. Damn, like the KOM race wasn't lame enough this year without Mauricio Soler, now the clown who managed to beat the weak-!@# competition couldn't even pull it off without stuffing himself full of drugs? Pathetic. At least with Rasmussen on the juice up there we'd still have had a race worth watching! Anyone else thinking Bernhard's only honest accomplishment is in making Hans-Michael Holczer quit cycling in shame and disgust today, rather a shame perhaps given all he's done for the smashing Rebellin? Anyhoo, all is not lost for the canny boys who dosed themselves sensibly enough to avoid detection but are now too afraid to try it again, as luckily, one of the high honchos of the Tour de France has himself announced recently that when it comes to autologous blood doping, there ain't a test on the horizon to tease proof of it out. Now that oughta lead to a surfeit of happy peloton skankballs for next season!
Team Weaver: speaking of minor peccadilloes, I see cyclingnews is reporting that quasi-repentant Simoni-dissing crybaby wanker Riccardo Ricco' was turned on to Danilo DiLuca's adulthood pediatrician Carlo Santuccione (who apparently didn't learn in his neonatal rounds that CERA is in fact detectable when injected a week ahead of time) by none other than a former Saunier Duval team director. But as T-Mobile and (please please please please don't let this be true) CSC have taught us, and as we've all been so heartily reassured by the fine folks at WADA and UCI, we all know this must just be a freak anomaly rather than any indication of the existence of systemic team doping practices....
Presenting the 100th Giro d'Italia, I Mean, the !@#$ing Lance Armstrong Show: finally, as even the non-cycling sports press has reported by now, a rapturous Giro d'Italia and Lance himself have announced his attention to take on the corsa rosa, and I gotta ask, what the hell are they thinking? Whether he's in it merely for a training ride for the Tour or to give himself an out if Contador kicks his !@# two months later (because the idea that Lance's insatiable ego'll let him actually *work* for the child is, frankly, ludicrous), he's utterly defiling one of the most beautiful races on earth by suddenly claiming his eternal love for and career-long desire to win a race that during his actual career he tossed off to his Italian and lesser domestiques like someone else's snot-filled Kleenex. And the tifosi? A pretty decent handful looking forward to his return, if only to watch their beloved innocent fairy prince Ivan Basso kick dirty doping Armstrong off a precipice in the Dolomites (and come to think of it, perhaps that's worth the price of a ticket to Italy after all), the hardhearted beancounters delirious at the amount of dough the Armstrong publicity machine is gonna bring into their hometowns, and the rest gone absolutely Postal at the idea that the 100th Giro d'Italia is gonna basically ignore the Italians on their own turf on their own anniversary in favor of some overhyped American Tour de France slut. Guess which view I favor?
Look at this. Look at Hampsten on the Gavia in 1988, and listen to his account of the day and tell me this ungrateful bull!@#$ing Tour-whore Armstrong deserves to ride this race. Aiiiggggggghhhhh!
Team Weaver: speaking of minor peccadilloes, I see cyclingnews is reporting that quasi-repentant Simoni-dissing crybaby wanker Riccardo Ricco' was turned on to Danilo DiLuca's adulthood pediatrician Carlo Santuccione (who apparently didn't learn in his neonatal rounds that CERA is in fact detectable when injected a week ahead of time) by none other than a former Saunier Duval team director. But as T-Mobile and (please please please please don't let this be true) CSC have taught us, and as we've all been so heartily reassured by the fine folks at WADA and UCI, we all know this must just be a freak anomaly rather than any indication of the existence of systemic team doping practices....
Presenting the 100th Giro d'Italia, I Mean, the !@#$ing Lance Armstrong Show: finally, as even the non-cycling sports press has reported by now, a rapturous Giro d'Italia and Lance himself have announced his attention to take on the corsa rosa, and I gotta ask, what the hell are they thinking? Whether he's in it merely for a training ride for the Tour or to give himself an out if Contador kicks his !@# two months later (because the idea that Lance's insatiable ego'll let him actually *work* for the child is, frankly, ludicrous), he's utterly defiling one of the most beautiful races on earth by suddenly claiming his eternal love for and career-long desire to win a race that during his actual career he tossed off to his Italian and lesser domestiques like someone else's snot-filled Kleenex. And the tifosi? A pretty decent handful looking forward to his return, if only to watch their beloved innocent fairy prince Ivan Basso kick dirty doping Armstrong off a precipice in the Dolomites (and come to think of it, perhaps that's worth the price of a ticket to Italy after all), the hardhearted beancounters delirious at the amount of dough the Armstrong publicity machine is gonna bring into their hometowns, and the rest gone absolutely Postal at the idea that the 100th Giro d'Italia is gonna basically ignore the Italians on their own turf on their own anniversary in favor of some overhyped American Tour de France slut. Guess which view I favor?
Look at this. Look at Hampsten on the Gavia in 1988, and listen to his account of the day and tell me this ungrateful bull!@#$ing Tour-whore Armstrong deserves to ride this race. Aiiiggggggghhhhh!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
10 Steps to a Pure Peloton
A Modest Zero-Tolerance Anti-Doping Proposal to Clean Up Cycling Once and for All (Or, Biological Passport My !@#!): all right folks, with the sport effectively cleaned up first after Festina, then after Op Puerto, and now with the new UCI biological passport that's but an invite for sophisticated pre-season blood value tweaking, it's clear the current protocols ain't working, and drastic measures are needed if we're truly to tidy up our beloved cesspool of a sport ahead of certain riders' triumphant return. Therefore, I humbly propose:
1. Look, we all know these filthy little !@#$s have been cheating from the winner of the very first Tour de France in 1903 through now. Ergo, all dead guys will be forthwith exhumed and subject to body-defiling testing for the advanced substances of the day. Thought you got away with it, didn't ya?
2. All live guys, regardless of age, will be ordered back on the bike to climb the Plateau de Beille. Everyone who makes it into the top third of the field will be presumed to have doped and have their title stripped. Everyone who makes it into the middle third of the field will be slapped silly for sucking so badly that even doping couldn't help 'em, and skipped over for the title anyway. Everyone in the bottom third will get a ceremonial lap around the Champs-Elysees, a kiss from a podium babe of appropriate vintage, and their name in the history books, unless they actually expire from the combined strain of effort and advanced years, in which case they can enjoy their moral and physical victories posthumously.
3. Lance Armstrong's pediatrician shall be ordered to turn over all urine samples from his elementary school annual physicals for analysis by the unbiased and untrained sports journalists at L'Equipe. All samples not so preserved will be presumed intentionally destroyed and deemed positive for banned substances. We know you've been doping since you were in training wheels, you arrogant little !@#$!
4. Anyone who ever worked for Johan Bruyneel, Patrick Lefevere, Bjarne Riis, or Hans-Michael Holczer is guilty. Off with their heads!
5. Alessandro Petacchi, Ivan Basso, and Damiano Cunego are presumed innocent and will never be tested again. They're sooooooooooooo cuuuuuuuuuuuuute!
6. All Spaniards are guilty and immediately banned from the peloton, except Carlos Sastre, whom we love, and Alejandro Valverde, who we all know never once--Alejandro! Put down that needle dammit and get over here to the microphone! Alejandro!
7. All stage winners are guilty and shall be summarily flogged upon ascent to the podium for their photo ops. Enough with the happy champagne-spraying bull!@#$!
8. All out of competition drug use, including Listerine, dandruff shampoo, and Chapstick, is banned. Don't tell me that crap doesn't enhance performance, you lying dissembling scumbucket!
9. All out of competition coke use, though, is A-OK. Come on, everybody loves Tom Boonen, right?
10. Any non-Italian who wins a Giro is guilty. Any non-Frenchman who wins a Tour de France (and let's face it, those numbers don't look good) is guilty. Any non-Spaniard who wins a Vuelta is guilty. Any non-Belgian who wins a Classic is guilty. Any Belgian who wins a race in warm, sunny weather is guilty, and any Spaniard who wins a race in cold, rainy weather is guilty. Riders so busted shall be locked in a room with the French press corps, fans, sponsors, team directors, and governing bodies and regaled with stories about the unjust fall of the native cycling empire until literally whined to death.
Well folks, I'm confident that with these new rules in place we're gonna have an impeccably clean 2009. Now let's go party--drinks on you-know-who!
1. Look, we all know these filthy little !@#$s have been cheating from the winner of the very first Tour de France in 1903 through now. Ergo, all dead guys will be forthwith exhumed and subject to body-defiling testing for the advanced substances of the day. Thought you got away with it, didn't ya?
2. All live guys, regardless of age, will be ordered back on the bike to climb the Plateau de Beille. Everyone who makes it into the top third of the field will be presumed to have doped and have their title stripped. Everyone who makes it into the middle third of the field will be slapped silly for sucking so badly that even doping couldn't help 'em, and skipped over for the title anyway. Everyone in the bottom third will get a ceremonial lap around the Champs-Elysees, a kiss from a podium babe of appropriate vintage, and their name in the history books, unless they actually expire from the combined strain of effort and advanced years, in which case they can enjoy their moral and physical victories posthumously.
3. Lance Armstrong's pediatrician shall be ordered to turn over all urine samples from his elementary school annual physicals for analysis by the unbiased and untrained sports journalists at L'Equipe. All samples not so preserved will be presumed intentionally destroyed and deemed positive for banned substances. We know you've been doping since you were in training wheels, you arrogant little !@#$!
4. Anyone who ever worked for Johan Bruyneel, Patrick Lefevere, Bjarne Riis, or Hans-Michael Holczer is guilty. Off with their heads!
5. Alessandro Petacchi, Ivan Basso, and Damiano Cunego are presumed innocent and will never be tested again. They're sooooooooooooo cuuuuuuuuuuuuute!
6. All Spaniards are guilty and immediately banned from the peloton, except Carlos Sastre, whom we love, and Alejandro Valverde, who we all know never once--Alejandro! Put down that needle dammit and get over here to the microphone! Alejandro!
7. All stage winners are guilty and shall be summarily flogged upon ascent to the podium for their photo ops. Enough with the happy champagne-spraying bull!@#$!
8. All out of competition drug use, including Listerine, dandruff shampoo, and Chapstick, is banned. Don't tell me that crap doesn't enhance performance, you lying dissembling scumbucket!
9. All out of competition coke use, though, is A-OK. Come on, everybody loves Tom Boonen, right?
10. Any non-Italian who wins a Giro is guilty. Any non-Frenchman who wins a Tour de France (and let's face it, those numbers don't look good) is guilty. Any non-Spaniard who wins a Vuelta is guilty. Any non-Belgian who wins a Classic is guilty. Any Belgian who wins a race in warm, sunny weather is guilty, and any Spaniard who wins a race in cold, rainy weather is guilty. Riders so busted shall be locked in a room with the French press corps, fans, sponsors, team directors, and governing bodies and regaled with stories about the unjust fall of the native cycling empire until literally whined to death.
Well folks, I'm confident that with these new rules in place we're gonna have an impeccably clean 2009. Now let's go party--drinks on you-know-who!
Friday, October 03, 2008
Devil With the Blue Kit, Blue Kit, Blue Kit
Devil With the Blue Kit On: yes, as you've no doubt heard, Alexander "I Heart Homologous Blood Doping" Vinokourov has announced his intention to get back to the peloton next season, specifically with Team Astana and at the Tour de France, which while it might distinctly displease Mr. Clean Lance Armstrong, ought to (1) be pretty much up to the Kazakhs who still treat the boy like a rock star, gave him a wholly wussmeister one-year ban in the first place, and, as Vino modestly pointed out, created the entire team for him, and (2) give Vino and his old Liberty Seguros teammate Alberto Contador a good chance to discuss how the hell Alberto...um, won the Tour de France last year, that's it! UCI, of course, has voiced some opposition to the idea, with Pat "Dick" McQuaid threatening to extend his ban a full additional year, which would get our decaying thirtysomething back on the bike just in time, natch, for the 2009 Vuelta. Can we all *please* just stop !@#$ing with my beautiful Vuelta and let the filth-packed Grand Boucle wallow in its own swill for once?
Let's Talk About Schlecks!: meantime, the freak show that is the I'm-still-in-mourning-so-stuff-it-buddy Frank Schleck debacle continues apace, with Bjarne "Oh, Baby, Is That !@#$ Good!" Riis expressing his surprise and disappointment at Frank's wholly believable excuse that he thought he was wiring 7000 euro to a pack of mystery do-gooder physiotherapists who planned to advise him on nice routes for training rides by telephone, though how you can cram all that plastic tubing an IV port and a bucket o' platelets, I mean a paper map, through even an old-fashioned land line truly eludes me. Um, not to point out that Riis' boys are starting to get busted more often than Tom Boonen gets caught with a straw in his nose, or to suspect that Bjarne is less than sincere about his commitment to anyone but him blowing the sponsor's budget on unauthorized substances, but with first Basso, now Frank, is anyone else starting to getting a distinctly T-Mobilian vibe from this squad?
Nacho Libre: and, with only our beloved dexters over at trustbutverify able to coherently summarize what the hell is actually happening, I see poor Floyd Landis is taking on the forces of evil at the CAS in federal district court this time, and not to be a downer here or anything, but jeez, Floyd, haven't you been reading the news lately?--under the new WADA rules this sort of outrageous protestation of innocence could get you rolled in nacho chips melted cheez-wiz jalapenos and chili, topped with sour cream, smothered in loathesome American lite beer and served to a couch full of ravenous rabid football fans during the Superbowl halftime show! Honor, shmonor--save yourself, man!
I'm Not Dead Yet!: Finally, for those of you who still care about the sport for the actual racing, and as everyone from Aussie badass Oeneone Wood to Erik Zabel crosses their last finish line, we love tenacious trash-talker Gilberto Simoni still stomps onwards, this time riding in not only the Giri d' Emilia, Piemonte and Lombardia in the coming weeks, but also more mountain bike races as well, tho' how he's going to keep up when Team Diquigiovanni's bike budget has been slashed and the boys all have to share one bike per race is beyond me:
And remember, it's only because I love you both that I didn't post that photo of him with his !@# hangin' out wearing nothin' but bike shoes again!
And, a Newsflash: yep, at least two of the doping cheating amped-up CERA-fueled dirt-weasels from the Tour de France negatives retests are busted: Riccardo Ricco's filthy little mentor Pieopoli (no surprise) and none other than winner of this year's two Tour time trials Stefan Schumacher, late of Gerolsteiner, and, since one imagines the team he just signed on with for a grotesque windfall of euros for the next two years is gonna toss him off the nearest precipice, late of Quick Step as well. Schumi, you twit--if you'd just stuck to the party drugs like the charming Boonen, you'd still be employed come January!
Let's Talk About Schlecks!: meantime, the freak show that is the I'm-still-in-mourning-so-stuff-it-buddy Frank Schleck debacle continues apace, with Bjarne "Oh, Baby, Is That !@#$ Good!" Riis expressing his surprise and disappointment at Frank's wholly believable excuse that he thought he was wiring 7000 euro to a pack of mystery do-gooder physiotherapists who planned to advise him on nice routes for training rides by telephone, though how you can cram all that plastic tubing an IV port and a bucket o' platelets, I mean a paper map, through even an old-fashioned land line truly eludes me. Um, not to point out that Riis' boys are starting to get busted more often than Tom Boonen gets caught with a straw in his nose, or to suspect that Bjarne is less than sincere about his commitment to anyone but him blowing the sponsor's budget on unauthorized substances, but with first Basso, now Frank, is anyone else starting to getting a distinctly T-Mobilian vibe from this squad?
Nacho Libre: and, with only our beloved dexters over at trustbutverify able to coherently summarize what the hell is actually happening, I see poor Floyd Landis is taking on the forces of evil at the CAS in federal district court this time, and not to be a downer here or anything, but jeez, Floyd, haven't you been reading the news lately?--under the new WADA rules this sort of outrageous protestation of innocence could get you rolled in nacho chips melted cheez-wiz jalapenos and chili, topped with sour cream, smothered in loathesome American lite beer and served to a couch full of ravenous rabid football fans during the Superbowl halftime show! Honor, shmonor--save yourself, man!
I'm Not Dead Yet!: Finally, for those of you who still care about the sport for the actual racing, and as everyone from Aussie badass Oeneone Wood to Erik Zabel crosses their last finish line, we love tenacious trash-talker Gilberto Simoni still stomps onwards, this time riding in not only the Giri d' Emilia, Piemonte and Lombardia in the coming weeks, but also more mountain bike races as well, tho' how he's going to keep up when Team Diquigiovanni's bike budget has been slashed and the boys all have to share one bike per race is beyond me:
And remember, it's only because I love you both that I didn't post that photo of him with his !@# hangin' out wearing nothin' but bike shoes again!
And, a Newsflash: yep, at least two of the doping cheating amped-up CERA-fueled dirt-weasels from the Tour de France negatives retests are busted: Riccardo Ricco's filthy little mentor Pieopoli (no surprise) and none other than winner of this year's two Tour time trials Stefan Schumacher, late of Gerolsteiner, and, since one imagines the team he just signed on with for a grotesque windfall of euros for the next two years is gonna toss him off the nearest precipice, late of Quick Step as well. Schumi, you twit--if you'd just stuck to the party drugs like the charming Boonen, you'd still be employed come January!
Thursday, October 02, 2008
His Name Was Ricco'/He Wore A Diamond
He Was Escorted to His Chair/He Saw His IV Hangin' There: yep, after even the narcs only asked for a 20-month ban, CONI has whacked our little twerp Riccardo with a full 2 years, valuing the doping violation at a mere 18 months but adding on another 6 for Ricco's use of Danilo DiLuca's childhood (and unusually recent) doc Carlos "Oil for Drugs" Santuccione--and this *after* the boy sang and gave the feds his dealer. Ricco', needless to say, is pissed that he 'fessed up for nothing, leading his lawyers to scream their heads off about an imminent appeal to CAS (good luck with that!) to reverse this cruel injustice, tho' even Ricco', perhaps tired of being told he should be glad he's not in prison by the same morally outraged tifosi who're swooning over Ivan "I Smoked, But I Didn't Inhale" Basso's return this month because he's just so very, very pretty, concedes that it's "fair" he does *some* time. This 2 year ban, of course, is particularly ironic, given WADA's new flexy rules saying if you play the ratfink, you'll get mercy, and if you don't, or if you god forbid get one of the highly statistically likely false positives and have the gall to object to it, you'll be roasted like a weiner at a Boy Scout campfire. Yeah, lookin' at how Riccardo got rewarded--and how for depriving his compatriots of a useful dope source he'll be even more loathed in the peloton than he already was, which is frankly tough to beat--I can see that's one hell of a payoff! Maybe you can keep yourself occupied suing Santuccione for !@#$ing up your microdosing, Ricco', 'til your ban is up? Anyhow, see you at the Vuelta in 2010!
The Gift That Keeps on Giving: meantime, the ever-generous French antidoping authorities have offered Lance Armstrong a lovely gift: let the same incompetent lab chimps that !@#$ed over Floyd Landis and couldn't find a lab short of Mars to come up with a poz on Iban Mayo's umpteenth sample retest your urine samples from the 1999 Tour de France, prove L'Equipe wrong once and for all, and we'll welcome you back to the Tour with open arms. Heck, we'll even allow you to test it at a different lab run by higher-order primates if you want! This way, as Pierre Bordry so kindly promises, you can smack down your naysayers once and for all and prove you've never cheated during your brilliant career. Even better, Lance, the statute of limitations has long since passed, so even if you do come out looking like the cheating lying drugsucking skankbag we all know and dearly hope you are because we're still mortified a French rider hasn't won the Tour since about 1915, you can't actually get punished for it anyway--so what's a little potential public humiliation and a total destruction of your legacy, you scaredy-cat? Sadly, Lance has put a kibosh on the idea, tanking Bordry's humble hopes of open redemption but still fortunately guaranteeing he remains in the constant spotlight his astonishing ego demands while everyone makes a gratifying fuss over him in the headlines.Damn Lance, you shoulda gone with Viagra instead of that EPO !@#$--after all, as one commenter here has helpfully noted, it does really help mountain climbers, and coincidentally could also help you keep up with all those rock stars actresses and socialites you keep snackin' on!
He Walked In Through the Out Door/Out Door: speaking of the spandex spawn o' satan, I see Johan Bruyneel is opining that not only will Contador and Armstrong get along famously at the 2009 Tour (at least if you consider "getting along" to mean not personally impaling each other with broadswords), but that Lance--always known for his generosity to his teammates and subservience to their ambitions--will of course be delighted to work for Alberto should our neophyte prove the strongest rider next year. *Where* can you get the happy pills that Bruyneel is on again? Anyway, lest stardust assurances of blissful team-bus communes don't convince the boy to shave his head don saffron robes and start handing out daisies to strangers in airports, Johan cheerfully reminded the press corps that Contador's got a two-year contract with no out clause, and no matter what the hell anyone wants to pay him, he'll goddamn yank his scrawny little kneecaps off at the socket if he even *thinks* about screwing Johan over. *Now* we're talking motivation, Mr. Sunshine!
Wire, Wire, Pants on Fire: and, a short hop away by train, Frank Schleck faced his own inquisitors today, earnestly denying doping but apparently still not coming up with a coherent reason for why he wired Dr. Eufemiano Fuentes a modest, if still sweet, 7000 euros in 2006. Don't worry CSC, as the alleged "Friend of Birillo," I'm sure he was just fronting a little cash to help stoke up Ivan Basso's dog for those exhausting frisbee sessions in the local park...please Frank, convince me the cops are wrong on this and leave me *one* freakin' rider I don't have to roll my eyes at!
Enter Sandman: finally, Op Puerto was finally put to sleep last night without a single conviction, thanks to exuberantly lax pre-2006 Spanish doping laws that allowed riders to, well, I won't say Valverde themselves as the boy can still probably pay for a pretty good attorney and all, but at least Heras themselves into speeding bullets so long as it didn't actually kill or noticeably maim 'em at the time. Sure, someone can still try to reopen the thing, but is anyone else thinking that somehow the notoriously transparent Spanish cycling authorities are gonna manage to crush anyone who tries to bring it back up? Lookin' forward to the carnage to come!
The Gift That Keeps on Giving: meantime, the ever-generous French antidoping authorities have offered Lance Armstrong a lovely gift: let the same incompetent lab chimps that !@#$ed over Floyd Landis and couldn't find a lab short of Mars to come up with a poz on Iban Mayo's umpteenth sample retest your urine samples from the 1999 Tour de France, prove L'Equipe wrong once and for all, and we'll welcome you back to the Tour with open arms. Heck, we'll even allow you to test it at a different lab run by higher-order primates if you want! This way, as Pierre Bordry so kindly promises, you can smack down your naysayers once and for all and prove you've never cheated during your brilliant career. Even better, Lance, the statute of limitations has long since passed, so even if you do come out looking like the cheating lying drugsucking skankbag we all know and dearly hope you are because we're still mortified a French rider hasn't won the Tour since about 1915, you can't actually get punished for it anyway--so what's a little potential public humiliation and a total destruction of your legacy, you scaredy-cat? Sadly, Lance has put a kibosh on the idea, tanking Bordry's humble hopes of open redemption but still fortunately guaranteeing he remains in the constant spotlight his astonishing ego demands while everyone makes a gratifying fuss over him in the headlines.Damn Lance, you shoulda gone with Viagra instead of that EPO !@#$--after all, as one commenter here has helpfully noted, it does really help mountain climbers, and coincidentally could also help you keep up with all those rock stars actresses and socialites you keep snackin' on!
He Walked In Through the Out Door/Out Door: speaking of the spandex spawn o' satan, I see Johan Bruyneel is opining that not only will Contador and Armstrong get along famously at the 2009 Tour (at least if you consider "getting along" to mean not personally impaling each other with broadswords), but that Lance--always known for his generosity to his teammates and subservience to their ambitions--will of course be delighted to work for Alberto should our neophyte prove the strongest rider next year. *Where* can you get the happy pills that Bruyneel is on again? Anyway, lest stardust assurances of blissful team-bus communes don't convince the boy to shave his head don saffron robes and start handing out daisies to strangers in airports, Johan cheerfully reminded the press corps that Contador's got a two-year contract with no out clause, and no matter what the hell anyone wants to pay him, he'll goddamn yank his scrawny little kneecaps off at the socket if he even *thinks* about screwing Johan over. *Now* we're talking motivation, Mr. Sunshine!
Wire, Wire, Pants on Fire: and, a short hop away by train, Frank Schleck faced his own inquisitors today, earnestly denying doping but apparently still not coming up with a coherent reason for why he wired Dr. Eufemiano Fuentes a modest, if still sweet, 7000 euros in 2006. Don't worry CSC, as the alleged "Friend of Birillo," I'm sure he was just fronting a little cash to help stoke up Ivan Basso's dog for those exhausting frisbee sessions in the local park...please Frank, convince me the cops are wrong on this and leave me *one* freakin' rider I don't have to roll my eyes at!
Enter Sandman: finally, Op Puerto was finally put to sleep last night without a single conviction, thanks to exuberantly lax pre-2006 Spanish doping laws that allowed riders to, well, I won't say Valverde themselves as the boy can still probably pay for a pretty good attorney and all, but at least Heras themselves into speeding bullets so long as it didn't actually kill or noticeably maim 'em at the time. Sure, someone can still try to reopen the thing, but is anyone else thinking that somehow the notoriously transparent Spanish cycling authorities are gonna manage to crush anyone who tries to bring it back up? Lookin' forward to the carnage to come!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Aw, DAMN!
Vola, Vola, Vola Paolo!: Okay, it had to happen sooner or later, but if Patrick "30 YEARS OF DOPING" Lefevere hadn't been such a soulless europinching miserable tool, we love and will sorely, sorely miss Paolo Bettini wouldn't be saying that tomorrow is his last race on earth--yes, the peerless master of tactics, capturer of Classics and endless Grand Tour stages, and generous supporter of wholly lesser creatures than himself has decided to retire. Dammit--right when I was ready to start selling off lesser organs on the black market to finance one last view of him at the Giro next year! Needless to say, the tifosi over at gazzetta dello sport have erupted into all-caps trauma and fury, and not a few indications of general malevolence to every stupid inscrutable team that failed to hire their (our) hero. Grazie, grazie mille, il nostro Grillo, per la sua forza di volonta' e' corpo per molti anni--and you *suck* you greedy miserly selfish unappreciative dirtbag Lefevere!
Young Frankenschleck: yes, as a German newspaper reported 'way back in July (and then linking him with Bjarne "Doping Bad (Except for Me)" Riis on a little field trip to a medical team)Frank Schleck has indeed been nailed by the narcs, this time with the specific allegation that the boy wired a tidy 7,000 euro from a Swiss bank account to Gyno-to-the-Male-Stars Dr. Eufemiano Fuentes. Still and all, a glum Pat "Dick" McQuaid has conceded he's got to let Frank start tomorrow, managing to toss another bitter whining slap to endlessly wily quarry "Piti" Valverde since he can't get who he's actually after at the moment. Leaving aside the fact that at Fuentes' reputed rates 7,000 euro isn't enough to buy you propulsion up a mildly steep driveway much less a freakin' mountaintop, Frank, and as such seems an awfully trivial thing for which to tank your career and bitchin' Tour legacy, and also ignoring my own personal aggravation at my repeat stupidity that someone I admired was apparently on the juice *again*, I could've *told* you not to take financial advice from Jan Ullrich!
Not So Fast, Sucker: so as Armstrong gets ready to jack over we love Levi Leipheimer at the Amgen EPO Tour of California, and even makes some noise about checkin' out the Giro, which I imagine can only be because Contador sez he's not gonna take any crap at the Tour and in which I hope the Italians viciously take him out because he doesn't deserve to even survive a glorious race which he so obviously considers an also-ran, our fine friends at UCI have now stepped in with a big caveat: if Armstrong thinks he's gonna bedazzle the Aussies at the Tour Down Under, he's gonna have to wait to find out, as UCI's now desperately trying to knock him out on a time-limit technicality for participating in pre-race anti-doping protocols. Y'know, Pat "Dick" McQuaid, you *just* managed to make yourselves look slightly less obnoxious by calling detente with the Grand Tours; given that the mainstream sports press is all set to personally cast Lance in bronze and park him on the steps of the Capitol, do you *really* want to look like more of a petty pack of whining toddlers by tormenting him that way? Have some dignity for once, and revel in the impotence that is yours!
Understatement of the Year Award: y'know, as Contador reiterates his readiness to bail should Johan Bruyneel renege on his promise to let baby Contador ride in the front seat at next year's Tour, you gotta give our wee rising-overlord-o'-the-peloton some credit for having a sense of humor, as in pondering the dynamics of a possible (tho' highly unlikely) joint Contador-Armstrong Astana run at the Tour, Alberto surmises, "I don't see him as doing well in the role of domestique." So *that's* how you say "Lance is a monstrous raging black hole of a life-sucking ego utterly incapable of ceding power to anyone"--give that boy a gold star for diplomacy!
Just Another Manic Monday: and, it's gonna be a nervous few days for at least a small percentage of the doping saps at the Tour who breathed a sigh of relief watching that twerp Ricco' get busted instead of them, as on Monday the vampires start testing blood samples for CERA whose riders, naturally, had come up clean on the urine tests. Round up the usual suspects, boys--you already know who's left that you wanna fry, so why bother with any pretense of objectivity and test 'em at all?
Emergency!: closer to home, heartfelt wishes for a speedy recovery to TBV over at Landis-source-o'-the'gods trustbutverify, whacked quite hard by some inattentive clueless cyclist-crushin' assclown of a car while on a training ride, hospitalized with a bucket o'fractures and, fortunately, reporting this morning that despite being seriously dented he's gonna be okay. Get well and back on the bike where you belong soon, TBV, and let me know if you need a hand suing that hoser's !@#!
Erik the Hot Pink (and Baby Blue): 12 stages in the Grand Boucle. Valiant 6x green jersey champ. Smoked Milano-Sanremo 4 times. Three badass 2006 & 2007 victories in the Vuelta a Espana, and, even more remarkably, 3 wins this year even as he was kept busy as a humble lead-out for the designated lords of his squad. And only once in 1996, in one of the filthiest, darkest eras of this sewerdwelling spectacular sport, did our boy use EPO to try to get there. Yes, as if Paolo Bettini's horrid retirement weren't enough for one week, indefatigable sprint king Erik Zabel's finally calling it quits. Ergo, in tribute, I humbly mooch the following off someone(s) else:
Sorry folks, I looked for slinkmeister photos of these boys, but neither one of 'em saw fit to pose in a gladiator outfit or for a soft-porn calendar. Thanks for the memories Paolo and Erik!
Young Frankenschleck: yes, as a German newspaper reported 'way back in July (and then linking him with Bjarne "Doping Bad (Except for Me)" Riis on a little field trip to a medical team)Frank Schleck has indeed been nailed by the narcs, this time with the specific allegation that the boy wired a tidy 7,000 euro from a Swiss bank account to Gyno-to-the-Male-Stars Dr. Eufemiano Fuentes. Still and all, a glum Pat "Dick" McQuaid has conceded he's got to let Frank start tomorrow, managing to toss another bitter whining slap to endlessly wily quarry "Piti" Valverde since he can't get who he's actually after at the moment. Leaving aside the fact that at Fuentes' reputed rates 7,000 euro isn't enough to buy you propulsion up a mildly steep driveway much less a freakin' mountaintop, Frank, and as such seems an awfully trivial thing for which to tank your career and bitchin' Tour legacy, and also ignoring my own personal aggravation at my repeat stupidity that someone I admired was apparently on the juice *again*, I could've *told* you not to take financial advice from Jan Ullrich!
Not So Fast, Sucker: so as Armstrong gets ready to jack over we love Levi Leipheimer at the Amgen EPO Tour of California, and even makes some noise about checkin' out the Giro, which I imagine can only be because Contador sez he's not gonna take any crap at the Tour and in which I hope the Italians viciously take him out because he doesn't deserve to even survive a glorious race which he so obviously considers an also-ran, our fine friends at UCI have now stepped in with a big caveat: if Armstrong thinks he's gonna bedazzle the Aussies at the Tour Down Under, he's gonna have to wait to find out, as UCI's now desperately trying to knock him out on a time-limit technicality for participating in pre-race anti-doping protocols. Y'know, Pat "Dick" McQuaid, you *just* managed to make yourselves look slightly less obnoxious by calling detente with the Grand Tours; given that the mainstream sports press is all set to personally cast Lance in bronze and park him on the steps of the Capitol, do you *really* want to look like more of a petty pack of whining toddlers by tormenting him that way? Have some dignity for once, and revel in the impotence that is yours!
Understatement of the Year Award: y'know, as Contador reiterates his readiness to bail should Johan Bruyneel renege on his promise to let baby Contador ride in the front seat at next year's Tour, you gotta give our wee rising-overlord-o'-the-peloton some credit for having a sense of humor, as in pondering the dynamics of a possible (tho' highly unlikely) joint Contador-Armstrong Astana run at the Tour, Alberto surmises, "I don't see him as doing well in the role of domestique." So *that's* how you say "Lance is a monstrous raging black hole of a life-sucking ego utterly incapable of ceding power to anyone"--give that boy a gold star for diplomacy!
Just Another Manic Monday: and, it's gonna be a nervous few days for at least a small percentage of the doping saps at the Tour who breathed a sigh of relief watching that twerp Ricco' get busted instead of them, as on Monday the vampires start testing blood samples for CERA whose riders, naturally, had come up clean on the urine tests. Round up the usual suspects, boys--you already know who's left that you wanna fry, so why bother with any pretense of objectivity and test 'em at all?
Emergency!: closer to home, heartfelt wishes for a speedy recovery to TBV over at Landis-source-o'-the'gods trustbutverify, whacked quite hard by some inattentive clueless cyclist-crushin' assclown of a car while on a training ride, hospitalized with a bucket o'fractures and, fortunately, reporting this morning that despite being seriously dented he's gonna be okay. Get well and back on the bike where you belong soon, TBV, and let me know if you need a hand suing that hoser's !@#!
Erik the Hot Pink (and Baby Blue): 12 stages in the Grand Boucle. Valiant 6x green jersey champ. Smoked Milano-Sanremo 4 times. Three badass 2006 & 2007 victories in the Vuelta a Espana, and, even more remarkably, 3 wins this year even as he was kept busy as a humble lead-out for the designated lords of his squad. And only once in 1996, in one of the filthiest, darkest eras of this sewerdwelling spectacular sport, did our boy use EPO to try to get there. Yes, as if Paolo Bettini's horrid retirement weren't enough for one week, indefatigable sprint king Erik Zabel's finally calling it quits. Ergo, in tribute, I humbly mooch the following off someone(s) else:
Sorry folks, I looked for slinkmeister photos of these boys, but neither one of 'em saw fit to pose in a gladiator outfit or for a soft-porn calendar. Thanks for the memories Paolo and Erik!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
The First Wives' Club
Tried and True: wow, is Johan Bruyneel quite the trendsetter, as he officially ditches his flashy young mistress Contador for his wrinkly ol' bag first wife Armstrong, despite his bull!@#$ promises to his naive protege to the contrary and the fact that Armstrong's value as an actual cyclist is only going to decrease while Alberto's is on the upswing. One might question the wisdom of presiding over the festivities as Lance's ravenous narcissistic adoration cravings train-wreck his sporting legacy, but big points to Johan for loyalty! I wouldn't worry about our pretty new spandex king-o'-the-world too much though--aside from the fact that he's apparently rethinking yesterday's vow to head for the hills if Armstrong tries to muscle in, he'll inevitably move on to even more besotted, deep-pocketed squads, who'll no doubt lavish him with gifts so generous it'll make Tom Boonen's Ferrari collection look like a rustpit full o' Pintos in exchange for the not-overly-onerous duties of establishing himself as a legend in the sport with his next half-dozen Grand Tour wins and only a minimum of tedious love-ins with the sponsor high honchos. If Contador does leave, though, it's hard to imagine who he's going to get to domestique for him next year, after he nastily threw his selfless nursemaid Leipheimer under the team bus by denying that Levi ever helped him win the Vuelta in the first place and--horrors!--charging that Levi might even have won the whole thing in his own right if the time trial had been 20 kilometers longer, the treacherous servant bastard. Damn, Levi, at least if you stick around Astana to be dope-slapped by Lance next season, you only gotta put up with this prima-donna crap for one more year! Can we all just cut the Teen Beat heartthrob !@#$ now on how sweet and dreamy and gentle and generous and fairy-princess rainbow-sparkly Alberto is, and concede that--once-in-a-generation brilliant or not, and he's certainly that--he's clearly been learning a lot more from Lance "the Ego" Armstrong's example than just race tactics of late? Get *out* of there Levi and Klodi, Bruyneel can't pay you enough to deal with *either* of these soul-sucking remoras!
The Fourth Estate: meantime, from CNN to the New York Times, the non-cycling American sports press is simply rapturous over Lance's return, particularly, one imagines, since with the Great American Hero and his Great American Story (and I don't demean either one) to glom on again, they're now utterly free to cover cycling with a guaranteed cash-cow in hand without having to trouble themselves to learn (much less explain) such arcane and inscrutable terms as "sprint," "seat post," and "time trial." Don't let these nits dumb you down, dear newbies (leave that to the rest of us)--there is so much more to know and love even about this tainted filthy debacle of a sport than this one famous socialite-slurpin' camera ho!
Faster Than a Speeding Bullet: finally, in actual race news, the dandy Worlds is underway, with Amber Neben scorching the field in the time trial and Judith Arndt--who I'm presuming, despite the fact that the Italians are apparently favored, is gonna lead the badass German squad to a gold in the road race--snagging the bronze. As for the gentlemen? Dropping like flies before they even get their boarding passes, sadly, as now we love Stuey O'Grady becomes the latest to bail out from fatigue, tho' the Spaniards remain largely intact even without the presence of Sastre to challenge (if fruitlessly) the smashing squadra azzurra. So you got four boys for the price of one to replace Bettini, Lefevere?--enjoy, as (win or lose the podium) your reject gets ready to kick Belgian !@#!
The Fourth Estate: meantime, from CNN to the New York Times, the non-cycling American sports press is simply rapturous over Lance's return, particularly, one imagines, since with the Great American Hero and his Great American Story (and I don't demean either one) to glom on again, they're now utterly free to cover cycling with a guaranteed cash-cow in hand without having to trouble themselves to learn (much less explain) such arcane and inscrutable terms as "sprint," "seat post," and "time trial." Don't let these nits dumb you down, dear newbies (leave that to the rest of us)--there is so much more to know and love even about this tainted filthy debacle of a sport than this one famous socialite-slurpin' camera ho!
Faster Than a Speeding Bullet: finally, in actual race news, the dandy Worlds is underway, with Amber Neben scorching the field in the time trial and Judith Arndt--who I'm presuming, despite the fact that the Italians are apparently favored, is gonna lead the badass German squad to a gold in the road race--snagging the bronze. As for the gentlemen? Dropping like flies before they even get their boarding passes, sadly, as now we love Stuey O'Grady becomes the latest to bail out from fatigue, tho' the Spaniards remain largely intact even without the presence of Sastre to challenge (if fruitlessly) the smashing squadra azzurra. So you got four boys for the price of one to replace Bettini, Lefevere?--enjoy, as (win or lose the podium) your reject gets ready to kick Belgian !@#!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The Tour That Wouldn't Die
It's a New Anti-Doping Protocol, Baby!: so if you thought a *positive* test at the Tour de France was gonna get you in trouble with the narcs, wait'll you see what happens to you when you come up *negative*: yep, in a move that makes even the hypocrite tools at UCI and WADA look good by comparison, the paranoid French conspiracy theorists are gonna naturally assume that means you're a filthy cheating dirt-weasel, unearth a passel of half-forgotten blood samples from the AFLD office beer cooler, and make those incompetent lab chimps at Chatenay-Malabry test that !@#$ til the results come up *right*. Y'know, so long as we're utterly throwing due process, common sense, and objective analysis out the window, let's just cut to the chase, shall we? The only way to truly kill doping in cycling is to rip it out from the roots. Let's arrest Lance and Eddy and Bernard and Miguel, and we'll hang 'em upside down from racks by their ankles and squeeze 'em like toothpaste tubes til we can figure out once and for all what those cheating bastards were winning on. Hell, why don't we just dig up Anquetil? *That* oughta teach 'em to !@#$ with you!
Last Meal My !@#: what's more, according to the new WADA rules just announced, antidoping penalties for the boys and girls in all the races become more "flexible" in 2009, ditching the two-year one-size-fits-all time-out, and allowing for milder penalties for inadvertent or non-performance-enhancing use, and up to four years for such aggravated first-time offenses such systemic doping, multiple product use, and--here's the kicker--"deceptive or obstructing conduct," which I'll damn near guarantee means not only actual lying, but also such heinous defense tactics as demanding a hearing expressly guaranteed by WADA procedural rules or, even worse, protesting one's actual innocence. So don't even think of suggesting that the same testing protocols which have been proven to pop up with an occasional (or more than) false positive didn't work perfectly on you, you worthless dissembling scumsucker--you can ask for your last cigarette if you want to, but we're still gonna shoot you first! Can you imagine what they'd've done to Floyd Landis if he came up poz this coming season instead of when he did? Yeesh...
All About Alberto: yep, on the eve of his historic victory in the noble Vuelta, Contador's really done now with that starry-eyed ingenue bull!@#$, as he tells gazzetta dello sport in no uncertain terms that if Armstrong comes home to big daddy Bruyneel, he's *still* riding the Tour de France for himself alone to win it, so any old-bag interloper who wants it is gonna have get it without him. Boy, Lance, have things changed since you were head Moonie over at PostalDiscovery--even Ivan Basso would've wiped your rump for you if he'd managed to stick around long enough! Needless to say, the press is rapturous (as am I, slimily) over the possibility of such outright warfare, and with Columbia flat-out nixing the idea of Armstrong coming in to boss around his ol' pal Hincapie, looks like Lance is gonna have to pay up hard to steal the few loyal minions still left in the peloton. I *told* you that spun-sugar kid wasn't gonna take any crap if you pushed him!
Cape Fear: so Paolo Bettini's talking Worlds, and this is what he thinks: the Spaniards should be afraid, very afraid, because if he can't take 'em out, he'll make sure Davide Rebellin will. Who's keeping Il Grillo up nights? Mainly, Oscar Freire (as he should be), Valverde's coming in tired but you still can't take your eyes off him, he ain't so impressed with his imminent replacement at Quick Step Schumi, and, while he's pretty sure this isn't the corsa for big Tom Boonen, he just hasn't seen enough of the Schlecks of late to know if they're gonna crush him or not. (It's a pretty bitchin' interview actually in terms of discussing his past career, so if anyone wants more details and is willing to take my craptastic Italian on faith, let me know and I'll happily, if inaccurately, oblige). Y'know, I gotta say I'm caught here on which losing underdog cause to root for--Paolo, so he can dope-slap that bastard Lefevere for jacking him, or Freire, who inevitably loses 3/4 of every season to freak injuries like bowling-ball-sized saddlesores. Oh heck, no one's ever pulled a 3-fer--forza Paolo, and stuff it Quick Step!
Let's Play Dodgeball!: after Euskaltel's brutal humiliation at the Vuelta via poor Igor's embarrassing sunny-day dry-descent crashout, and the horrible defection of Haimar Zubeldia to be Contador *and* Levi *and* Lance *and* for God's sake lowest-rung-on-the-ladder Andreas Kloden's subservient !@#, the team's finally got some good news: Olympic gold medalist (woo-hoo!)/future Vuelta champ Samuel Sanchez *is* gonna stay with the team, as even the flush folks at Cervelo aren't gonna pony up the 900,000 euro to buy him out of the last two years of his contract. Still, those oligarchs over at Tinkoff/Katusha remain perhaps a dark horse, so I ain't gonna believe it til he turns up in team kit next season--please Samu, please, for the sake of all that is pure in this repulsive sport--and I've gotta believe *something* is--stay with the humble but glorious Basques. Aupa Sanchez--can anyone but their fanatic orange army award you so well in sheer adoration?
Viva, Viva, Viagra!: finally, what's the latest word on the war against drugs after Andrea Molletta was unceremoniously yanked by Team Gerolsteiner from this year's Giro after his dad was oddly busted with a bucket o' mystery syringes a freelance DS and a truckload of Viagra tablets, in theory advantageous for their blood-flow-enhancing properties? Well, the peloton studmuffins have both dodged a bullet and gotten some help making up to their significant others in the off-season for all those long, lonely spring-and-summer nights on the road, as thankfully, according to the UCI's medical commission, Viagra doesn't count as doping. Um, anyone else thinking that whatever the actual scientific merits of this finding, the elder statesmen at the antidoping agencies just can't bear the thought of making such a handy substance contraband?
Last Meal My !@#: what's more, according to the new WADA rules just announced, antidoping penalties for the boys and girls in all the races become more "flexible" in 2009, ditching the two-year one-size-fits-all time-out, and allowing for milder penalties for inadvertent or non-performance-enhancing use, and up to four years for such aggravated first-time offenses such systemic doping, multiple product use, and--here's the kicker--"deceptive or obstructing conduct," which I'll damn near guarantee means not only actual lying, but also such heinous defense tactics as demanding a hearing expressly guaranteed by WADA procedural rules or, even worse, protesting one's actual innocence. So don't even think of suggesting that the same testing protocols which have been proven to pop up with an occasional (or more than) false positive didn't work perfectly on you, you worthless dissembling scumsucker--you can ask for your last cigarette if you want to, but we're still gonna shoot you first! Can you imagine what they'd've done to Floyd Landis if he came up poz this coming season instead of when he did? Yeesh...
All About Alberto: yep, on the eve of his historic victory in the noble Vuelta, Contador's really done now with that starry-eyed ingenue bull!@#$, as he tells gazzetta dello sport in no uncertain terms that if Armstrong comes home to big daddy Bruyneel, he's *still* riding the Tour de France for himself alone to win it, so any old-bag interloper who wants it is gonna have get it without him. Boy, Lance, have things changed since you were head Moonie over at PostalDiscovery--even Ivan Basso would've wiped your rump for you if he'd managed to stick around long enough! Needless to say, the press is rapturous (as am I, slimily) over the possibility of such outright warfare, and with Columbia flat-out nixing the idea of Armstrong coming in to boss around his ol' pal Hincapie, looks like Lance is gonna have to pay up hard to steal the few loyal minions still left in the peloton. I *told* you that spun-sugar kid wasn't gonna take any crap if you pushed him!
Cape Fear: so Paolo Bettini's talking Worlds, and this is what he thinks: the Spaniards should be afraid, very afraid, because if he can't take 'em out, he'll make sure Davide Rebellin will. Who's keeping Il Grillo up nights? Mainly, Oscar Freire (as he should be), Valverde's coming in tired but you still can't take your eyes off him, he ain't so impressed with his imminent replacement at Quick Step Schumi, and, while he's pretty sure this isn't the corsa for big Tom Boonen, he just hasn't seen enough of the Schlecks of late to know if they're gonna crush him or not. (It's a pretty bitchin' interview actually in terms of discussing his past career, so if anyone wants more details and is willing to take my craptastic Italian on faith, let me know and I'll happily, if inaccurately, oblige). Y'know, I gotta say I'm caught here on which losing underdog cause to root for--Paolo, so he can dope-slap that bastard Lefevere for jacking him, or Freire, who inevitably loses 3/4 of every season to freak injuries like bowling-ball-sized saddlesores. Oh heck, no one's ever pulled a 3-fer--forza Paolo, and stuff it Quick Step!
Let's Play Dodgeball!: after Euskaltel's brutal humiliation at the Vuelta via poor Igor's embarrassing sunny-day dry-descent crashout, and the horrible defection of Haimar Zubeldia to be Contador *and* Levi *and* Lance *and* for God's sake lowest-rung-on-the-ladder Andreas Kloden's subservient !@#, the team's finally got some good news: Olympic gold medalist (woo-hoo!)/future Vuelta champ Samuel Sanchez *is* gonna stay with the team, as even the flush folks at Cervelo aren't gonna pony up the 900,000 euro to buy him out of the last two years of his contract. Still, those oligarchs over at Tinkoff/Katusha remain perhaps a dark horse, so I ain't gonna believe it til he turns up in team kit next season--please Samu, please, for the sake of all that is pure in this repulsive sport--and I've gotta believe *something* is--stay with the humble but glorious Basques. Aupa Sanchez--can anyone but their fanatic orange army award you so well in sheer adoration?
Viva, Viva, Viagra!: finally, what's the latest word on the war against drugs after Andrea Molletta was unceremoniously yanked by Team Gerolsteiner from this year's Giro after his dad was oddly busted with a bucket o' mystery syringes a freelance DS and a truckload of Viagra tablets, in theory advantageous for their blood-flow-enhancing properties? Well, the peloton studmuffins have both dodged a bullet and gotten some help making up to their significant others in the off-season for all those long, lonely spring-and-summer nights on the road, as thankfully, according to the UCI's medical commission, Viagra doesn't count as doping. Um, anyone else thinking that whatever the actual scientific merits of this finding, the elder statesmen at the antidoping agencies just can't bear the thought of making such a handy substance contraband?
Monday, September 15, 2008
Bang, Bang!/I Am the Warrior
So Who's It Going To Be, Johan?: he's got the face of an angel, the self-effacement of a saint, the gentility of a prince, and the generosity of a good Samaritan. What else has he got? Let's face it, the raw self-centered hunger for victory at any cost of a young you-know-who--and if Johan Bruyneel and Lance "Be My !@#$%, !@#$%" Armstrong don't think that darling child Contador means exactly what it looks like when he thumps his chest like an amped-up chimp and fires his imaginary gun as he crosses the line, they're freakin' nuts. Why in hell would this surging creature want to domestique for yesterday's news? In short, one of 'em's clearly gonna have to switch teams, since Lance in particular can only tolerate total unquestioning servitude from everyone he rides with. So which is it, Johan: is your loyalty to the king you made back then, or the one you're making now? Y'know, Lance'd look awfully pretty in Columbia baby blue...
Of course, either way this turns out, Andreas Kloden and Levi Leipheimer are screwed *again*, though, given that Contador never begrudged anyone a stage win or a split-second's attention from the press, they're probably better off as it stands now--which still, frankly, sucks. But if it's Lance, they'll only be allowed to race for themselves if and when Lance thinks it'll help him at the Tour, and even if they are allowed to ride for themselves at all anytime anywhere ever, Lance (1) is hardly gonna ride for 'em in return or (2) let anyone else on the squad do so if it conflicts with any of Lance's immediate needs. So you want the Giro or the Vuelta boys, or even say the Deutschland Tour, under the new Armstrong regime? If you don't mind your team car being staffed solely by a waterboy, your massages done by a mechanic with a wooden mallet, and your support riders being a middle-school development squad, have at! Oh, poor little Klodi...
Rosy-Pink Floyd: in happier (or crappier, depending on how you feel about him; I profess the former) news, trustbutverify's boy Floyd Landis--who still owes them a wallowing obeisance of gratitude and a good half of his Floyd Fairness Fund stash for their indefatigable efforts on his behalf--confirms he's going to be back racing next year, aiming at the Amgen EPO Tour of California, so I guess it's time to book tix now. Allez Floyd!
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: so the verdict's in for 2005 Tour (and 2001 Giro--damn, they should just prosecute this guy for stupidity) doper Dario Frigo, last busted for a wad of EPO found in his wife's car, and it's six months in the clink suspended plus a hefty fine if he holds it together and doesn't do anything else moronic, though having been long since ignominiously ejected from the peloton I imagine he doesn't exactly need to stoke up for a meandering Sunday ride with the bambini. Then again, no doubt those tots can really put on the pressure...
A Gentle Plea to Cycling.tv: okay, as a no-coverage hellbound American, I admit I'm abjectly grateful to be permitted to pay cycling.tv out the hoo-ha for the pathetic privilege of receiving two-inch-square streaming web coverage of my grossly underrated Vuelta, particularly when all I'm catching on Vs.' "Cyclysm Sundays" is twelve straight hours of Bambi-shootin' and about 10 minutes of old-news national championship bike racing, but jeez, for what I'm payin', *must* there be such an egregious delay in posting any given day's "As Live" footage when it's inevitable one's gonna hear the stage results before the entire three week race is over? I mean, this ain't the Superbowl in this country--it's not like my lame boss'll let me watch 5 hours of live coverage while I'm on the clock! Please, please, dear cycling.tv, put my money where your mouth is...after all, don't I get points for asking you so nicely (if primarily because you hold my Vuelta-lovin' fate in your hands) *and* promoting you so relentlessly to both my faithful readers?
Paolo Bettini Contract Watch: nothin'. Dammit! But I think anonymous is right on Cervelo'. Hell, they must've ponied up some pretty serious dough for the reigning Tour de France champ and a solid sprinter/prologuer/green jersey winner like Thor Hushovd--surely they can find a few (million) extra euros for the giant hole in their squad where a Classics/Grand Tour stage winner/world champ oughta be, right? You better not have blown the budget stealing Samuel Sanchez from my Euskaltel you twits!
The British Invasion: finally, congrats to our beloved (if slightly delusional as to his hero) Shameless St. Millar Defender for his countryman Mark Cavendish's completely stomping the US-heavy field at our own Toura Missoura for 3 mortifying stages. If the American Revolution had been fought out on the roads on bikes right now, we'd clearly all be Brits, I must concede!
Of course, either way this turns out, Andreas Kloden and Levi Leipheimer are screwed *again*, though, given that Contador never begrudged anyone a stage win or a split-second's attention from the press, they're probably better off as it stands now--which still, frankly, sucks. But if it's Lance, they'll only be allowed to race for themselves if and when Lance thinks it'll help him at the Tour, and even if they are allowed to ride for themselves at all anytime anywhere ever, Lance (1) is hardly gonna ride for 'em in return or (2) let anyone else on the squad do so if it conflicts with any of Lance's immediate needs. So you want the Giro or the Vuelta boys, or even say the Deutschland Tour, under the new Armstrong regime? If you don't mind your team car being staffed solely by a waterboy, your massages done by a mechanic with a wooden mallet, and your support riders being a middle-school development squad, have at! Oh, poor little Klodi...
Rosy-Pink Floyd: in happier (or crappier, depending on how you feel about him; I profess the former) news, trustbutverify's boy Floyd Landis--who still owes them a wallowing obeisance of gratitude and a good half of his Floyd Fairness Fund stash for their indefatigable efforts on his behalf--confirms he's going to be back racing next year, aiming at the Amgen EPO Tour of California, so I guess it's time to book tix now. Allez Floyd!
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: so the verdict's in for 2005 Tour (and 2001 Giro--damn, they should just prosecute this guy for stupidity) doper Dario Frigo, last busted for a wad of EPO found in his wife's car, and it's six months in the clink suspended plus a hefty fine if he holds it together and doesn't do anything else moronic, though having been long since ignominiously ejected from the peloton I imagine he doesn't exactly need to stoke up for a meandering Sunday ride with the bambini. Then again, no doubt those tots can really put on the pressure...
A Gentle Plea to Cycling.tv: okay, as a no-coverage hellbound American, I admit I'm abjectly grateful to be permitted to pay cycling.tv out the hoo-ha for the pathetic privilege of receiving two-inch-square streaming web coverage of my grossly underrated Vuelta, particularly when all I'm catching on Vs.' "Cyclysm Sundays" is twelve straight hours of Bambi-shootin' and about 10 minutes of old-news national championship bike racing, but jeez, for what I'm payin', *must* there be such an egregious delay in posting any given day's "As Live" footage when it's inevitable one's gonna hear the stage results before the entire three week race is over? I mean, this ain't the Superbowl in this country--it's not like my lame boss'll let me watch 5 hours of live coverage while I'm on the clock! Please, please, dear cycling.tv, put my money where your mouth is...after all, don't I get points for asking you so nicely (if primarily because you hold my Vuelta-lovin' fate in your hands) *and* promoting you so relentlessly to both my faithful readers?
Paolo Bettini Contract Watch: nothin'. Dammit! But I think anonymous is right on Cervelo'. Hell, they must've ponied up some pretty serious dough for the reigning Tour de France champ and a solid sprinter/prologuer/green jersey winner like Thor Hushovd--surely they can find a few (million) extra euros for the giant hole in their squad where a Classics/Grand Tour stage winner/world champ oughta be, right? You better not have blown the budget stealing Samuel Sanchez from my Euskaltel you twits!
The British Invasion: finally, congrats to our beloved (if slightly delusional as to his hero) Shameless St. Millar Defender for his countryman Mark Cavendish's completely stomping the US-heavy field at our own Toura Missoura for 3 mortifying stages. If the American Revolution had been fought out on the roads on bikes right now, we'd clearly all be Brits, I must concede!
Friday, September 12, 2008
What the Hell Are You Thinking, Quick Step?
Stick a Fork in 'Im, He's Done: multiple road champ of Italy. 2-time winner of the venerable Liege-Bastogne-Liege. Former Olympic gold medalist (woo-hoo, Samu!). One of the most beloved--and rightfully so--riders in the peloton. More Grand Tour stages than anyone can count, and world road champ the last two years running. And now Bettini's such a decrepit over-the-hill yesterday's-news money-sucking drain that Patrick "30 YEARS OF DOPING" Lefevere has tossed his tiny !@# out in the street in favor of the (very fine, but much cheaper) Schumi so late in the damn season there's barely any place for a boy with his wholly justifiable price tag to go? I call bull!@#$ Lefevere! So he suffered under the Curse of the Rainbow Jersey the first half of the year? Big deal, you baby! After all, it's not like you couldn't find money in the budget for Tom Boonen's Ferrari-and-blow habit when--even aside from snorting his way out of the Tour de France like an idiot--he's been getting his butt kicked all season by Mark Cavendish, so WTF Quick Step? Needless to say, the Bettini tifosi contingent over at gazzetta dello sport is going absolutely wingnut over the vicious diss to their hero, encouraging Paolo to take the anger he openly claims and channel it into crushing the Belgians in Varese, and while we're at it, Alejandro Valverde is a cheating skank (no, it's not relevant to the discussion; but what's a discussion about cycling without insulting the Spaniards?). Hire back Bettini Lefevere, and pay that boy what's he's worth you low-rent cheapskate!
A Fine French Whine: meantime, the reaction to the Armstrong comeback continues to roll in, with the French--having thought they were done being roundly humiliated by foreigners at the Tour only to have an American (yeah, you heard me) and two Spaniards take it the next 3 years in a row--predictably ratcheting into full crybaby mode with the at least polite exception of a surprised but gentlemanly Bernard Hinault. Yes, as Marc Madiot mentioned, Lance'll totally jack his own legacy if he loses the 2009 Tour--and the French would object to his embarrassment why exactly? Embrace your fears, France--it's not like one of your boys is gonna be in the maillot jaune in Paris anytime soon anyway!
A Knee In the She-Nuts: speaking of tiresome publicity-ho whatsisface, his return has led to speculation about who else may be on the way back, with Michael Boogerd pondering, Jan Ullrich denying, and, toughest of all, we-love-and-sorely-miss-and-so-what-if-he-was-on-Liberty-Seguros-you-soulless-miserable-cynics Joseba Beloki still deeply lamenting his absence from his beloved peloton training faithfully and wishing fruitlessly for even a domestique-level comeback at a halfway passable squad. You *suck*, Saiz, you slime-dwelling career-tanking Heras-pimping weasel!
Arf!: yep, as the peloton enjoys the last few hours of its rest day before its near-vertical hike up the terrible Angliru, one fact stands out: Alejandro Valverde, for some cause surely completely unrelated to the post-'06 lack of access to drug-stuffed blood bags with his dog's name plastered on 'em for no reason, is gonna blow his Next Great Grand Tour Winner hype for about the fifth year running. Sure, Astana and Euskaltel (look who's in the maillot d'oro--right on Euskaltel!) were more'n happy to pile on the hurt when you gave 'em the chance Thursday, but you couldn't've sent some Caisse d'Epargne minion back for your freakin' raincoat instead?--what the tactical !@#$, Valverde, you're not some stupid kid! Which still won't give you the legs you need on Saturday if tactics ain't your only problem...
Update: I stand corrected and duly chastened on Valverde, who rode bravely and exceedingly well today. You still ain't gonna take the Vuelta, but you *are* a great one-day rider, Alejandro, however any of us may think you get there--take your place with peace in your heart already!
Sink or Swim: I see that testosterone poz/rat-fink Patrik Sinkewitz, off easy on his own drug bust for tattling on his T-Mobile teammates for systemic university-clinic blood-doping during the '06 Tour de France--not that those allegations actually kept any of 'em out of the peloton the last 2 years, so a hell of a lot of good that did--is ready to return to his rightful place in the still-filthy field, reportedly in talks with a couple of ProContinental and even a ProTour squad. I don't know Patrik--it's gettin' on in the season and Liquigas has already snagged ludicrous anti-doping poster boy Ivan Basso, St. David Millar's found himself a secure nest, god knows Rock Racing can't fit any more dopers'n it already has, you've also got Bjorn "Love Machine" Leukemans coming off his ban and looking for work..you better start kissing babies for charity, pronto!
Basta Already!: finally, in a sign of just how far the grossly underpaid women's peloton has come in meeting the disgustingly low standards of its male counterpart, the antidoping narcs are recommending a two-year ban for reigning (if about to be ex-) world road champ Marta Bastianelli, nailed for taking banned weight-loss drugs though not, she claims, in an effort to enhance her performance. Right, because it's far more important to a cyclist to look hot in her bikini than to get down to a fighting weight to improve her chances of winning...will this gross farce of a sport *never* clean up its act?
A Fine French Whine: meantime, the reaction to the Armstrong comeback continues to roll in, with the French--having thought they were done being roundly humiliated by foreigners at the Tour only to have an American (yeah, you heard me) and two Spaniards take it the next 3 years in a row--predictably ratcheting into full crybaby mode with the at least polite exception of a surprised but gentlemanly Bernard Hinault. Yes, as Marc Madiot mentioned, Lance'll totally jack his own legacy if he loses the 2009 Tour--and the French would object to his embarrassment why exactly? Embrace your fears, France--it's not like one of your boys is gonna be in the maillot jaune in Paris anytime soon anyway!
A Knee In the She-Nuts: speaking of tiresome publicity-ho whatsisface, his return has led to speculation about who else may be on the way back, with Michael Boogerd pondering, Jan Ullrich denying, and, toughest of all, we-love-and-sorely-miss-and-so-what-if-he-was-on-Liberty-Seguros-you-soulless-miserable-cynics Joseba Beloki still deeply lamenting his absence from his beloved peloton training faithfully and wishing fruitlessly for even a domestique-level comeback at a halfway passable squad. You *suck*, Saiz, you slime-dwelling career-tanking Heras-pimping weasel!
Arf!: yep, as the peloton enjoys the last few hours of its rest day before its near-vertical hike up the terrible Angliru, one fact stands out: Alejandro Valverde, for some cause surely completely unrelated to the post-'06 lack of access to drug-stuffed blood bags with his dog's name plastered on 'em for no reason, is gonna blow his Next Great Grand Tour Winner hype for about the fifth year running. Sure, Astana and Euskaltel (look who's in the maillot d'oro--right on Euskaltel!) were more'n happy to pile on the hurt when you gave 'em the chance Thursday, but you couldn't've sent some Caisse d'Epargne minion back for your freakin' raincoat instead?--what the tactical !@#$, Valverde, you're not some stupid kid! Which still won't give you the legs you need on Saturday if tactics ain't your only problem...
Update: I stand corrected and duly chastened on Valverde, who rode bravely and exceedingly well today. You still ain't gonna take the Vuelta, but you *are* a great one-day rider, Alejandro, however any of us may think you get there--take your place with peace in your heart already!
Sink or Swim: I see that testosterone poz/rat-fink Patrik Sinkewitz, off easy on his own drug bust for tattling on his T-Mobile teammates for systemic university-clinic blood-doping during the '06 Tour de France--not that those allegations actually kept any of 'em out of the peloton the last 2 years, so a hell of a lot of good that did--is ready to return to his rightful place in the still-filthy field, reportedly in talks with a couple of ProContinental and even a ProTour squad. I don't know Patrik--it's gettin' on in the season and Liquigas has already snagged ludicrous anti-doping poster boy Ivan Basso, St. David Millar's found himself a secure nest, god knows Rock Racing can't fit any more dopers'n it already has, you've also got Bjorn "Love Machine" Leukemans coming off his ban and looking for work..you better start kissing babies for charity, pronto!
Basta Already!: finally, in a sign of just how far the grossly underpaid women's peloton has come in meeting the disgustingly low standards of its male counterpart, the antidoping narcs are recommending a two-year ban for reigning (if about to be ex-) world road champ Marta Bastianelli, nailed for taking banned weight-loss drugs though not, she claims, in an effort to enhance her performance. Right, because it's far more important to a cyclist to look hot in her bikini than to get down to a fighting weight to improve her chances of winning...will this gross farce of a sport *never* clean up its act?
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Trouble in Paradise
I'm Not Your !@#$%^, !@#$%!: so, Lance, think charmingly self-deprecating angel Alberto Contador--best known for professing no professional ambitions whatsoever for the Giro then totally coincidentally showing up on a dime in full pink team kit mani-pedi underwear lip gloss and handpainted bike the actual clinical second he snagged the maglia rosa--is still ready to welcome you to Team Astana with open arms now that the rumors are done and you really are back for the Tour in 2009? Well, think again pal, because Contador's already gone from a joyous unconditional welcome, to the thoughtful desire to "reflect on everything once we have time to study all the facts in detail," to a testy "if I go to the Tour next year it's to win, what problem would we have?" Y'know, not to speculate here, but it seems to me the "problem" is that Lance is a raging self-involved egomaniac hypercompetitive control freak with a total inability to tolerate not being the center of the universe for a nanosecond--and yap, yap, I know he's sincere about the cancer stuff, but like he couldn't've gotten even more publicity for the cause going for eight straight before taking three years off to play tonsil hockey with an endless string of nubile starlets for the paparazzi's delectation?--and Alberto is a baby savant star-ascendant who, despite being sweet and cuddly as a My Little Pony, apparently has the unspoken desire to throw your aged carcass and its old-news legacy off a cliff and take over the Tour and (unlike you) every other race he can find 'til he's bodily restrained from doing so. Lookin' forward to next July's Celebrity Death Match, gentlemen!
The Sounds of Silence: so who's *not* talking, amidst the clamor of ex-teammates, DSes, cooing anti-doping honchos and, for heck's sake, even the French welcoming him back (if only in the futile furtive hope he'll finally test positive)? Yep, Levi Leipheimer and Andreas Kloden, whose personal websites are fully updated with the latest news that...well, Levi was really happy to be in the maglia d'oro a few days back, and Klodi, though cheerful, is pretty darn tired. Damn, have you boys no spine? I *told* you during the Basso and Contador debacles to stay away from that treacherous pimp Bruyneel if you didn't want to end up being some dirt-low water-carrying chamois-scrubbing donkey for his latest anointed golden god!
So Close, Cadel, But Yet So Far: meanwhile, this could not have come at a worse time for sober steady Aussie Cadel Evans, who finally got some help in the mountains with the surprisingly formidable Bernhard Kohl, only to be preemptively smacked around by not only the return of St. Ivan of Varese at Liquigas but now by that darned Armstrong as well. Things are looking up, though, for we love Carlos Sastre, whose new gig's oomph quotient has been significantly stoked by the arrival of we equally love the ever-underrated prologue king Thor Hushovd. Okay, we've got the boy from Credit Agricole a job--now let's hire him a good solid lead-out!
Back in Black: finally, many thanks to the fine folks over at trustbutverify for announcing the likely post-ban return of kangaroo-courted lab-chimp victim Floyd Landis with American squad HealthNet Maxxis, while, if not quite his old gig at Phonak, sure gives us broke-!@# US-bound saps a chance to see some riders worth watching. Now somebody hire Iban Mayo, dammit!
The Sounds of Silence: so who's *not* talking, amidst the clamor of ex-teammates, DSes, cooing anti-doping honchos and, for heck's sake, even the French welcoming him back (if only in the futile furtive hope he'll finally test positive)? Yep, Levi Leipheimer and Andreas Kloden, whose personal websites are fully updated with the latest news that...well, Levi was really happy to be in the maglia d'oro a few days back, and Klodi, though cheerful, is pretty darn tired. Damn, have you boys no spine? I *told* you during the Basso and Contador debacles to stay away from that treacherous pimp Bruyneel if you didn't want to end up being some dirt-low water-carrying chamois-scrubbing donkey for his latest anointed golden god!
So Close, Cadel, But Yet So Far: meanwhile, this could not have come at a worse time for sober steady Aussie Cadel Evans, who finally got some help in the mountains with the surprisingly formidable Bernhard Kohl, only to be preemptively smacked around by not only the return of St. Ivan of Varese at Liquigas but now by that darned Armstrong as well. Things are looking up, though, for we love Carlos Sastre, whose new gig's oomph quotient has been significantly stoked by the arrival of we equally love the ever-underrated prologue king Thor Hushovd. Okay, we've got the boy from Credit Agricole a job--now let's hire him a good solid lead-out!
Back in Black: finally, many thanks to the fine folks over at trustbutverify for announcing the likely post-ban return of kangaroo-courted lab-chimp victim Floyd Landis with American squad HealthNet Maxxis, while, if not quite his old gig at Phonak, sure gives us broke-!@# US-bound saps a chance to see some riders worth watching. Now somebody hire Iban Mayo, dammit!
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Yep, He's Back All Right
"I Want an Eighth Tour": yes folks, it's official, Lance is back in 2009 to ride the Tour and thereby take the fight against cancer to a global level and, totally coincidentally I'm sure, stuff his monstrous bottomless appetite for adulation with an unprecedented blitz of fawning press coverage, adoring retrospectives, and assorted swooning starlets'n'socialites. And while he won't yet announce what team it's with, can there be any real doubt where the Cult of Personality is gonna reign and Levi (as annie so rightly points out), Klodi, and I assume even little protege Alberto Contador are completely !@##ed? Hope you're enjoying your Vuelta, Alberto--ya ain't gonna be allowed to see the top of the podium at next year's Tour!
Y'know, he's the greatest Tour rider ever, yap, yap, yap (no doubt in part because, unlike, say, Hinault and Indurain, he basically never trained for anything else.) And he's truly got an compellingly inspirational story of triumph over adversity, yap, yap, yap. And if he really decides he wants to win the Tour, I suppose he will, yap. But let's be honest here--if we're gonna raise the dead in this sport, wouldn't it just plain be a *lot* more fun to bring back the irresistible careening Ecstasy-scarfing donut-downing IV-lovin' car-wreck that is the incomparable Jan Ullrich?
Y'know, he's the greatest Tour rider ever, yap, yap, yap (no doubt in part because, unlike, say, Hinault and Indurain, he basically never trained for anything else.) And he's truly got an compellingly inspirational story of triumph over adversity, yap, yap, yap. And if he really decides he wants to win the Tour, I suppose he will, yap. But let's be honest here--if we're gonna raise the dead in this sport, wouldn't it just plain be a *lot* more fun to bring back the irresistible careening Ecstasy-scarfing donut-downing IV-lovin' car-wreck that is the incomparable Jan Ullrich?
Monday, September 08, 2008
Nooooooooooooooo!
Thanks for !@#$ing Julich Out of the Last Two Tours, Bjarne!: so as my adopted hometown collectively croaks over the totally unimportant season-ending knee injury of some supermodel-sucking GQ prettyboy pigskin jock, comes yet another reason to hate Bjarne Riis besides his complete whining farewell diss of Carlos Sastre: yep, we love Bobby Julich, who's been relentlessly relegated to meaningless monkeydom by our drug-snarfing lord of CSC the last two seasons, has decided to retire, citing a "lack of motivation" to compete at the top levels of the sport anymore. Ya think kneeing Bobby in the works after years of faithful service and smashing results and shoving him into such prestigious races as the Tour of !@#$$%$#$, Iowa has anything to do with it Bjarne? Of course, Julich, having class, speaks warmly of his years at CSC and his continued desire to continue in a management capacity with the squad, but fortunately I, lacking any, can stick by my assertion that it's entirely the fault of that blustering Napoleon-complex DS of Doom. Dammit!
All Right, Spit It Out, Who Wants 'Im Back?: speaking of directeurs sportif on my loathe list, the ever-hungry Narcissus that is Lance Armstrong has apparently decided to return to the road and his old haunt PostalAstanaDiscovery in 2009, defiling such beautiful races as Paris-Nice, the Dauphine, and even--and I can't imagine why he'd want to bother with this one unless he's certain he can wear the maillot jaune with cameras blazing at the end of the road in Paris--the Tour de France. Lance, you were a marvel to watch, if equally a marvel of naked, wholly self-centered ambition. And to be fair (for once), you make a wonderful legend, and a genuinely impressive marathoner to boot. But are you really gonna act like a spin at any of these races, while the real players that year get shoved aside like manure at a racetrack, is anything but an excuse to stuff your voracious ego?
Man. Can poor Andreas Kloden *get* any more jacked?
Alejandro Valverde is Toast: so watching Perpetual Next Tour de France Winner "Piti" Valverde latch onto Contador's wheel like a leech yesterday--to the protests of Alberto that he didn't share the work and Valverde's cowed response that he hadn't the legs to--one conclusion is inescapable: Valverde's just plain hosed. There's simply no way Contador--even playing the high passes conservatively as he did in the Giro--isn't gonna drop him like a Fuentes blood bag when the race turns to the really steep stuff at the end of the week. Look, no matter what he is or has been stoked on, Valverde, great as he is, is just not this generation's Lance. Can we cut the hype already, give credit where credit *is* due, and just let him learn to content himself with being a fearsome Classics and one-day Grand Tour stage rival?
Eat Our Dust Caisse d'Epargne!: that's right baby, the orange army is back, with someone completely inconsequential taking the stage win at the Vuelta today but, more importantly, Euskaltel-Euskadi's Egoi Martinez taking the gold leader's jersey. Aupa Egoi--and it's only a matter of time before the squad leaves the rest of the climbers in the dust in the Basque country!
Tremors: speaking of misclassified Classics men, salacious rumors are circulating over at gazzetta dello sport (well, one guy's saying it) that Damiano Cunego, having abandoned his own Giro to bonk in two consecutive Grand Tours, may be bailing from (or ditched by) Lampre to head over to, of all filthy squads, the IV-jabbing Bjarne's CSC, leading to the gorgeous irony of the Italians slagging anyone else (with the possible exception of the even worse Spaniards) for their dirty doping lack of ethics. Apropos of nothing, meantime, a returned and refreshed Alessandro Petacchi, "liberated" from his demons at LPR, has taken his first sprint of the Tour of Great Britain, even without the immortal Zabel one-man leadout train, while, unsurprisingly, Cavendish has already smacked around the field at the Toura Missoura. There, Shameless, don't you feel a bit better now?
Finally, to dilute my venom and peacefully recall the fabulousness that was Bobby Julich's road career, I tried to find some video of him winning Paris-Nice, but that being impossible in the lame footage available, I did manage to locate about a minute and thirty seconds' worth of the endless-loop punk-!@# cheap-shot replay of Jeroen Blijleven, having just woofed a sprint, taking issue with our hero like it was his fault:
Thanks anyway Bobby for so many great years!
All Right, Spit It Out, Who Wants 'Im Back?: speaking of directeurs sportif on my loathe list, the ever-hungry Narcissus that is Lance Armstrong has apparently decided to return to the road and his old haunt PostalAstanaDiscovery in 2009, defiling such beautiful races as Paris-Nice, the Dauphine, and even--and I can't imagine why he'd want to bother with this one unless he's certain he can wear the maillot jaune with cameras blazing at the end of the road in Paris--the Tour de France. Lance, you were a marvel to watch, if equally a marvel of naked, wholly self-centered ambition. And to be fair (for once), you make a wonderful legend, and a genuinely impressive marathoner to boot. But are you really gonna act like a spin at any of these races, while the real players that year get shoved aside like manure at a racetrack, is anything but an excuse to stuff your voracious ego?
Man. Can poor Andreas Kloden *get* any more jacked?
Alejandro Valverde is Toast: so watching Perpetual Next Tour de France Winner "Piti" Valverde latch onto Contador's wheel like a leech yesterday--to the protests of Alberto that he didn't share the work and Valverde's cowed response that he hadn't the legs to--one conclusion is inescapable: Valverde's just plain hosed. There's simply no way Contador--even playing the high passes conservatively as he did in the Giro--isn't gonna drop him like a Fuentes blood bag when the race turns to the really steep stuff at the end of the week. Look, no matter what he is or has been stoked on, Valverde, great as he is, is just not this generation's Lance. Can we cut the hype already, give credit where credit *is* due, and just let him learn to content himself with being a fearsome Classics and one-day Grand Tour stage rival?
Eat Our Dust Caisse d'Epargne!: that's right baby, the orange army is back, with someone completely inconsequential taking the stage win at the Vuelta today but, more importantly, Euskaltel-Euskadi's Egoi Martinez taking the gold leader's jersey. Aupa Egoi--and it's only a matter of time before the squad leaves the rest of the climbers in the dust in the Basque country!
Tremors: speaking of misclassified Classics men, salacious rumors are circulating over at gazzetta dello sport (well, one guy's saying it) that Damiano Cunego, having abandoned his own Giro to bonk in two consecutive Grand Tours, may be bailing from (or ditched by) Lampre to head over to, of all filthy squads, the IV-jabbing Bjarne's CSC, leading to the gorgeous irony of the Italians slagging anyone else (with the possible exception of the even worse Spaniards) for their dirty doping lack of ethics. Apropos of nothing, meantime, a returned and refreshed Alessandro Petacchi, "liberated" from his demons at LPR, has taken his first sprint of the Tour of Great Britain, even without the immortal Zabel one-man leadout train, while, unsurprisingly, Cavendish has already smacked around the field at the Toura Missoura. There, Shameless, don't you feel a bit better now?
Finally, to dilute my venom and peacefully recall the fabulousness that was Bobby Julich's road career, I tried to find some video of him winning Paris-Nice, but that being impossible in the lame footage available, I did manage to locate about a minute and thirty seconds' worth of the endless-loop punk-!@# cheap-shot replay of Jeroen Blijleven, having just woofed a sprint, taking issue with our hero like it was his fault:
Thanks anyway Bobby for so many great years!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
It's the Mountains, Baby!
Supa Dupa Fly/I Can't Stand The Rain: sure, it was freezing pouring and zip for visibility in today's queen stage of the Vuelta, but happily for us at home it only gets nastier from here, as tomorrow the boys grind up four leg-mangling climbs including the highest point in the race at Puerto de la Bonaigua and the legendary Pla de Beret, and, after a workweek of nerve-wracking anticipation, next Saturday's fearsome Angliru. If the frustratingly erratic Valverde thought today was a bad 'un (and don't give me that crap that he doesn't want the podium), he better hold it halfway together tomorrow--the bike gloves are gonna come off now baby, so aupa Euskaltel-Euskadi!
Go Gently Into That Good 2009 Tour: so with Carlos Sastre having formally announced his new gig with Team Cervelo to the envy of a hundred thousand gearheads going nuts these guys are building a team basically to conduct test-runs of their nifty new components, Bjarne Riis, who last week came out swinging at the decaying old bag, has apparently decided to be civilized, complimenting Carlos on his great achievements and wishing him and his fellow defecting DS well, particularly, one imagines, since Cervelo's gonna have to come up with some serious dough if it hopes to get Sastre enough backup not to be completely Cadel Evansed compared to CSC next season. Okay, Bjarne, you've got some fine prospects for next year, just try not to be an !@#$!@#$ to the Schlecks...
Tour de Where?: okay, I pettily ignored the noble Tour of Germany once it became obvious we love Jens wasn't gonna take it (and also out of annoyance that perpetually-jacked Andreas Kloden was too preoccupied completely woofing at the Vuelta to be there) but there is some pretty sweet stuff even beyond the far superior Vuelta to keep an eye on: the Tour of Great Britain and the Toura Missoura start this week, and to the Brits' loss and our gain as Shameless St. Millar Defender kindly pointed out, Mark Cavendish (recently tagged by none other than Mario "the Chest" Cipollini as the new him) is gonna be burning up the tarmac on our side of the pond along with Mick Rogers Hincapie Van de Velde and Zabriskie, as LPR's Alessandro "Wheezy" Petacchi and Danilo "Hey, At Least My Dope Doc's Not a Freakin' Gynecologist" DiLuca (but not next year's Tour de France's mountains king Mauricio Soler, just !@#$%$ by bureaucratic snafu) take to the roads over on the other. Go big George--after all, it might be some comfort to Lance for losing at Leadville if his ol' lieutenant takes another one!
Big Wheel Keep on Turnin'/Proud Ricco' Keep on Burnin': so after seemingly being told by a wily publicist that being a complete crybaby twerp isn't good for either the ol' rep or the ol' post-ban bank account, Riccardo Ricco's of all people's been engaging in some pretty intensive image rehab, and while he just can't be as pretty as Ivan Basso unfortunately, he's not only learned to profess his gratitude for the support of his many fans and his ardent desire to prove himself dope-free and worthy again one day, the boy's even got himself a new day job: yep, he's teaching a spinning class. Now *his* class' energy drinks oughta be something worth imbibing!
I Spy: more on-line coverage of the Vuelta, as the Italian tifosi go into riot mode over the fact that they've now not been able to see any of the Italian triumphs on their own TV sets, and someone handily posts this link on gazzetta in response: try rojadirecta.org, and though I didn't bother to try downloading it, click on "English help" on the top right of the screen for instructions and on the date at the bottom of the screen for the schedule. Good luck, and Jesus H. Christ Vs., can we not be bothered to run an hour a week of this smashing race in between the scintillating bloated-beer-swillers-waiting-for-a-bass-to-bite coverage you're subjecting me to?
Tribute to Il Falco: finally, as quiet two-time Lord of the Giro Paolo Savoldelli hangs it up, I bring you--instead of, you'll be relieved to learn, the photographic homage I was gonna post because of its bitchin' Duran Duran soundtrack--a goodbye showing Il Falco doing what Il Falco does best, slaughtering the field on an ugly descent even as he shepherds that laggard Di Luca along:
Mille grazie Paolo--so what if you never posed in your satin netherwear and press-pimped yourself like the sprinters?--you'll be missed!
Go Gently Into That Good 2009 Tour: so with Carlos Sastre having formally announced his new gig with Team Cervelo to the envy of a hundred thousand gearheads going nuts these guys are building a team basically to conduct test-runs of their nifty new components, Bjarne Riis, who last week came out swinging at the decaying old bag, has apparently decided to be civilized, complimenting Carlos on his great achievements and wishing him and his fellow defecting DS well, particularly, one imagines, since Cervelo's gonna have to come up with some serious dough if it hopes to get Sastre enough backup not to be completely Cadel Evansed compared to CSC next season. Okay, Bjarne, you've got some fine prospects for next year, just try not to be an !@#$!@#$ to the Schlecks...
Tour de Where?: okay, I pettily ignored the noble Tour of Germany once it became obvious we love Jens wasn't gonna take it (and also out of annoyance that perpetually-jacked Andreas Kloden was too preoccupied completely woofing at the Vuelta to be there) but there is some pretty sweet stuff even beyond the far superior Vuelta to keep an eye on: the Tour of Great Britain and the Toura Missoura start this week, and to the Brits' loss and our gain as Shameless St. Millar Defender kindly pointed out, Mark Cavendish (recently tagged by none other than Mario "the Chest" Cipollini as the new him) is gonna be burning up the tarmac on our side of the pond along with Mick Rogers Hincapie Van de Velde and Zabriskie, as LPR's Alessandro "Wheezy" Petacchi and Danilo "Hey, At Least My Dope Doc's Not a Freakin' Gynecologist" DiLuca (but not next year's Tour de France's mountains king Mauricio Soler, just !@#$%$ by bureaucratic snafu) take to the roads over on the other. Go big George--after all, it might be some comfort to Lance for losing at Leadville if his ol' lieutenant takes another one!
Big Wheel Keep on Turnin'/Proud Ricco' Keep on Burnin': so after seemingly being told by a wily publicist that being a complete crybaby twerp isn't good for either the ol' rep or the ol' post-ban bank account, Riccardo Ricco's of all people's been engaging in some pretty intensive image rehab, and while he just can't be as pretty as Ivan Basso unfortunately, he's not only learned to profess his gratitude for the support of his many fans and his ardent desire to prove himself dope-free and worthy again one day, the boy's even got himself a new day job: yep, he's teaching a spinning class. Now *his* class' energy drinks oughta be something worth imbibing!
I Spy: more on-line coverage of the Vuelta, as the Italian tifosi go into riot mode over the fact that they've now not been able to see any of the Italian triumphs on their own TV sets, and someone handily posts this link on gazzetta in response: try rojadirecta.org, and though I didn't bother to try downloading it, click on "English help" on the top right of the screen for instructions and on the date at the bottom of the screen for the schedule. Good luck, and Jesus H. Christ Vs., can we not be bothered to run an hour a week of this smashing race in between the scintillating bloated-beer-swillers-waiting-for-a-bass-to-bite coverage you're subjecting me to?
Tribute to Il Falco: finally, as quiet two-time Lord of the Giro Paolo Savoldelli hangs it up, I bring you--instead of, you'll be relieved to learn, the photographic homage I was gonna post because of its bitchin' Duran Duran soundtrack--a goodbye showing Il Falco doing what Il Falco does best, slaughtering the field on an ugly descent even as he shepherds that laggard Di Luca along:
Mille grazie Paolo--so what if you never posed in your satin netherwear and press-pimped yourself like the sprinters?--you'll be missed!
Monday, September 01, 2008
*Now* What're They Gonna Do With Him?
We Are the Champions: so after a crappy season, Dave Zabriskie's finally back on form and takes the US national time trial championship again, but for my money, with Levi bagging the defense of his title in favor of settling for being Contador's high-end minion, the more interesting win is that of Tyler "I Ate My Twin" (and "I Still Owe Racejunkie 15 Bucks for Her Defacing Her Tyler Hamilton Foundation Hat Pointlessly Defending My Innocence", while we're at it) Hamilton, our new national road race champ. So there he oughta be all next season, enjoying the fruits of his labors and his spiffy red-white-and-blue stripes in the European peloton along with the other lords-o'-their-nations at the Grand Tours and the classics, and what's he got instead? Well, besides the Tour of Great Britain, which miraculously he's being allowed to race, a bunch of race organizers that won't touch him *or* his ex-doper teammates *or* his egomaniacal master Michael Ball for any money, and just a really, really fashionable team kit for a consolation prize. Hope you enjoy wearing your national championship stripes at the Tour of the Ass-end of Nowhere next year, Tyler! So here's my question: do we all really mean this crap about serving your time, or is only when you serve your time admit the irrefutable rub hot peppers into your eyes fake like you feel bad about doping not about getting caught and wah your repentance like a colicky two-month-old for every camera you can find?
Babe in Arms: and, a big congrats to a thoroughly humbled and greatly motivated Ale-Jet Petacchi, whose idiot ban for an extra post-race snort of salbutamol is over and will be returning to the peloton at the Tour of Great Britain with his new gig, fellow (alleged!) dope-head Danilo DiLuca's LPR. I don't know, Shameless St. Millar Defender, if your boy's gonna ride at your home tour maybe he might want to reconsider his position on squeaky-cleanliness given how the start list's shaping up...
He's Like the Wind: well, I see the constitutionally wanky and perhaps-just-slightly-past-his-prime Robbie McEwen's been seduced away from second-class citizenship at Silence-Lotto to Russian oligarch Oleg Tinkov's reincarnated team Katusha, along with the golden-locked Filippo Pozzato, surprise Champs-Elysees winner Gert Steegmans and Vladimir Karpets, which really is starting to make the squad look formidable for next season, though how long Steegmans is going to be content playing leadout monkey for McEwen after finally bringing it on in his own right remains to be seen. Still, Robbie sounds uncharacteristically happy about the change--perhaps that'll pull him out of the doldrums for one last stellar season?
Here I Am!/Rock You Like a Hurricane!: after the dual thrills of Liquigas taking the team time trial and really-quite-an-amazing-one-day-rider-no-matter-how-you-think-he-got-there Alejandro Valverde taking the stage and briefly the maillot d'oro, I'd like to congratulate Tom Boonen on his post-image-rehab return to his Grand Tour-winning ways by nailing today's sprint at the Vuelta over new golden jersey Daniele Bennati by bringing you two reminders of just how babelicious our Tommeke really is:
Sigh. Aren't you glad he's back?
How Not To Ride: finally, in the noble interests of public service and helpful hints from heloise that I hold dear, I bring you a handy 1963 bike-safety video and a wish for safe and happy trails (and if those freakin' monkey masks give you the same shrieking nightmares I'm gonna experience tonight , my bad!):
Babe in Arms: and, a big congrats to a thoroughly humbled and greatly motivated Ale-Jet Petacchi, whose idiot ban for an extra post-race snort of salbutamol is over and will be returning to the peloton at the Tour of Great Britain with his new gig, fellow (alleged!) dope-head Danilo DiLuca's LPR. I don't know, Shameless St. Millar Defender, if your boy's gonna ride at your home tour maybe he might want to reconsider his position on squeaky-cleanliness given how the start list's shaping up...
He's Like the Wind: well, I see the constitutionally wanky and perhaps-just-slightly-past-his-prime Robbie McEwen's been seduced away from second-class citizenship at Silence-Lotto to Russian oligarch Oleg Tinkov's reincarnated team Katusha, along with the golden-locked Filippo Pozzato, surprise Champs-Elysees winner Gert Steegmans and Vladimir Karpets, which really is starting to make the squad look formidable for next season, though how long Steegmans is going to be content playing leadout monkey for McEwen after finally bringing it on in his own right remains to be seen. Still, Robbie sounds uncharacteristically happy about the change--perhaps that'll pull him out of the doldrums for one last stellar season?
Here I Am!/Rock You Like a Hurricane!: after the dual thrills of Liquigas taking the team time trial and really-quite-an-amazing-one-day-rider-no-matter-how-you-think-he-got-there Alejandro Valverde taking the stage and briefly the maillot d'oro, I'd like to congratulate Tom Boonen on his post-image-rehab return to his Grand Tour-winning ways by nailing today's sprint at the Vuelta over new golden jersey Daniele Bennati by bringing you two reminders of just how babelicious our Tommeke really is:
Sigh. Aren't you glad he's back?
How Not To Ride: finally, in the noble interests of public service and helpful hints from heloise that I hold dear, I bring you a handy 1963 bike-safety video and a wish for safe and happy trails (and if those freakin' monkey masks give you the same shrieking nightmares I'm gonna experience tonight , my bad!):
Friday, August 29, 2008
*This* Is How You Say "Good Job!"?
Didja Ever Hear of "Thank You Notes?": yes, as you might surmise, on the eve of the spectacular Vuelta, a spectacularly ungrateful Bjarne "Thank God No-One's Pursuing Those Allegations About Me and Fuentes" Riis has generously informed the press that Carlos Sastre "doesn't represent the future of our team" like Cancellara big and baby Schlecks and Sorensen, and we just don't have space for the boy anymore, though we're really, really gonna support him at the Vuelta, the poor old useless hag. Um, last I noticed, Bjarne, he just a few short weeks back won you the same Tour de France you admitted you doped through, so while I'm certainly no Miss Manners, it does seem to me that, however decrepit his aging bod, perhaps the boy is owed some faux good will at least through the end of this season, no? What, he just told you he's taking off for Cervelo's new Pro Continental gig or something? Suck it up and show some class, you bitter nasty clod!
Pass the Deutschie: so as Andreas "Thank You Sir May I Have Another" Kloden, already smacked by his country leaving him off the Worlds team, skips the race and as usual tanks his own superior prospects to wipe Contador's butt at the Vuelta (thanks PJ and Anon for the sympathy!), the 2008 Jens Voigt's Just Gonna Win It Again Deutschland Tour is underway, and while he's certainly got a hell of a road ahead of him with boys like the Fothens Kohl Burghardt and Grabsch to put on the hurt, one other boy on the start list oddly stands out: the smashing Haimar "Contador's Future !@#$$" Zubeldia, bagging the last chance he'll ever have for himself at the Vuelta to prostrate himself at the service of you-know-who next season. Look, I don't begrudge the boy's phenomenal talent--if you gotta work for someone, he's more than worthy. But must some of the best riders on the planet always find themselves playing dope-slapped spit-on second banana to Johan's latest object of adoration? If you can't give 'em any dignity, Bruyneel, you at least better be paying Klodi and (next season) Zubeldia some serious dough!
The Sounds of Silence: yep, it's contract season folks, and for my money, one of the biggest surprises isn't that Milram's just offered to snap up half the jobless Gerolsteiner boys, but that Cadel Evans, whose team's complete inability to support him in the high passes likely cost 'im the Tour de France (or at least a closer second place finish--woo-hoo Sastre!), has signed on with the ineffectual Silence-Lotto for another two seasons (so likely the end of his career), which begs the obvious question: what, you couldn't for any humiliating pay cut convince someone like Bjarne to back off the Schlecks he's grooming now that he's tossed Carlos off the team bus? I hope you at least persuaded Silence management to pony up for a better climber than Robbie McEwen...
White Ponies on Dope (Redux): and, in non-cycling doping news (since frankly it's no-one I care about who just made cyclists look like selfish stupid reckless !@#es, *again*), the fallout from the notorious Olympic busts of 2008 continue to shake the coke-snorting denizens of the stables to their very cores as yet another front on the drug war opens up, this time, following the fine example of the sincere zero-tolerance anti-doping maestros over at UCI, from the law'n'order Kentucky racing authorities: no anabolic steroids for you! Unless, of course, you require one of the race organizers' handy new Therapeutic Use Exemptions, so long as you flush it all out 60 days before race day, which oughta make early-season form enhancement a prancing breeze. Okay Mr. Ed, the choice is clear: admit you don't have any health problems and lose, or emulate the 90% of pro cyclists who totally coincidentally desperately need meds that totally coincidentally happen to increase their ability to win. Take the latter, and I guarantee the 2009 Triple Crown is yours!
Gripe o' the Week (Surprise! There is One): now, Velonews is a very fine publication, I enjoy the website, and the whole operation I gotta say is overall bitchin'. But imagine my surprise and total ballistic rage when I received the August 25, 2008 issue--5 measly days before the start of the you-know-what--and discover *zero* mention of the season's third Grand Tour on the cover, in the table of contents--anywhere! And *this* with everybody's darling Contador as the favorite! Oh, fine, you've alluded to it in past issues, I'll erect you a freakin' statute in Madrid for that-- but WTF, dear Velonews?
Stand and Deliver: finally, as said peerless Vuelta heads out today, a nationalist shout-out to Caisse d'Epargne's Jose Ivan Gutierrez, who avoided impaling himself on the Carbon Fiber Pike of Imminent Castration by the riding the last k of the Eneco Tour standing above the jarred-off remnants of his saddle-less seatpost and, even more unlikely, winning the thing for the second year in a row. Y'know, I get that these are professionals and all whose phenomenal technical skills allow 'em to strip off raingear on a roaring switchbacked descent without catapulting into a crevasse or to throw a half-empty musette into a hated rival's wheel at 50k an hour with surgical precision, but coming from the perspective of someone who can't peek under her shoulder to see who's behind her without actually ramming into a building, I gotta say--even acknowledging the enormo motivation and adrenalin rush Gutierrez must've had to not let himself be transformed into a soprano--I'm impressed. Give that boy (and his surely relieved significant other, if he's got one) a bottle of champagne!
All right, we all know there's only one thing that matters the next three weeks anyway. On to the fabulous Vuelta!
Pass the Deutschie: so as Andreas "Thank You Sir May I Have Another" Kloden, already smacked by his country leaving him off the Worlds team, skips the race and as usual tanks his own superior prospects to wipe Contador's butt at the Vuelta (thanks PJ and Anon for the sympathy!), the 2008 Jens Voigt's Just Gonna Win It Again Deutschland Tour is underway, and while he's certainly got a hell of a road ahead of him with boys like the Fothens Kohl Burghardt and Grabsch to put on the hurt, one other boy on the start list oddly stands out: the smashing Haimar "Contador's Future !@#$$" Zubeldia, bagging the last chance he'll ever have for himself at the Vuelta to prostrate himself at the service of you-know-who next season. Look, I don't begrudge the boy's phenomenal talent--if you gotta work for someone, he's more than worthy. But must some of the best riders on the planet always find themselves playing dope-slapped spit-on second banana to Johan's latest object of adoration? If you can't give 'em any dignity, Bruyneel, you at least better be paying Klodi and (next season) Zubeldia some serious dough!
The Sounds of Silence: yep, it's contract season folks, and for my money, one of the biggest surprises isn't that Milram's just offered to snap up half the jobless Gerolsteiner boys, but that Cadel Evans, whose team's complete inability to support him in the high passes likely cost 'im the Tour de France (or at least a closer second place finish--woo-hoo Sastre!), has signed on with the ineffectual Silence-Lotto for another two seasons (so likely the end of his career), which begs the obvious question: what, you couldn't for any humiliating pay cut convince someone like Bjarne to back off the Schlecks he's grooming now that he's tossed Carlos off the team bus? I hope you at least persuaded Silence management to pony up for a better climber than Robbie McEwen...
White Ponies on Dope (Redux): and, in non-cycling doping news (since frankly it's no-one I care about who just made cyclists look like selfish stupid reckless !@#es, *again*), the fallout from the notorious Olympic busts of 2008 continue to shake the coke-snorting denizens of the stables to their very cores as yet another front on the drug war opens up, this time, following the fine example of the sincere zero-tolerance anti-doping maestros over at UCI, from the law'n'order Kentucky racing authorities: no anabolic steroids for you! Unless, of course, you require one of the race organizers' handy new Therapeutic Use Exemptions, so long as you flush it all out 60 days before race day, which oughta make early-season form enhancement a prancing breeze. Okay Mr. Ed, the choice is clear: admit you don't have any health problems and lose, or emulate the 90% of pro cyclists who totally coincidentally desperately need meds that totally coincidentally happen to increase their ability to win. Take the latter, and I guarantee the 2009 Triple Crown is yours!
Gripe o' the Week (Surprise! There is One): now, Velonews is a very fine publication, I enjoy the website, and the whole operation I gotta say is overall bitchin'. But imagine my surprise and total ballistic rage when I received the August 25, 2008 issue--5 measly days before the start of the you-know-what--and discover *zero* mention of the season's third Grand Tour on the cover, in the table of contents--anywhere! And *this* with everybody's darling Contador as the favorite! Oh, fine, you've alluded to it in past issues, I'll erect you a freakin' statute in Madrid for that-- but WTF, dear Velonews?
Stand and Deliver: finally, as said peerless Vuelta heads out today, a nationalist shout-out to Caisse d'Epargne's Jose Ivan Gutierrez, who avoided impaling himself on the Carbon Fiber Pike of Imminent Castration by the riding the last k of the Eneco Tour standing above the jarred-off remnants of his saddle-less seatpost and, even more unlikely, winning the thing for the second year in a row. Y'know, I get that these are professionals and all whose phenomenal technical skills allow 'em to strip off raingear on a roaring switchbacked descent without catapulting into a crevasse or to throw a half-empty musette into a hated rival's wheel at 50k an hour with surgical precision, but coming from the perspective of someone who can't peek under her shoulder to see who's behind her without actually ramming into a building, I gotta say--even acknowledging the enormo motivation and adrenalin rush Gutierrez must've had to not let himself be transformed into a soprano--I'm impressed. Give that boy (and his surely relieved significant other, if he's got one) a bottle of champagne!
All right, we all know there's only one thing that matters the next three weeks anyway. On to the fabulous Vuelta!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
It's the Vuelta a Espana 101, Baby!
Okay, class, you've seen the hype and pageantry that is the Tour de France (woo-hoo Sastre!), the last BMXer's gotten down 'n' dirty in Beijing, you're waiting for some badass Worlds in Varese, and now it's time for the most spectacularly bitchin' race you've barely heard of and even worse barely gotten the chance to watch: that's right, Spain's brutal and beautiful Grand Tour, the Vuelta baby! Here's what you need to know:
Who: out: undeserving defending champ and complete Heras inferior Denis "Crybaby" Menchov; injured stalwart Cadel Evans, who at least has an excuse; Samu "Holy Crap He's the Olympic Gold Medalist!" (and ergo forgiven) Sanchez; pretty much all the Italian climbers, as they've all been DQd in disgrace. In: inevitable winner/baby savant Alberto "Screw You ASO!" Contador; podium-shot-even-with-his-domestique- servitude Levi Leipheimer; we love the ever-jacked far-too-good-for-this-!@#$ Andreas "Contador's !@#$%" Kloden; Valverde; Igor Anton and Mikel Astarloza for the orange army; and of course, dear little Sastre. Venga Klodi--make that bastard Bruyneel *have* to give you a raise and some dignity!
What: 3 weeks of pain glory rabid Basque nationalism and vicious heatstroke in the monstrous Spanish mountains, with a coupla bones tossed to the sprinters so Boonen can soothe those wounds after his ignominious Tour de France bar-from. Kick back and enjoy the agony--sangria all 'round for us spectators!
When: Saturday morning August 30th we get rolling folks, with a seductively brief time trial to tickle the senses and fool the unprepared; excruciating mountain playgrounds on stages 7, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, and 19; flatter if still sun-beaten hell on the rest. 5 summit finishes, 13 cat ones, & 3 hors categorie climbs. Feel the burn, baby!
Where: the only real coverage you'll be able to access in this crappy bass-fishing-obsessed bull-riding effete-golf-strolling armpit of a real sports backwater at cycling.tv for damn near anything they want to charge; a wholly inadequate if still Phil-and-Paul-blessed 10 minutes on Vs.; the Vuelta home page at lavuelta.com (translates to English); the fabulous Magnus over at ibanmayo.blogspot.com for the latest in Euskaltel-specific intrigue; and, if I may humbly suggest, here for the latest news sleaze and grossly unsubstantiated rumormongering. Between 'em all, you needn't miss a minute!
Why: why should the !@#$in' Tour get all the glory? Gaze upon the beauty and misery of the mountains, and tell me it don't beat the French all to hell!
And finally, my loser pick o' the race: I'm so irked that (the seemingly quite nice and certainly enormously talented, to be fair) Contador's going to get it at poor Klodi's expense I think I'm actually gonna root for Valverde. Damn Piti, live up to your hype already why dontcha!
Who: out: undeserving defending champ and complete Heras inferior Denis "Crybaby" Menchov; injured stalwart Cadel Evans, who at least has an excuse; Samu "Holy Crap He's the Olympic Gold Medalist!" (and ergo forgiven) Sanchez; pretty much all the Italian climbers, as they've all been DQd in disgrace. In: inevitable winner/baby savant Alberto "Screw You ASO!" Contador; podium-shot-even-with-his-domestique- servitude Levi Leipheimer; we love the ever-jacked far-too-good-for-this-!@#$ Andreas "Contador's !@#$%" Kloden; Valverde; Igor Anton and Mikel Astarloza for the orange army; and of course, dear little Sastre. Venga Klodi--make that bastard Bruyneel *have* to give you a raise and some dignity!
What: 3 weeks of pain glory rabid Basque nationalism and vicious heatstroke in the monstrous Spanish mountains, with a coupla bones tossed to the sprinters so Boonen can soothe those wounds after his ignominious Tour de France bar-from. Kick back and enjoy the agony--sangria all 'round for us spectators!
When: Saturday morning August 30th we get rolling folks, with a seductively brief time trial to tickle the senses and fool the unprepared; excruciating mountain playgrounds on stages 7, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, and 19; flatter if still sun-beaten hell on the rest. 5 summit finishes, 13 cat ones, & 3 hors categorie climbs. Feel the burn, baby!
Where: the only real coverage you'll be able to access in this crappy bass-fishing-obsessed bull-riding effete-golf-strolling armpit of a real sports backwater at cycling.tv for damn near anything they want to charge; a wholly inadequate if still Phil-and-Paul-blessed 10 minutes on Vs.; the Vuelta home page at lavuelta.com (translates to English); the fabulous Magnus over at ibanmayo.blogspot.com for the latest in Euskaltel-specific intrigue; and, if I may humbly suggest, here for the latest news sleaze and grossly unsubstantiated rumormongering. Between 'em all, you needn't miss a minute!
Why: why should the !@#$in' Tour get all the glory? Gaze upon the beauty and misery of the mountains, and tell me it don't beat the French all to hell!
And finally, my loser pick o' the race: I'm so irked that (the seemingly quite nice and certainly enormously talented, to be fair) Contador's going to get it at poor Klodi's expense I think I'm actually gonna root for Valverde. Damn Piti, live up to your hype already why dontcha!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
What Is This, National !@#$ Over the Vuelta Month?
Gone, Baby, Gone: so the list of boys bailing from the venerable Vuelta over their failed pursuit of the overrated Tour continues to mount, with not only new Olympic road race champ Samuel Sanchez out to prep for backing Freire and Valverde in Varese, but also Cadel (who at least has an excuse) and, as expected, Denis "I Hated You for Heras, But I Now I Hate You Fair and Square" Menchov, still just too darn tired from a race he lost in July to be bothered with defending a Grand Tour title he's actually won in September. !@@#$%, why don't we just ride one stage in the mountains for Euskaltel to take, hold a big !@#$ing party for Contador and hand over the maillot d'oro a magnum of champagne and a pack of cooing podium babes on day 2, and freakin' save everybody 3 weeks if no-one but the Basques gives a rat's !@#? Free the Vuelta dammit!
The Silence of the Lamb: speaking of our beloved Euskaltel, it's been a good (well, deeply crappy) two weeks since Iban Mayo was officially screwed by the fine dissemblers over at CAS, and, unlike say Ricco's immediate crybaby PR offensive by his sap mom, fiancee, and sis, there's been not a peep from our delicate hero, not even on his personal website, which does, incongruously, post the news of his hosing right on the homepage. Okay, Iban, we know the drill: (1) 'fess up and become an ostentatiously faux-humble apologetic irksomely self-righteous hypocrite publicity whore (not that I have anyone particular in mind here); (2) deny it again in typical Spanish fashion and vow to return to conquer the Alpe d'Huez again in vengeance; (3) hide behind the skirts of your lawyer like a simp; or (4) spiral into a drug-and-booze-stoked pit o'misery and self-destruction to the relieved sighs of your even more culpable filthy skank compatriots that it's all happening to you not them. Say it ain't #4 Iban--we believe, or at least believe you're the least of this disgusting sport's problems!
My Boyfriend's Back: and, it's a delirious return for a thoroughly chastened Tom "Sniffy" Boonen as the sorely-missed boy returns triumphant at the Eneco Tour, snagging the first stage sprint to the sure delight of swooning teenyboppers everywhere all a-dreamy at the prospect of being his next underage girlfriend, and to the certain relief of our Tommeke's Ferrari fund. Leaving aside the total stupidity of busting Boonen for a little evening fun when half the riders're stuffed with enough drugs to OD, well, the Spaniards, isn't it nice to have him back since every sprint without him's just been one big ol' "what if"? Welcome back Tom--and keep your nose clean from here on out!
White Ponies On Dope: so the latest Olympic doping scandal is out, and for once it's *not* a cyclist: yep, 4 horses have been busted for unauthorized ingestion of painkillers, including ones from Norway, Ireland, Brazil, and Germany, none of whom apparently consulted with better-microdosing athletes in other disciplines before hitting the local corner dope-dealer. See, the narcs are closing in, boys--it's only a matter of time before that unnatural speedster Cancellara's Cervelo gets sent to prison for excessive lube...
Back to Business: meantime, the Italians, enjoying their Olympic road medals, pretty well dismissive of the Vuelta, and basically working on their tans 'til Ivan Basso gets an early out to crash the Worlds in Varese, have turned their attention to far more important matters: yep, our reigning world champ Paolo Bettini has recently crowned (not *been* crowned, you wiseacres) the new Miss Bibbona, now in the running for Miss Toscana, then all-out Miss Italia. Ah, the perks of being a national icon! Next up: the comely Basso, Cunego, golden-coiffed Pellizotti, and pin-up calendar silk-kimono-clad icon Alessandro Petacchi face off in a spandex man-candy battle-o'-the-fiercest for the coveted title of Mr. Squadra Azzura. Get thee some manscaping gentlemen--like any of you could beat our dewy-eyed Basso in that war anyway!
Gran Bretagna: last but not least, a belated shout out to Shameless St. Millar Defender, whose smashing countrymen and women beat the crap out of absolutely everyone in the velodrome in every single race by humiliatingly ginormous margins at this year's Olympics with the freak exceptions of wonderjailbait Marianne Vos' points win and the touching final-farewell gold of Joan Llaneras, former race partner of the late track star Isaac Galvez. Congrats to the Brits for rebuilding the Empire, and long live the Queen!
The Silence of the Lamb: speaking of our beloved Euskaltel, it's been a good (well, deeply crappy) two weeks since Iban Mayo was officially screwed by the fine dissemblers over at CAS, and, unlike say Ricco's immediate crybaby PR offensive by his sap mom, fiancee, and sis, there's been not a peep from our delicate hero, not even on his personal website, which does, incongruously, post the news of his hosing right on the homepage. Okay, Iban, we know the drill: (1) 'fess up and become an ostentatiously faux-humble apologetic irksomely self-righteous hypocrite publicity whore (not that I have anyone particular in mind here); (2) deny it again in typical Spanish fashion and vow to return to conquer the Alpe d'Huez again in vengeance; (3) hide behind the skirts of your lawyer like a simp; or (4) spiral into a drug-and-booze-stoked pit o'misery and self-destruction to the relieved sighs of your even more culpable filthy skank compatriots that it's all happening to you not them. Say it ain't #4 Iban--we believe, or at least believe you're the least of this disgusting sport's problems!
My Boyfriend's Back: and, it's a delirious return for a thoroughly chastened Tom "Sniffy" Boonen as the sorely-missed boy returns triumphant at the Eneco Tour, snagging the first stage sprint to the sure delight of swooning teenyboppers everywhere all a-dreamy at the prospect of being his next underage girlfriend, and to the certain relief of our Tommeke's Ferrari fund. Leaving aside the total stupidity of busting Boonen for a little evening fun when half the riders're stuffed with enough drugs to OD, well, the Spaniards, isn't it nice to have him back since every sprint without him's just been one big ol' "what if"? Welcome back Tom--and keep your nose clean from here on out!
White Ponies On Dope: so the latest Olympic doping scandal is out, and for once it's *not* a cyclist: yep, 4 horses have been busted for unauthorized ingestion of painkillers, including ones from Norway, Ireland, Brazil, and Germany, none of whom apparently consulted with better-microdosing athletes in other disciplines before hitting the local corner dope-dealer. See, the narcs are closing in, boys--it's only a matter of time before that unnatural speedster Cancellara's Cervelo gets sent to prison for excessive lube...
Back to Business: meantime, the Italians, enjoying their Olympic road medals, pretty well dismissive of the Vuelta, and basically working on their tans 'til Ivan Basso gets an early out to crash the Worlds in Varese, have turned their attention to far more important matters: yep, our reigning world champ Paolo Bettini has recently crowned (not *been* crowned, you wiseacres) the new Miss Bibbona, now in the running for Miss Toscana, then all-out Miss Italia. Ah, the perks of being a national icon! Next up: the comely Basso, Cunego, golden-coiffed Pellizotti, and pin-up calendar silk-kimono-clad icon Alessandro Petacchi face off in a spandex man-candy battle-o'-the-fiercest for the coveted title of Mr. Squadra Azzura. Get thee some manscaping gentlemen--like any of you could beat our dewy-eyed Basso in that war anyway!
Gran Bretagna: last but not least, a belated shout out to Shameless St. Millar Defender, whose smashing countrymen and women beat the crap out of absolutely everyone in the velodrome in every single race by humiliatingly ginormous margins at this year's Olympics with the freak exceptions of wonderjailbait Marianne Vos' points win and the touching final-farewell gold of Joan Llaneras, former race partner of the late track star Isaac Galvez. Congrats to the Brits for rebuilding the Empire, and long live the Queen!
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