My Fantasy CAS Press Conference

Good morning. We're here today, in response to significant criticism and in contravention to our usual policies, to discuss the repeated delays in the verdict in the Alberto Contador matter. First, let us state that nothing is more important that a careful, thorough, and impeccably fair resolution of this case/covering our !@#es since we're gonna piss someone important off no matter what we decide. Therefore, we are extremely grateful to both sides in this matter for their meticulous compilation of evidence/piling us with so much obfuscating bullhockey we can justify damn near anything.

There are other controversies which bear addressing, as well. As to RadioSkank's allegations that Bjarne Riis attempted to bribe the panel by deliberately holding training camp in Israel, home to one of our judges, such claims are not only outrageous and baseless, but slanderous/it's not like he pulled a Lance Armstrong and donated a !@#$load of incredibly expensive dope-testing equipment to our own lab for Chrissakes. And while we sympathize with the public frustration over the lack of a reliable test for the presence of plasticizers, we hope you'll understand that it would be patently unjust to allow or consider suspect evidence/it was totally an accident when we had all the scientists involved in the project grabbed outta their offices by black-booted thugs bundled into unmarked vans driven forty-six hours to an obscure foreign port and stuffed into shipping containers bound for Tibet. Last but not least, with regard to the sport's zero-tolerance policy on clenbuterol, that is a policy decision best left to the medical experts to whom we must respectfully defer/whaddaya want, a !@#damn ticker-tape parade every time you clowns successfully snort some masking agent?

We understand the broader implications of this decision, as well. Of course, we realize it may bother some people that Mr. Contador is free to compete and win in the Tour de San Luis while this matter remains unresolved/this whole sport looks like !@#$ when some clen-sucking slimeball is allowed to make the undoped riders look like concrete-legged weaklings and the whole cycling world a disgusting sham because we're too wussy to cough up a verdict. It's especially important that cyclists provide wholesome role models for young children/exact parameters for what other cheats can expect to get away with. Still, it behooves us all to remember that no sacrifice is too great for the cause of justice/Andy Schleck still wouldn't have won that 2010 yellow jersey he's jonesin' for anyway. In conclusion, we hope this scandal will be a flashpoint for open, honest discussion about the nature of and necessity for truly clean competition/be completely forgotten by everyone as soon as we release that Sinkewitz decision we know you've all been so desperately waiting for. Until then, we greatly appreciate your patience, understanding, and passionate commitment to the truth/not openly laughing your nuts off at us. Thank you all, and you can take any future questions and !@#$ them !@#$% *&^% !@#$%!

Yer 2012 Tour Down Under Roundup

1. Andre Greipel: it ain't just "!@#$ races" anymore.

2. Stuey O'Grady: forget his riding, or his awesomely going all Terminator on his chauffeur--it's the masterful way he reminded everyone how Robbie McEwen once head-butted him in a sprint while praising him as a new teammate and best bud. Give that boy a prize!

3. Breakaway artist Will Clarke: So wiped out by his first ProTour win he couldn't even lift his arm to pimp his sponsor's logo at the line. Here's hoping it's the first of many!

4. Versus (oh wait, now it's NBC Sports) coverage: Thanks. Really. But !@#$, was I the only one completely discombobulated by the truncated coverage and total lack of buildup of suspense? Give Phil and Paul some !@#damn airtime!

5. Jens Voigt: The man could run around stealing candy from babies, stomping on daffodils, and slashing all the tires in the peloton, and he'd *still* be a god. Jens, please--do ride for one more year!

6. Alessandro Petacchi: that was one punk-!@# ricochet across the field there. Salbutamol affecting your balance lately, or what?

7. GreenEdge: maybe if Cadel went there, Thor Hushovd wouldn't be totally screwed at BMC. Irrelevant to the Tour Down Under? Sure, but who cares--free Thor!

8. UCI: Ya can't just say "hold it" for 6 hours. Logistics, people!

9. Simon Gerrans: waaaaaaaaaaay classier to Valverde than he had to be. Alejandro Valverde: waaaaaaaaaaaay smart not to draw more attention to himself with an overall win. Good work Movistar!

10. Mark Cavendish: no, he didn't ride, but man, fatherhood has made him *soft*. Complimenting Greipel on a job well done? What the hell is happening to you, Cav?

Well folks, them's mine--onto Rasmussen's eternal quest to get back his 2007 Tour from that rotten little thief Contador!

Valverde's Back...Uh, Anyone Else a Little Squicked Out By That?

"I Just Don't Believe It": yes, after several days of thrilling sprints, heroic breakaways, we love Oscar Freire's smashing face-whack to the ungrateful Rabobank, and some serious argy-bargy, notoriously unapologetic Op Puerto dirt-weasel/Spanish national hero Alejandro Valverde is back in rippin' form at the Santos Tour Down Under after his two-year, um, vacation, and, as even Alejandro verbalizes the same astonishment some of his compatriots must surely be feeling at his near-immediate win, Danny Pate is voicing his disgust on behalf of the peloton, tweeting "if this is the "new age" of cycling your name & superstar shouldn't be used in the same sentence when u r just back from a doping violation." Hey, David Millar's actually been back for quite a while, hasn't he, why pile on him all of a sudden? Anyhoo, here's the nail-bitin' return from exile:

Jens Gets Busted: no, not for that, you horrid monstrous slanderous heathen evil freaks--for, well, being rather in a state of in flagrante near the spectators, because sometimes, when nature calls, one just can't put it on hold. And hey, I get it--the thrilling sight o' Bobby Julich walking not an inch by me at the Giro into an orchard and the dawning understanding o'why was once just a bit too much for my delicate ladylike sensibilities to take. But !@#$, UCI, if you're gonna barbecue these poor bastards in 800 degree heat so they have to suck in a freakin' lake every ten minutes or vaporize into ash, ya can't (1) put up a few discreet roadside curtains or (2)cut 'em a little darn slack? Pat "Dick" McQuaid, get out yer wallet, you cheap bitter jerk, and hand Jens back his dough!

Look Who Else Is Back!: finally, Pat better get out the popcorn while he's at it, as thanks to CAS's relentlessly careful consideration of its verdict, his fave little elf Alberto Contador is ready to hit the tarmac at the Tour de San Luis. Enjoy it while it lasts, Alberto--then again, that might be til 2035 at the rate this shindig's going!

My Fantasy Alberto Contador Press Conference

Good morning. I've asked you all here today to discuss the Court of Arbitration for Sport's wise and just/outrageous and baseless decision that I will not/will serve a one-year ban for clenbuterol that I clearly ingested because some dirty Spanish rancher tainted my steak/my handlers were too stupid to test my pre-stored blood for this !@#$ before I shoved it back into my veins for the Tour.

First, I'd like to thank my fans for their unwavering belief in my innocence/total denial of how I became the Grand Tour-winning machine I am today. Next, I must sincerely express my gratitude to Bjarne Riis for his faithful support in the face of completely unfounded criticism/desperate if ill-fated attempt to bribe the Israeli judge on my behalf. I also want to reassure my sponsors that I will reward their trust with a trifecta victory in the Giro, the Tour, and the Vuelta this year/make sure as hell no-one can ever link them back to this scandal. To Cadel, Andy, and my other rivals, I promise to continue to compete with the highest standards of sportsmanship and honesty/coast along with you from now on while you struggle so I don't look like such an obviously cheating dirtball. Most of all, I would like to thank my brother Fran for pulling this miracle bunny outta the hat against all fairness, reasonableness, and odds/put a one million euro bounty on Fran's head for his catastrophic mismanagement and destruction of my life, career and legacy.

I understand that I unwittingly placed the sport of cycling in a difficult position by making the judges look like a pack of nutless pandering pansies, *again*/being the only Spaniard in the history of cycling ever to get busted for what we all usually do so skillfully. Therefore, in the spirit of reconciliation, I wish to swear once again on a stack o' Bibles how very, very committed I am to the eradication of all doping in the sport/the eradication of all doping in the sport by everyone but me.

It's been a very long year-and-a-half pursuing the path to clear my name/listening to that punk Schleck bitch and moan about how he would've kicked my !@# the whole time which we all know he couldn't do anyway. This has been an incredible victory for truth and justice over rumor and innuendo/a bone-crushing PR machine and batted eyelashes over truth and justice. It's now time to get back to work on my bicycle/spend the next twelve months in an undisclosed location adjusting my blood-value baseline for optimum performance when I return. In conclusion, I'd just like to say, "Bang, bang, mother!@#$ers!"

The Truth Shall Set You Free...So Long As You Issue a Bull!@#$ Apology For It

Breaking News!: yes, the Pat McQuaid kerfuffle is officially over: after rather undiplomatically calling out the UCI head honcho for treating women cyclists with that special admiration and respect typically afforded only to plague-boil-spreading medieval rodent vermin, HTC standout Chloe Hosking, flanked by a solemn contingent of Aussie cycling federation officials, team management, UCI bosses, and sponsor representatives, finally issued a formal apology today at a press conference in Sydney, Australia. Said a contrite Hosking, "I'm sincerely sorry for the pain, embarrassment, and difficulty that my thoughtless and impetuous comments caused my teammates, my squad, my country, and my sport. I should never have called Pat McQuaid a d!@k. I should have called him a c!@t." There Pat--all better!

Yer Cringe-Inducing Headline o' the Week: okay, forget newly-returned Alejandro Valverde's blistering and clearly crack-headed assertion that the Op Puerto narcs were at fault for causing his ban by correctly identifying the DNA in his dirty filthy dopey bloodbags, as opposed to him, y'know, cheating like a skank: what *really* oughta concern you about his shiny-clean return to the peloton is the headline "Valverde Expects Time Trial Improvement After Suspension." Uh, am I the only one who thinks this'd, well, look bad? Damn, Alejandro, do you *wanna* be stuck full o' holes as a colander every night? You served your time, now keep suckin' at the time trial for !@#$'s sake--and don't come bitchin' that we didn't warn you when you get your !@# yanked from the peloton *again*!

He Is the Champion, My Friends: finally, don't think I don't love you, Cav fans: in recognition of his Team Sky debut, and a disappointing lack of recent soft-core photos from the usual suspects, I bring you the dashing Manxman's first official team photo in his World Champion stripes: Enjoy--you too, Cav!

It's Yer New Year's Resolutions for the Peloton!

Yes folks, the champagne's wearing off, the first batch o' pre-season microdosing is kicking in, and it's time for us all to make New Year's resolutions, and since we know none o' these gods or clowns are gonna do it, we are just gonna hafta do it for 'em:

1. Bernhard Eisel: I will kick Mark Cavendish's @# at least once this year. Of course, he's gonna be a bitch and snark that it's just a "!@#$ race", but at least I'm beating him at something. So !@#$ off, Cav!

2. Alberto Contador: I will ride my bicycle with the full force of my 20 kilos over Pat "Dick" McQuaid's crying carcass after I win the CAS appeal. Don't mess with the Contador!

3. Alexander Vinokourov: I don't have to make any "resolutions", you worm--I will take over Kazakhstan *and* the Tour de France by the force of my will!

4. Jens Voigt: I will attack at every race, on every stage, at every moment, whether I'm given the go-ahead or not. Oh wait, I already do that. Anyway, if I accidentally find myself in, say, China instead of France because of it, so what?

5. Andreas Kloden: I'll ride a race for myself this year. If Johan Bruyneel lets me. And one of the first-year domestiques doesn't need me to fold his laundry. And the luggage-wrangler can hold off on my doing his Starbucks run. And...

6. Giorgia Bronzini: I will wring a fair salary out of the sponsors next year if I have to use my Special Forces training to squeeze their wallets til they shoot out their abdomens like that gross facesucker-spawn from "Alien." So ya might as well pay up before I win the Worlds again!

7. Mark Cavendish: I will win the green jersey, the Olympics, the Worlds, and 86 consecutive sprint finishes. Did I tell you that Eisel sucks eggs?

8. Bjarne Riis: When Alberto Contador wins the CAS appeal, I will run over Pat "Dick" McQuaid's crying carcass with the full weight of all the trophies I and my minions doped to win during my entire rider and managerial career. Don't mess with the Bjarne!

9. Dave Zabriskie: I will shave. Daily. Because that whole facial-hair thing is just too porno. And Olympic time trial, you are *mine*!

10. Alejandro Valverde. I will scare the crap out of the entire field by taking the maillot jaune in the first week of the Tour. Then, I will have a catastrophic meltdown in week two. Then, I will scare the crap out of the entire field by taking the gold jersey in the first week of the Vuelta. Then, I will have a cata....

11. Philippe Gilbert: like I need to resolve what I'm already gonna do? Eat my dust, you hosers!

12. Cadel Evans: mine, it's all mine, mine, mine! Uh, what was the question again?

13. Andy Schleck: I will put up or shut up this year. And I won't ride the Giro just because I think I can't win the Tour, because it's a disgusting amoral blasphemy of a superior beautiful race. Dag nabit, second again!

14. Frank Schleck: !@#$, if Andy can't win the Tour without me, I might as well win it myself. See you below me on the podium in Paris, little bro!

Well, we'll see who lives up to what--me, I just resolve to enjoy the show, and bring my beloved reader(s) more o' the hack commentary, blind favoritism, and excruciatingly faulty analysis you've both come to know and slag me for, so Happy New Year to all!

2012: The Year In Preview (Yeah, You Heard Me)

Yap, the days of auld lang syne, yap, that Baby New Year animated show that's not nearly so great as the one with Heat Miser, yap--another fabulous, shameful year of cycling is almost upon us, baby, and it's time for our annual Year In Preview!

January: the verdict is in! Contador and Riis go on three-week liver-crunching rotgut bender, black out and forget if they're mourning or celebrating til too late to train for Tour anyway; RadioSkank goes to week-long training-camp "barbecue" at Michele Ferrari's, Andy Schleck beats world time trial record in training exercise;
Cadel, Thor, Philippe, starving lions to Colisseum for BMC leadership-supremacy deathmatch. Thooooooor!

February: soulless pig Pat "Dick" McQuaid reschedules Giro di Lombardia *again,* runs it as "the Race of the Where the !@#$ Are the !@#$ing Leaves!"; Boonen grabs Tour of Qatar, demands Leipheimer be rolled up for him on team bus for rest of season and used as footrest.

March: time for the Classics! Vino wins Paris-Nice, Tony Martin seen at afterparty with diamond grill, 14 feet of gold chains around neck, keys to platinum-plated Ferrari, entire world's supply of Kristal; Hushovd takes Ghent-Wevelgem, kicked in nuts and fired by BMC management.

April: it's the Hell o' the North, baby! Boonen back on top, orders Leipheimer shaped into carafe and used to pour him coffee every morning; Gilbert sweeps Ardennes classics while actually at home tucking in baby for afternoon nap.

May: it's Il Grande Giro, honey! Petacchi beats Cav in 7 consecutive sprint finishes, attributes to "damn good local espresso"; Contador takes queen stage three days, 11 hours and 23 minutes before it actually starts; Vinokourov buys overall victory from Ivan Basso in exchange for dictatorship of future Kazakhstan satellite states despite fact Vino doesn't even race it.

June: time for pre-Tour doping controls! UCI preemptively declares no doping positives at 2012 Tour de France, entire peloton heads to Spain for "a little R&R"; Vinokourov discovered to have paid Kazakh 8th-grader 2 million euros for three weeks' worth of urine, awarded National Medal of Honor; Ullrich tell-all autobiography out, Lance Armstrong corners Jan at local butcher's, clubs him with wienerschnitzel.

July: what else? Hoogerland winged into fence made of glass shards, sewing needles, razorblades, and thumbtacks, finishes Tour held together by 465 miles of scotch tape; Andy Schleck DQ'd for tiptoeing down Galibier holding Frank's hand for speed, stability; Cadel mistakenly tears Contador to pieces when Alberto attempts to give new baby cuddly binkie toy; holy crap Thor Hushovd is the polka dot jersey!

August: It's the start o' the Vuelta, baby! Juan Jose Cobo takes start line for Movistar after whacking Alejandro Valverde unconscious with wine bottle, fooling squad by explaining he's wearing mask over his face "to keep the dust off"; dull sprint stages livened up by making riders do them blindfolded; still-irked Spanish cow gores unsuspecting spectator Contador.

September: the Vuelta continues! Entire peloton swallowed by tar pits when roads melt after 21 consecutive 114 degree days; Igor Anton floats to GC win in Madrid as water-weight loss from sweating renders him lighter than air; Italian men's team spotted at Worlds course practicing losing *again*.

October: It's the World Championships! Giorgia Bronzini makes it three, runs over Pat "Dick" McQuaid with Army tank when refuses to guarantee women minimum salary of indentured third-world child laborers; Cav keeps World Champion stripes after British lead-out sets up "Indiana Jones" obstacle course, squashes entire pro sprint contingent with giant rolling spherical rock.

November: last-minute contracts! Bjarne Riis signs up top-flight nursery-school playground tricyclists as backup for Contador at 2013 Tour; Jens' legs won't shut up, convince him to keep riding through 2036; Vino appears at Astana press conference with 18 perfect clones. Like he was *ever* gonna really leave, suckers!

December: team camps again! Garmin tires of playing with facial hair, emerges with matching full-body tats instead; GreenEdge goes surfing off Aussie coast, nearly devoured by sharks 'til McEwen raises eyebrow in their general direction, scares off; Sky to Buckingham Palace for crumpets, Cav accidentally chews up priceless 15th-century royal tea set.

Well folks, them's my predictions for next year--I'm sure they're half wrong, but it oughta scare ya even more if they're half freakin' right!

It's the 2011 Racejunkie Awards!

Put on yer red-carpet gowns and spiffiest spats, dear reader(s), because it's the time of year to reward the sublime, the unsublime, and the just plain ridiculous in this magnificent sport of cycling, and therefore, without further ado, or cheesy Oscar-night dance routines, I hereby bestow the incredibly prestigious, passionately-sought-after, and potentially slanderous 2011 Racejunkie Awards:

The 2011 Doping Excuse o' the Year: okay, the transgression didn't actually *happen* in 2011. But let's face it, the droning "did not, either!"s coming outta the peloton for this year's pozes were a certifiable snoozefest. What wasn't? Michael "the Chicken" Rasmussen's "I Wasn't Cheating on My Bicycle, I Was Cheating on My Wife!" excuse for lyin' about his whereabouts to evade doping controls--uh, a major jealous-spouse nut-whack--before a way-old Tour de France. Geez, outta the frying pan and into the fire with that one, Michael--if she forgave you then, she probably ain't too happy you yapped her pain to cover your scrawny !@# with the narcs, I imagine!

Climber o' the Year: he's big. He's fast. He's Norwegian. And once he hits an incline bigger'n a speed bump, he's got no business being anywhere in the peloton but the !@#-end of the autobus. But yet, he took 2--count 'em, 2!--mountain stages in the Tour de France this year. Schleck, dreck--Thor Hushovd, this one's for you. You *go*, you big lug!

2011 Doug and Wendy Whiner Award: it's mountainy. It's descendy. It's time trially. I was supposed to win it. I'm still P.O.d about that chainy thing from two hundred years ago. Y'know, I've been a big advocate of both Schlecks in the past--particularly Frank, even tho' he's been alleged to make a few funny automotive detours during the Tour back in the day--but this !@## really ticked me off. Andy, the only thing Cadel oughta hear from you next July is "Congratulations!"

Soul-Crushing Transfer of 2011: need this even be put into words? 'Cuz it's already been scorched into my soul. Jens Voigt to RadioSkank. Whhhhhhyyyyyy? Whhhhhhyyyyyy? Whhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Punk-!@# Move o' the Year (Celebrity Intimidation Edition): rock-star Lance Armstrong corners newly-confessional Tyler Hamilton by the toilet like 11th-grade alpha-bitch on shy goth-girl at the Homecoming dance. What next, Lance, you gonna snap Floyd's !@# with a towel in the locker room?

Punk-!@# Move o' the Year (Total Management Diss Edition): Let's see. He's wearing the World Champion stripes with *your sponsor's* name all over 'em, he busts his works domestiquing yer other riders, he wins some pretty fine stages for you at the Tour de France, and what does he get? Right, squat, and the chance to be slapped around by Cadel & Gilbert at BMC all next year. Thor Hushovd deserves better. Bite me, Garmin/Vaughters!

Ow, @!#$! Hardman Award o' 2011: is this even a contest? Johnny Hoogerland's gruesome 45kph airborne date with a death-fence at the Tour--and he *still* powers through, to the just adoration of all cycling fandom. Get this boy a bottle o' pain pills and a coupla band-aids, stat!

Gee, Maybe the French *Don't* Suck So Bad Prize: Thomas Voeckler. Wow. Just...wow. Boy, did you make even Contador look like a putz!

What the !@#$ Is Wrong With You Freaks Award of 2011: lemme get this straight. Juanjo Cobo takes the Vuelta a Espana out of absolutely nowhere in an incredible show of heart and grit, and now even can't get a job wiping that blood-doping dirtbag Valverde's rear end? Cosmic justice, where art thou?

Dodgin' the Bullet Prize: sure, he may've shot himself full o' illicit crap in 2010, (or not! I'm sure it was the cow!) but hey, why let a little suspicion keep 'im from bagging two Grand Tours in the meantime? Alberto Contador, I guess that stupid "Pistolero" thing really *did* scare off the narcs!

Say It Ain't So Award o' the Year: Jeannie, Jeannie, Jeannie. You were a model elder stateswoman--but apparently not without help, tho' the sloppy French cops conveniently bungled the case against you quite nicely. Dang, you can't just use Botox or something to fake some youthful vigor?

Woo-Hoo! Moment of the Year: Cadel Evans wins the Tour. Nice guys (okay, he occasionally threatens to rip some journalist's arms off, but that ain't no nevermind) do finish first!

Disgusting Skankball o' 2011: in a wholly uncontested category, this goes to lying cheating pig Riccardo Ricco', who not only besmirched the name of a beloved, now late, trainer to the stars, but, on his triumphant and extremely clean return from a doping ban, managed to inject himself with a batch of bad old blood he apparently stored next to the moldering steak and expired yogurt in his fridge, making himself seriously ill in the process. I'm truly glad you're okay now, Riccardo--but please, go to back to whatever slime-pit you slithered from!

Complete Dumb!@# of 2011: d'oh! Ricco', it's a two-fer. You couldn't find *anyone* in the peloton to show you how to do that !@#$ right?

Rider Insult o' the Year: finally, in a related award, the hell with the Armstrong/Landis/Hamilton wars--by far the best (and most accurate) commentary o' 2011 came from Captain Discretion, Mark Cavendish himself, who not only called Riccardo Ricco' a "parasite," but charitably opined "I really do hope he becomes someone's bitch in prison." Well said, Cav--a fine sidenote to a spectacular season!

Well, congrats to all our lucky winners, and for those who missed the cut, better luck next year--I'm sure *some* of you guys will pull off something truly spectacular (in beauty or idiocy) next year!

It's a Very Merry Festivus Wish List for the Peloton!

Yes, as we ponder the deeper spiritual meaning of the holidays by waiting in line outside stores for 36 consecutive hours for a 6am crack at a 684-inch flat-screen, gorging ourselves to excess on marshmallow Santas, and shoving little old ladies outta the way in a toy-store death-match to grab the latest Teach-Me-To-Curse Elmo, it seems to me our beloved cyclists deserve a treat this year, so I hereby bring you my Merry Everything Gift List for the Peloton:

Tom Boonen: Paris-Roubaix, the great Hell of the North. 'Cause not only will it prove he's still got it, he can whack all his foolish naysayers upside the head with that bad-!@# cobblestone. Better quit pickin' on him, Lefevere!

Juan Jose Cobo: a contract. A freakin' contract. How can the freakin' winner of the freakin' Vuelta a Espana not have a freakin' contract!

Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen: a network. A freakin' network. How can they stick you guys on the butt-end of 3am on the schedule after bass-fishing on their crappy network!

Johnny Hoogerland: a teflon coating for his entire bod. Try scorchin' me with razor wire through *this* !@#$, suckers!

Jens Voigt: a gilt-and-marble statue so huge it can easily be seen from outer space; immortality; and the title, duties, and aggregate powers of Supreme Ruler of the Universe. A bonus lifetime supply of coffee if you bail on your contract with RadioSkank, Jens!

Andy Schleck: May the Time Trial Fairy descend in a flutter of glitter as you peacefully sleep on your pillow and, with a flick of her golden wand, give you wings for that most troublesome of disciplines. That, or the Giro, 'cause even *she* don't have the power to grant you the Tour!

Alberto Contador: a year-long membership to the Organic Meat of the Month Club. Oh sure, mock it now--but can you say "paper trail"?

Bjarne Riis: a career. 'Cause if Alberto goes down, he ain't gonna have one. See, I can be nice!

Thor Hushovd: a shining suit of armor. Why? Between Gilbert and Cadel, your !@# is gonna get beat on this season, and you're gonna need all the protection you can get!

Jeannie Longo: honey, after that doping scam you pulled on the cowardly enabler French, just be glad it ain't still the French Revolution--you remember what happened to those clowns, right?

Floyd Landis: a cloak of invisibility. Come to think of it, that's actually more a present for *us*. Can't hurt next time you're anywhere near Lance Armstrong though, I guess!

Ivan Basso: what do you give a guy who's already the patriarch of the Cutest Family on the Face of the Planet, the winner of two Giros, and looking forward to a wholesome retirement to the family blueberry farm? I'm gonna go big here, and wish him the Tour. Redeem yourself once and for all, Ivan--it's your last chance to prove it shoulda always been yours anyway!

Riccardo Ricco': lucky for you, Santa don't do beat-downs. You wanna be a bartender, have at--a Mixmaster's Guide, and be grateful for it!

Alexandre Vinokourov: whatever he wants. Or he'll sink your !@@damn feet in concrete and toss you to the bottom of the harbor, you peon!

Mark Cavendish: this semi-civilized diplomacy !@#$ you've adopted of late is, to be frank, dull as dirt. You got one free day to bushwhack your rivals, insult yer leadout train, and dope-smack everyone who's ever dared to do you a kindness. Have at, Cav--and don't forget to shove yer best buddy into the barriers!

Last But Not Least, My Dear Reader(s): may your favorite rider score a blazing and wholly unexpected victory against the best of the best at their dream race, and do so entirely, genuinely, and unimpeachably clean. Allez allez, you studpuppy!

2011: the Year in Review

All right folks, the curtain's about to drop on another year of cycling, and before we all get perma-blotto on too much good cheer and bad eggnog, it's time to recall the sublime, the ridiculous, and the downright disgusting that make this sport so easy to love:

January: Contador's banned! No, he's not! Yes, he is! make up your minds, you clowns!; Tour screws former champ dear little Sastre out of invite, nice work Geox!; Team LeopardSchleck debuts--what, a name like that and *still* your team kit's lame?

February: Floyd Landis interview out, cycling world hit by curious double-attack of projectile vomiting and ennui; Schleck's still bitching about Chaingate; Riccardo Ricco waaaaaaaaay too stupid to dope correctly; Jens says race radios are good, so it must be true. Forgive me for doubting, o Jens!

March: it's the Classics, baby! Boonen roars back at Gent-Wevelgem; Goss surprises at Milano-Sanremo; Gilbert gets ready to start all-year reign of terror; UCI's a buncha crybaby !@#holes. So what else is new?

April: Jonathan Vaughters squanders the great Thor Hushovd; Quick Step dumps on Boonen; Versus relegates Phil and Paul to Obscurity Hour; what's next, you freaks all gonna kick the Easter Bunny?

May: May wasn't funny.

June: class act Lance Armstrong corners Tyler Hamilton by the toilets; French bust Contador for--um, riding down the Galibier without a tail-light? yeah, that'll learn 'im!; RadioSkank announces four GC contenders for Tour de France, might as well pack it up and go home now. Good luck with that podium, Johan!

July: it's the Tour de France, baby! Hoogerland winged into razor wire, gamely finishes Tour; Hushovd turns mountain goat, *still* dissed by Garmin; Schlecks !@#$ up, *again*; holy crap we love Samuel Sanchez is the polka dot jersey!; Cadeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!

August: the fabulous Vuelta gets underway; Levi and George raise hell in Colorado; Cav teases about his team choice; ham-fisted goon Vinokourov "nicely" asks junior team member to retire from cycling to make room for him on Astana. Or else!

September: Euskaltel rules, of course; unheralded Cobo takes the Vuelta, you better not break my trusting heart !@#dammit; Cav grabs Worlds, 2500 spectators blinded by teeth on podium; Georgia Bronzini makes it 2, outrages sport by asking to be paid as much as that horrible off-key ukelele guy in the subway who plays for pocket change. The nerve of some people!

October: Bjarne leaves Contador with no support for 2012 at Saxo Bank, but then, that's what cows are for; Hushovd goes from being screwed at Garmin to being screwed at BMC; Tour announces 2012 route, Andy Schleck starts cryi--uh, learning to time trial. Allez allez Andy!

November: Merckx tells Schlecks to aim for the Giro; Jan Ullrich threatens to talk--watch out, Lance!; Zabriskie croons for Vaughters; WADA gives Contador a pass on plasticizers. IV-suckin' dirtbags o' the peloton, unite!

December: Vino accused of buying win at Liege-Bastogne-Liege for 134k big ones, which is still better'n 98% of the !@#$ he usually does; riders lay out plans for upcoming season; Bjarne Riis tosses Contador out of airplane. Ya got two weeks left in the year--the rest of you guys, don't !@#$ this up!

Well, sadly for me (but luckily for you), I couldn't cram it all in--but let's hope for a lively 2012!

Alexander Vinokourov: One Wily, Dirty Mother!@#$er

I Love You, Vino!: y'know, I was actually planning to post today about Vinokourov bitching how someone, probably that techno-geek mastermind Floyd Landis, hacked into his email accounts and apparently uncovered his plot to buy out the Tour de France turn the Tour into a results-guaranteed fascist fiefdom take over Kazakhstan when he gets elected to office and throw any dissenters into some rock-breaking commie gulag, when Vino actually outdoes even himself: yes, the boy is accused of paying off Alexander Kolobnev a handsome $134,000 to throw Liege-Bastogne-Liege, which, Vinokourov quite reasonably explains in his own defense, was merely a "loan" which he totally coincidentally happened to offer Kolobnev on the run to the LBL finish line. Folks, if nothing else proves those wanker fans who hissed Vino as he won weren't a bunch of unfair doubting bitter meanie miscreants, this does. !@#$, Vino, it wasn't enough you pumped all that !@#$ into your veins, you had to buy out Kolobnev--Kolobnev?--at least show some !@#damn dignity and buy a race from Gilbert or Boonen! Oh look, here's the "win":

Just Because He's a Lying, Cheating Dirtball Doesn't Mean He's Not Right: meantime, hilarity no doubt ensues at UCI this very moment as Floyd Landis' allegation that the lab monkeys, dope testers, and entire "anti"-doping community are a bunch of favorites-playing hypocrite scum-weasels is backed up as "probable" by none other than the WADA head honcho himself, which has been a big 10-outta-10 on the "No !@#$, Sherlock"-o-meter to most of us, but still hasn't been publicly acknowledged by someone who wasn't a sore-loser whiner just pissed everyone else didn't go down with the ship besides him. Pat "Dick" McQuaid, lookin' forward to the standard denials!

Backtrack Alert!: finally, it's good luck to Andy Schleck for 2012 as he avers he might too in fact ride the Giro this coming year, which, one presumes, is not only a statement to Cadel Evans that he's not either a wuss, but also a convenient excuse for a massive meltdown choke at the 2012 Tour de France (should he need it). Well played, baby Schleck--but don't you feel kinda funny taking a page from Contador's 2011 playbook?

Bjarne Riis: the Smell of Fear

But We're Nice! Really, Really Nice!: yes, in keeping with the ol' CSC tradition of dropping unarmed squad members dressed in penguin suits onto ice floes filled with starving polar bears, Bjarne Riis is still sending his boys to boot camp this year, but this time with an added bonus: they get to do charity work, too! Now, we here at racejunkie are never ones to question, much less openly besmirch, the untainted kindness, selflessness, and generosity of do-gooders. In fact, we downright admire it. Which is why I have no doubt whatsoever that Bjarne Riis' sudden departure from 20 years of training-camp rigidity has nothing whatsoever to do with, say, a gasping, heaving desperation move to make him and Alberto Contador look good totally coincidentally just as Contador, and ergo Bjarne, look like they're totally f!@#$ed. Anyway, at least someone benefits from the charity work--bummer for Bjarne if it ain't him, too!

Oh, Laaaaaa-aaaaaaaance! Laaaaaa-aaaaaance!: oh yeah, game on sucker--467 years after he officially retired, the Janster is finally about to be officially busted and, apparently, is ready to talk. So who else is ready to draw back the curtains on that brief, dark era of drug-stoked devilry, now that out of the entire peloton only (1) US Masters riders and (2) minor Canadian pros are still doping? Y'know who'd be really doing a service to the sport, is--hey, do I hear crickets chirping?

Tour Wars: meanwhile, Alberto Contador and Cadel Evans have both announced their goals for next year (if Alberto has a next year, but anyway): it's all for the Tour de France, baby, and each one's convinced the other one's goin' down. Well, they might want to run that by the Schlecks and Ivan Basso (tho' for my money Ivan's really gonna focus on the Giro), but either way, between Saxo Bank's broke-!@# lack o' backup, and BMC's astonishing potential to eat their own young in a monster clash of conflicting objectives, looks like the Tour's gonna be worth watching in 2012. Go Cade--uh, Alber--uh, Iva--oh, heck, good luck everyone, just stay the hell outta Samu's way on the uphills!

It's the 1st Annual Mario Cipollini Gratuitous T&A Award!: y'know, when I post, as a public service, a pic of Pippo Pozzato holding a saddle over his works, or, say, a soft-core Tom Boonen video, I am sometimes asked, in the noble interests of equality, "racejunkie, why don't you post a photo of Ivan Basso's hot sister?" Well, never let it be said I don't love you all, because as if women's cycling weren't already degraded enough this year, I hereby bring you this very informative wheel pic from 2009 Italian national road race champ/2011 Tour o' Qatar speedster Monia Baccaille:

Mario "the Chest", keep your eyes open, you've got competition!

Racejunkie's Ten Things I'm Thankful For This Year

Well treasured reader(s), it's time for us on my side of the pond to give thanks for our great nation by stuffing ourselves til our pants-buttons pop, watching 16 straight hours of football til someone else caves and does the dishes, and trying to keep that weird relative from spouting off freak theories about the alleged "moon landing," so in recognition of this fine holiday, and in the spirit of warmth, generosity, and kindness it so naturally engenders, I humbly bring you my Cycling Stuff I'm Thankful For This Year:

1. Alberto Contador. Love 'im, hate 'im, or stuff 'im with steak, the boy never fails to entertain, even in the off-season. Hell, this might be the last we hear of him for two years--might as well be grateful for him now!

2. Underdogs. If you saw Juan Jose Cobo coming at the Vuelta, you're either (1) a genius, or (2) a lying sack of !@#$. Either way, woo-hoo to the unheralded--just swear to me you earned it the nice way!

3. Mark Cavendish. Sure, he's been disappointingly diplomatic this year, but there's always that sweet underlying suggestion that he could still come flyin' at yer face like a cornered rabid badger at any instant. We love you, Cav!

4. Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeellllllll!

5. Holy crap we love Samuel Sanchez is the reigning polka dot jersey!

6. Thoooooooooooooooor (shut up you haters!)!

7. Cadel Evans. Not only a damn hard worker, the first Tour de France winner in ages who didn't make me just a liiiiiiiittle bit creeped out. And I don't freakin' want to hear otherwise, you got that?

8. Giorgia Bronzini. Sure, the men's squadra azzurra was burned in effigy in the streets of Florence by looting mobs after its spectacular woof in this year's Worlds, but you know who bagged her second world road champ title? Yeah, sing it, sister--again!

9. The Giro d'Italia. If there's ever a race as bitchin' as the Vuelta, the beautiful, perfect Giro is it--plus, prosciutto! Now would the rest of the !@#damn cycling world quit scheduling a buncha stupid crap at the same time or what?

10. Jens Voigt. The man, the myth, the legend--the one who makes the rest of peloton start mewling like babies before he even puts his socks on in the morning. Come to think of it, I'm thankful for Jens every year. Aren't you? Bow, fellow peons--and Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Please, Can't They Just Start Racing Again?

The Hills Are Alive...With the Sound of Zabriskie: yes, the teams are rampin' up their official presentations for the year, and before Garmin's Dave "Muttonchop" Zabriskie heads off to a spa for some serious facial-hair management, here's his stellar rendition of "Proud JV": Tina Turner, watch yer back from now on!

Rope-a-Dope: yes, in the ongoing fight against doping, we've got three contradictory viewpoints today: CONI narc supremo Ettore Torri proudly saying that, despite the fact that amateurs are drugging themselves incoherent for a chance at "a salami", at the pro level cycling is "a lot cleaner" than it was in 2006 (tho' apparently he pulled a Sleeping Beauty for a couple years and missed, say, the even more disgusting 2008), bitter default Tour de France fair-n-square winner Oscar Pereiro claiming the whole system's mean because the soccer (sorry, football) players are even dirtier and no-one cares about that, and tennis great Yannick Noah saying the Spaniards are so high and the poor clean French so helpless against their illicit onslaught that the French oughta just quit testing entirely and give everyone a giant syringe full o' the Spaniards' chemical best. Me, I'm inclined to say we can all find a nice middle ground here and agree cheerfully that, if we weren't all raised to be ladies and gentlemen, it certainly wouldn't do the whole topic a disservice to gratuitously give, oh, Riccardo Ricco a swift steel-toed kick to the nuts. Harmony, people!

Riders I Like: Okay, it still really creeps me out that Chris Horner started being nice to Lance Armstrong. But you gotta love a guy who, long after most denizens of hte peloton have returned to their original training as carpenters or school-weens or joined the DS ranks, is more impassioned about the sport than he was as a youngster. And that, after that reckless selfish !@#hole Johan Bruyneel didn't even pull his bloodied head-whacked wreck of a bod from the Tour when he rode a bike for 2 hours without even realizing it! Chris, may you and Jens ride forever--but in one piece from now on, y'hear?

Pay Attention, Contatwerp!: righty-o, Alberto, remember how Alex Rasmussen accidentally evaded the doping vampires and asked to be punished for his shameful, if inadvertent, mistake? Well, you got one week to make a play for no mercy, honey, because the child just got off his "zero tolerance" punishment for his humility. You want to ride the Tour next season? Moo like a cow for the tribunal, Alberto, and beg for it!

Three Weeks In July: look, Eddy !@#$in' Merckx told the Schlecks what to do--essentially, you can't time trial for !@#$ so the Tour is fruitless, but if you work your !@#es off, you might be able to overcome Basso at the Giro. And though I bristle at (yes, everything, but also) any suggestion that winning the beautiful perfect Giro is any less a vicious masterwork than is the Tour--'cause it sure as hell wasn't this year, despite Contador's dominating performance throughout--I'll admit that the Giro tends to be rather, well, kinder on time-trial miles for its Italian homeboys than the Tour. Still, the Schlecks remain defiant, convinced that the loving attentions of Johan Bruyneel can nuzzle 'em up that final step of the podium and, mercifully, sparing us three solid weeks of whinging (did I get that right, dear Brit readers?) about Chaingate in March. Enjoy the Tour, boys--I'll sure as hell be enjoying the Giro a little more this year!

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

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

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

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

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

He Shoots, He Scores--Contador!

Just One Word...Plastics: score one for imminent-appeal-subject/inadvertent clen-snarfer Alberto Contador: WADA's bagged a test for plasticizers that could suss out blood-doping weasels--yes, the same chemical wee Alberto was reputed to have awfully funny levels of--on the grounds that there's so much of that !@#$ floating around in pleather, rainwear, flooring, food packaging, and kids' toys that a perfectly innocent person could have freakishly high levels of medical-grade tubing residue in their bodies, which means that, if CAS buys Alberto's argument that a Spanish farm imported a Chinese cow from Mexico, he's home-free 'cause they've got nothing to hang him on. One likely sticking point--killjoy good-guy Alex Rasmussen's noble insistence that he ought to be punished for breaking the CAS similarly zero-tolerance rules on rider location tracking, as it just wouldn't be *fair* to everyone else to let 'im off. You school-monitor goody-two-shoes teacher's pet--don't you realize how bad that makes Alberto look if he don't make the same gesture?! Anyway, I don't know about you, but in light of WADA's beautiful new cave-in, *I* see a pack of suspect two-wheeled dirtbags in the very near future conspicuously wandering around perpetually in trenchcoats with faux-wood planks stuck to their shoes pacifiers in their mouths and Sno-Ball wrappers stickin' out their pockets to cover their butts. You're almost there, Alberto, you're aaaaaaalmost there!

Like That Facebook Kid, Only More Annoying: and, technological whiz kid/Tour de France miscreant/fan-ripper-offer Floyd Landis was handed a cool 12-month suspended sentence in France for masterminding a computer-hack of the lab that, despite its spectacular incompetence, managed to legitimately bust him for doping nonetheless, which means that, so long as he acts like a wuss the rest of his life and stays the hell away from the country he disgraced with his cheating, he can continue his triumphant return to the Masters' ranks or, even better, have to jack up his car instead to take NASCAR by storm. Good thing there's no doping in Masters, so you won't have to worry there won't be a level playing field there!

Boonen: The Next Generation: meantime, in off-season hijinks news, wacky-but-talented Euskaltel party-boy Romain Sicard was busted by the cops while blotto stuffing a purloined street-sign in his trunk, and, as truly fortunately no-one was hurt except the street sign during the escapade, I imagine a sincere mea culpa, a little community service, and a heartfelt promise to the sponsors not to pull that crap while dressed in full Euskaltel-Euskadi team kit ever again oughta do the trick quite nicely. Romain, it's much less conspicuous to try this stuff while you're *inside* the club--just ask Tommeke!

Cadeeeeeeeeeeel!: last but not least, massive congrats to Tour de France bad-!@# Cadel Evans for his (obvious, but still!) win for Australian Cyclist of the Year, and if there's any doubt about how thoroughly I consider myself well and fairly nut-whacked for having ever criticized his less-than-flashy style in the past, here's another look at his smashing time trial at the Tour: Okay, I've been nice like you deserve, Cadel--now you better not pull a Vaughters and !@#$ over Thor Hushovd next year!

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

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

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

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

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

Uh-Oh, *That* Don't Sound Right

Y'Know That Prickly Feeling You Get on the Back of Your Neck When Something Creepy's About to Happen?: yeah, well, no matter how well-intentioned, an inspiring article about the Schlecks' efforts to improve their notoriously sucktastic time-trialing and descending skills just starts to read a weeeeeeeeee bit creepier when it's subheaded something like "Weaknesses Being Targeted by Spanish Experts." Sorta like "Tom Boonen's Birthday Party Being Planned by Top Belgian Disco Owner!" Anyway, I'm sure Johan Bruyneel's got his top do--folks on the problem, and if only so Cadel and Contador don't totally make 'em look like asses against the clock next July, I'm genuinely rooting for the brothers to triumph in their new disciplines-o'-choice. Hell, with "experts" on hand, how can they fail?

Go Big George!: meantime, I see big George Hincapie's teaming up with BMC to support a squad's-worth of upcoming young cycling talent, and while BMC handles the tedious logistics of equipment, lodging, and morals clauses, Professor George is scheduled to teach such classes as "How to Win a Race Even After Your Bike's Spontaneously Exploded," "Econ 101: How Much Do You Have to Pay a Guy to Make Him Wash Your Bike Shorts?" and "What To Do When the Narcs Come a-Knockin' For Your Friend." Me, I'd be delighted to see any of these whippersnappers open up a can of whup-!@# on the peloton--I mean, am I the *only* getting bored with the sheer inevitability every time Gilbert lines up for a race?

!@#Dammit, Bjarne, What Part of "Pimp Yourself If You Have To, But Get This Guy" Don't You Understand?: okay, no more excuses: Geox is *over*, and Juan Jose Cobo needs your help--or more accurately, you need *his* help, because if you *don't* dredge up Contador some more talent in the next two or so weeks, *and* he chokes the Tour as a result, I guarantee you Captain Cool'n'Rational is gonna whang you over the head with his two-ounce bike helmet 'til you start to cower with annoyance and screech for mercy from the onslaught. Heck, don't you *want* a backup plan in case your boy goes down for cattle-doping? Come on, offer him *something*--your Tour trophy, your eternal soul, *anything* worth a few euros'll do!

Yer Random News Roundup o' the Week--Rider Smackdown Edition!

Tyler Extends the Olive Branch: y'know, I was gonna post a whole bunch of sweet sentimental ponderings today on dreamy Cav's impending fatherhood and Rodriguez's adoration of Team Katusha, but !@#$ that--for my money, the best tweet o' the week is traitorous Lance Armstrong defector/men's-room beatdown rival Tyler Hamilton, generously letting Lance know that if he wants any restaurant recommendations while he's in town, silly inconsequential betrayal to the feds and impending legacy destruction or no, Ty's still his man. Note to Lance (who shockingly, however, hasn't apparently yet responded)--if you end up in some cockroach-ridden Southie back-alley with Tyler and a posse of black-clad goons at 2 a.m. "looking for the entrance", he ain't takin' you to Legal Seafoods for chowder. See, I can be nice!

BMC See the Bloody Remnants o' Yer Carcass Next Season, Thor!: and, unstoppable Velo d'Or Philippe Gilbert is already amping up the love at Team BMC, ruminating on his chances for dominance in Paris-Roubaix for 2012 and, one assumes, really reassuring Thor Hushovd that besides being demoted to Cadel's water-boy at the Tour de France, he can also look forward to being Gilbert's b!@#$ at the Classics next year. !@#dammit, has ever a recent World Champion been so nut-kicked in such swift succession by squads that oughta be backing him up? Yap, yap, Thor's a whiner, yap--much as I love Cadel and Philippe, he should be freakin' howling at the moon like a werewolf and going all Wolverine on their !@#es, and they should thank him extravagantly for doing it!

The Racejunkie Review o' Books: yes, all that fancy lit-crit is for weenies, because my spankin' new Ivan Basso autobio has just arrived on these very shores, and, faster'n you can say "Birillo," I hope to be posting the more salacious details of his career--which, I fear, may be sorely lacking in this edition--for both yer entertainment. Oh well, what it may lack in potentially-litigious peloton gossip, it'll certainly make up for in really pretty pictures. Woo-hoo!

Jens, the Next Generation: finally, I see total god Jens Voigt has tweeted that one of his Jenslets just competed in--and, inevitably, won--his first-ever bike race. me, I'm thinking that with approximately 563 offspring to his credit, Jens derivatives'll pack to the peloton enough within the next ten years that there'll be no-one left *but* a Jens and Jensette in the ProTour ranks, all joyfully bounding ahead of each other on the road whether their DSes want them to or not like labs after a just-tossed tennis ball. Bow, peons--and with that many of 'em coming up, we're gonna have to get used to doing it *often*!

Yer Cyclist Guide to Morality, Fair Play, and General Good-Guysmanship

On Dekk: yep, as he returns to the peloton after his ignominious doping ban, former Rabo-rauser Thomas Dekker has taken the moral high road and pimped himself to the narcs--not because he personally has anything to gain, because as he justly points out he's already served his time, but because he wants to make the world a better place. Awwwwww, so sweet! Um, am I the only one thinking this is a total bull!@#$ excuse for him to root out a buncha other dopers so now that he's been personally declawed he doesn't have to compete against fellows as morally flexible as he (used to be)? Thomas, thanks in advance for noble services to yourse--uh, I mean cycling, that's it, cycling!

Now *That's* Freakin' Scary: Frankenstein and zombies my !@#, I'll tell ya what's really flippin' me out as Halloween approaches--though I've been tightly clinging to denial thus far, I must finally concede the rumors exist, from none other than dear Samu' himself, that beautiful perfect Euskaltel-Euskadi may be having sponsorship troubles, and, worse, may actually have to fight it out with FD-!@#damn-J of all squads for a high-level gig. Are you !@#damn *serious*? Sanchez is the reigning polka-dot jersey you dirt-sucking amoral goons! Aiiiiigggghhhhhh! Bad enough the rest of you big-budget pervmeisters are constantly stealing Euskaltel's talent--now you're gonna leave the lonely brilliant Basques without a single ProTour team to call their own? Aiiiigggghhhhhh! Ergo, I hereby establish the Racejunkie Save Euskaltel Euskadi Fund, for which, under these dire circumstances, I will be accepting dollars, euros, yen, Groupons, trade ya whatever your mom packed in your lunchbox, marbles, candy, livestock, crap from ebay that can't even garner the minimum bid, and untraceable illicit black-market !@#$ that'll probably land me in prison the next ten years. Save Euskaltel--Aiiiiggggghhhhh!

The Mask of Zorr--Uh, Kolobnev: so lemme get this straight: although there was zero doping positives at the Tour de France this year, a guy who tests poz for a diuretic/masking agent (which masks, y'know, dope), is gonna get a 50-cent fine and a sloppy wet kiss from the narcs, but a wayward party-boy who comes up twice for coke-for-fun in 7 years is gonna get barred from the sport for 2 1/2 years? Not to endorse anything potentially involving horrid European techno music, but what the hell kind of sense does *that* make? At least prove he snorted it outta his musette when it'd've helped 'im in a breakaway or something first! Still, this does provide a valuable lesson: so long as you don't show up with actual dope in your system, evidence you've been trying to *beat* the tests is all juuuuuust fine. Thanks for the clarification--anyone else picturing Danilo DiLuca running out to stock up on whatever girly !@#$ was making him test at the testosterone levels of a Bratz doll a few years back?

Clean as a Whistle!: finally, it's with unrestrained delight that I report that the Vuelta a Espana was completely clean this year, which, considering they've allegedly historically taken even less interest in anti-doping efforts than the Amgen EPO Tour o' California did this season, makes me fully confident that the shocking result in nearly every stage plus GC this year is, in fact, clear evidence that previously-frustrated talents now allowed to compete on a level playing field are finally getting their rightful day in the sun. Yep, the peloton'll toast to that--wait, that ain't no champagne glass!