It's Yer Chris Froome Paranoid Conspiracy Theory Roundup!

Look, we all know that Team Ineos in the Sky With Diamonds is capable of truly epic levels of bull!@#$tery, like "marginal gains," "I had no idea what was in that Jiffy Bag labeled "HEY DAVE, HERE'S THAT BAGFUL OF BANNED PERFORMANCE-ENHANCING DRUGS YOU ORDERED FROM ME BY TEXT MESSAGE FOR YOUR RIDERS," and  "we appreciate Geraint Thomas winning the Tour de France for us and will gladly support him again."  But since Chris Froome's shocking 50-kph Tour-and-possibly-career-destroying smash into a wall, there's been a truly, startlingly paranoid quasi-Masonic deep-state X-Files Spy vs. Spy Bourne Identity just-!@#$in'-nutwhack tweet-blizzard o' conspiracy theories, so before we all get totally lost in the weeds here, let's recap, summarize, and clarify:

1. Juanjo Cobo, the improbable Vuelta a Espana champ/current milkman (a far nobler profession than 'pro cyclist', BTW), was busted for bio passport probs and potentially stripped of his win, in which Chris Froome placed an improbable 2nd, THE VERY SAME DAY THAT FROOME SLAMMED INTO A WALL BLOWING A SNOT-ROCKET ON A TT-RECON DESCENT CAUSING CATASTROPHIC INJURIES.  

2. Some other pro guy said he once mistook Juanjo Cobo for a "fat mechanic," not a wasted wraith with the approximate BMI of a half-starved locust.   So...karma, bitches!

3. Ineos sez Froome had multiple breaks to his femur, some broken ribs, and a fractured elbow. Normal people, including Froome-haters, were horrified, and wished him a full and speedy recovery.

4. Allegedly, a coupla tools were like "big whoop, he's a cheating scumbag anyway," leading to massive "YOU'RE A TOTAL !@#$FACE" outrage.  However, I personally more saw, "Yep, hate him, hope he gets well soon, that's a !@#$ty thing to happen to anyone."

5. Updated medical reports said Froome also had a broken neck, and lost like 2 liters of blood.

6. Dan Martin and some other guys said either they were there and thought holy crap he coulda been killed and were blessedly relieved he was not, or told him "hey, careful on the descent there, cowboy."

7. The ambulance took a while to get to and stabilize him before it was safe to move him to hospital. Suspiciously, though, THERE IS NO GORY INSENSITIVE DISRESPECTFUL VOYEURISTIC HELP-NO-ONE STREAMING YOUTUBE FOOTAGE of something that clearly would've completely traumatized his poor family if they'd seen it, so honestly, what the hell is *wrong* with you people?

8. He was in the ER/ICU, and then he was not.

9. Post-surgery, Froome posts a pic of himself giving a thumbs-up sign from his hospital bed, with basically a big band-aid on his elbow, a blanket deceptively pulled over his purportedly mangled torso, no IV lines, and his scrawny neck without any visible immobilization collar or other support.  There is also a noticeable lack of overflowing blood-buckets in his disconcertingly clean hospital room, and a disturbing absence of machines that beep.

10. Some crackpot posts some kind of weird Masonic flat-earth fake-moon-landing little-green-men-but-cyclists thing, and everyone loses it.

11. Phil Gaimon posts a pic of himself after a vaguely similar track crash having apparently been put through a wood-chipper.

12. There are now two schools of thought on Twitter: "boy, he doesn't *look* that injured, he *must* be part of a vast team-and-hospital-wide conspiracy to fake us out" when all he actually had to do if he thought he was about to get popped himself was excuse himself out of the Tour with a much simpler bogus 'stomach ailment' and "WTF, you watch two seasons of "Grey's Anatomy" and now you're a medical expert you tinfoil-hatted freak?" Suddenly, a third group emerges!  It basically just says, "Hmmmm."

13. We love Joseba Beloki talked about his own Tour de France career-crushing femur break and I almost bawled.

14. The upshot: (1) Froome's a dirty dirty you-know-whatter; (2) crashing is a crappy sad way for even an odious sports-weasel to end his career so let's hope he heals completely and quickly; (3) Geraint Thomas is *still* fucked; and (4) I've been running this pointless blog for 13 years and even *I* think we all need to get a life.

Glad that's settled.  On to the Tour!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!

Okay, so I've been a *little* bit discombobulated this Giro by Movistar sucking *again* with some guy from it who's not Mikel Landa winning instead.  But still and all, it *was* rather a ripper, so before the inevitable din and unbearable hype surrounding the inferior Tour de France kicks in, let's give credit where credit is (sometimes mortifyingly) due: It's time for Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!  Prizes (I swear), should any winner be so desperate as to claim them: a stylin' custom-embroidered racejunkie cap to adorn yer head; a passel o' racejunkie stickers to deface every mountaintop sign to pass in a car so you can pretend you actually climbed the thing on yer bike; and, in lieu of the hallowed Trofeo Senza Fine, a promotional statuary tchotchke plucked right from my local secondhand store and engraved with *your actual name.* So own yer glory, and yer shame kids--it's damn-near-as-good-as-a-maglia-rosa time!

Talk Softly and Carry a Big Stick (Except You Didn't) Prize: hey, we *all* love a little pre-race smack talk.  After all, what better way to get the adrenalin flowing, the tifosi screaming, and yer rivals ready to stick a shank in your tire at 50 miles an hour? That's right, Simon Yates's suave suggestion that his fellow GC contenders oughta be "!@@#ing in their pants right now."  Um, are you sure that wasn't just what you thought they were doing when they were actually 20 kilometers up the road ahead of you instead?

Caught With Their Pants Down Prize: heck, mechanicals happen.  But when you really *don't* want them to happen, particularly when everyone's surmising whether you're about to take the entire show in Verona, is when your team car collectively decides now's a perfectly harmless time to drop trou at the side of the road for a little gruppo nature break.  Still, Primoz Roglic managed to get another bike and get on his way eventually. Oh, well--it's not like he wanted the final maglia rosa anyway!

Screw You Race Organizers! Award: Remember when time triallists were approximately size of the Abominable Snowman, and about as likely to disrupt the results of the final overall podium?  Yeah, well *I* do, and time was, whippersnappers, where only the rarest of GCs was actually decided by a freakin' pile of suckfest TIME TRIALS THAT NO PURE CLIMBER WAS EVER ABLE TO NAVIGATE COMPETITIVELY ANYTIME ANYWHERE EVER.  And yes, I'm a bitter Landa fan.  Do you *know* how much this race would've changed if the first day (and the last!) hadn't taken a !@#damn baseball bat to this poor kid's legs, and ego?  Perfidy, thy name is PLEASE PLEASE GIRO DON'T EVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS EVER AGAIN!

Superdomestique-o'-the-Giro: speaking of whom, in my misery over Movistar's usual hosing of our little Carrot underdog, I *do* have to in all honesty give this one to, yep, this year's new and now reigning Maglia Rosa, Richard Carapaz, who genuinely dug in there with his last ounce of energy in the race's penultimate stage to smoosh the GC contenders to almost--almost!--give the stage to loyal, if overall generally a bit bummed out, co-captain Mikel Landa. Aw, thanks for trying Richard--now *don't* come between Mikel and the (I hope) Vuelta!

Fake-Out of the--Hell, of the Century! Award: so what're a ravenous press, twitterverse, and bored-as-hell tifosi supposed to think when a bunch of guys in intimidating-lookin' hazmat suits ostentatiously descend on the notorious Alexander Vinokourov's Astana team bus and disappear inside with what looks like some high-tech James Bond spymongering gear?  HOLY !@#$ STOP THE INTERNET AND FLEE FROM THE NARCS IT'S US POSTAL ALL OVER AG--uh, it's a minor new cleaning-product sponsor, like, *seriously* giving that filthy team bus a nice scrub.  Well now that we're all freaking out Vino, can you get a damn whiskey sponsor out here to calm us down?

Total !@#$in' Hypocrisy Award: so someone finally notices that Alessandro "Wheezy" Petacchi, already renowned for sucking enough asthma meds right before the finish line to open up the airways of an entire herd of stampeding wildebeest, is retroactively implicated in some *other* ancient doping scandal that's just now being revealed by clowns lining up to take down a doctor everyone already knew was a dope supplier now that they've benefited from all the !@#$ they took from him, and what happens? That's right, the noble head honchos over at RAI--who've previously had no reservations showcasing *other* former pros snarled in their own doping allegations, who shall remain nameless because I like them--take the strapping ex-sprint king right outta the broadcaster's box and into the annals of Guys We Knew Should Make Us Look Bad But Like Who Cared Until Now Anyway?, while fellow miscreants-turned-commentator-darlings David Millar and Christian Vande Velde get to laugh their absolute !@#es off over a beer.  I mean, not that Petacchi deserves a ticker-tape parade for his hijinks, but what the !@#$, people?!

Crash o' the Race (GC-Deciding): Y'know, in the absence of last year's defending-champ-who-declined-to-defend-his-title-therefore-dishonoring-this-beautiful-race-and-should've-been-thrown-into-a-viperous-gaping-snakepit, I was actually rather looking forward to see how runner-up Tom Dumoulin was gonna do--but we'll never know, because the poor kid was taken out by a nasty knee injury on Stage 4.  Didja see how he at least tried to get on the bike the next day before succumbing to the inevitable?  Now *that's* giving the race its due!

Crash o' the Race (Jaysus Thank God He's Okay!): speaking of asthma, this one's unfortunately for AG2Rs Alexis Vuillermoz, who actually did have a severe enough asthma attack on the Queen stage 16 to cause him to crash into a ravine, be rescued, hauled up, and treated, and, miraculously, climb back on his bike and proceed to finish the stage.  Forget the hype about all the Classics guys--now *that's* some hardman !@#$!

*I'm* Not Crying, *You're* Crying! Prize: he burst onto the scene in 2015, climbing (and smiling) like an angel at the Vuelta, where he wore the yellow jersey, and then in 2016 at the Giro, where he hit the podium.  And after that?  Well, despite a lovely stage win at the 2018 Giro, the poor boy was gobsmacked for damn near a year by a bout of Epstein-Barr virus, with naysayers wondering if he'd ever truly come back.  But come back he did, with a gorgeous victory on Stage 19 and a tearful celebration with his adorable parents.  Oh, shut up and pass me the Kleenex, you sentimental fool!

Fan !@#$wit Award (Were You Raised By!@#dam' Wolves or Something? Edition): look, we all live for waiting on a freezing roadside for seven hours in the vain and statistically unlikely hope that a passing domestique will toss a water bottle, an empty musette, or even a spit-covered half-empty gel packet, our way.  And honestly, most of these guys are nice enough to actually look for some eager kid (or grown-up!) to toss 'em to, when they've got quite *enough* to attend to at that moment, thank you.  But just a bit *too* eager was the big adult assclown who thought it was perfectly okay to bodily wrench a water bottle from the very mouth of poor Marco Haller like a medieval barber yanking a rotten tooth from some poor bastard's head with a rusty farrier's hammer.  Forget the fan--I'm inclined to award this one to Marco for charging over and berating the !@#$in' idiot!

Fan !@#$wit Award (Malice Aforethought Edition): between the too-close-flag-wavers, the selfie-stickers, the dog-walkers, and, may heaven protect our eyes, the exhibitionists running beside the riders screaming in their too-small banana-hammocks, it's often hard to pick who gets a Fan !@#$wit Award in the Giro or any Grand Tour.  But to their credit, at least they're just stupid--it's a whole 'nother animal when someone actively picks up a pale-blue cruiser bike and intentionally throws it in the race course, which inevitable near-catastrophe was heroically averted by another tifoso who immediately ran out into the road ahead of the charging peloton and retrieved it.  Holy crap, and I thought tossing tacks into the road was bad!

Fan !@#$wit Award (Vigilante Justice Edition): What's even worse than a stupid crash when you're riding like mad for the final podium?  The roadside moron who puts you there!  Undaunted by the ticking clock, though, Miguel Angel Lopez took the time to give the gentleman an etiquette lesson--if you can call smacking the guy upside the head til his hat spun out like a frisbee "etiquette." And while everyone was quick to assure that they don't condone violence, even the race organizers, with the power of expulsion in their hands, were inclined to let this one slide.  Hell hath no fury like a GC contender impeded!

Nice Guys Finish Last (But Also First!) Award: Chad Haga--who generously entertained the lot of us with his pithy #GiroOversimplified daily roundups via twitter--slogged through rain, sun, rain, and rain for three straight weeks and sat in the hot seat for damn near the entire final day before finding out the truly bitchin'--he won the Stage 21 time trial, and single-handedly salvaged the demoralized leaderless Team Sunweb's entire Grand Tour.  Nice to have something sweet to cheer about for once, amirite? Woot woot woot Chad Haga!

And Finally, the Punk-!@# Move of the Giro: y'know, I usually have a wealth of options to choose from here, as the race for the final maglia rosa grows more intense, tempers rise, and frankly, usually Alejandro Valverde is racing it.  But this year he wasn't, and aside from a little argy-bargy in the sprints from Elia Viviani, and Vincenzo Nibali clearly about to go completely over the edge at Primoz Roglic's failure to assist him in overthrowing, well, Primoz Roglic, this year was astonishingly civilized.  So here's a slightly revised "Dumb-!@# Move of the Giro" Award: for forcibly abandoning your own team leader Nibali (who could've really used the help, by the way) by getting popped for a 2013 Austrian doping scandal 5 stages into the race, Kristijan Koren, this one's for you!

Well folks, there's my Giro d'Italia awards for 2019--now either claim 'em, correct me, or hope to heck I don't have to give your sorry !@# another prize next year!

It's Yer What the Hell is Going on In the Giro (and Even the Amgen EPO Tour of California) Roundup!

Look, in a week that's supposed to be a dull preview to the real action in the mountains in one race, and a hippie peace'n'lovefest at another, it's been a freakin' catastropalooza at the Giro and even the ToC so far, so what the hell is happening?  Let's talk!

The Giro: all right, I'm a little rusty on game shows, so apologies if all I can come up with is some half-!@#ed reference to whatever 1950s dinosaur was being aired immediately before the already-ancient "I Love Lucy" reruns I watched as a kid.  But only 5 stages in, this Giro d'Italia's gone 16 ways to hell, and boy, is there *buckets* of blame to go around.  So let's play Pick the Culprits!

1. The Race Organizers: to be fair, an 8k individual time trial shouldn't *totally* kill the GC on the first day*, especially when that 2k vertical leg-biter at the end seems to have been quite a mercy bone generously tossed to the helpless pure climbers.  But *damn*--can I just reiterate I have *hate* when the GC's half-decided on day 1 of a 3-week Grand Tour?  Take these stupid things outta the calculation and leave 'em to the specialists on Day 1 at least, for heck's sake! *I know, you're right.  GC contenders should be reasonably proficient in all disciplines, not just the climbs.  But the fact that you're right doesn't make it not suck!

2. The Race Organizers (Part Due): I, too, was pretty surprised by reigning maglia ciclamino Elia Viviani's dazzling deviation of line in stage 2's hotly-contested finale, not least because, when it came to avoiding the voracious press corps anyway, Elia was able to ride from the podium to his window-tinted team bus with the approximate precision of a returning moon lander with a 2-square-centimeter target window for evading otherwise certain death.  But swerve he did, and *gee*, did that cost 'im--not just relegation, but jersey-deciding sprint points, a whopping fine, *and* the requirement that he ride all subsequent stages solo on the safety of adjacent commuter bike paths.  Hey, at least no one crashed from that--what's a little argy-bargy between mortal enemies anyway?

3. That Flake from Ineos: Y'know, *everybody's* probably caused a crash or two in their day.  But *dang*, must it be to the eternal detriment of last year's runner-up Tom Dumoulin, who ended the stage in a pile of blood, a slew of x-rays (all negative, fortunately), and a reluctant early trip home?  I mean seriously, can't you just trebuchet yourself into a damn ditch first and leave the race contenders to go safely on their way? Eyes *forward*, FFS!

4. Movistar: Wow, that was a great ride by Carapaz!  But could you have kicked we love Mikel Landa from team leadership any faster'n !@#$in Goose from "Top Gun"  blasting himself from his ejector seat during the post-race commentary from the teams, even if you did backtrack the next day and generously sorta reinstate him after he made back up a bit of time?  Oh, Mikel, I *told* you to get the hell outta there...

5. Simon Yates: okay, speaking of dear Mikel, maybe he wasn't...*overly* diplomatic when he called Simon a man-whore and an idiot for allegedly taking him down in a roundabout the next day after the Carapaz fiasco after Mikel already miraculously evaded carnage in the Ineos crash that blew out half the rest of the GC.  But he *did* subsequently tweet an apology, which Yates kindly dismissed as a heat of the moment remark, which seems karmically right, as Yates had opined in the pre-Giro presser that the other contenders oughta be "shitting their pants" in fear of him, leading a tranquillo Nibali to first mildly castigate him to show "respect," then suggest such things added "pepper" to the race.  Lookin' forward to the next three weeks--now, I gotta go brush up on my foreign-language cussing!

6. The Commentator Paradox: yeah, I know I'm just banging this drum, but can someone explain to me why, say, David Millar gets to perch a crystal halo on his head on a perpetual nobility tour, Christian Vande Velde gets to talk turkey on US TV with nary a whisper, and Alessandro Petacchi gets kicked the !@#$ off RAI?  I mean, I personally maintain without irony or self-reflection that Iban was framed and Samu was shafted, but either we call bull!@#$ on these guys as post-career commentators or we don't. Or should Alessandro just get a lucrative DS role instead, and we've all championed clean sport the right way again?

The ToC: admittedly, I'm still so pissed at UCI for scheduling this race during the Giro that I've been reluctant to pay attention, but it is some darn diverting racing, no more so than today's stage, where Tejay Van Garderen busted a chain, swapped bikes with an Aussie teammate, got totally confused by the brake configuration, and flew through a Red-Rover's-worth of wildly gesticulating  course-flaggers, only to turn around, drag his !@# aaaaalmost up to the peloton, dodge a giant stick in the road, then get caught up behind a yuge pileup caused by some tape-like substance in the road, all well outside the last 3k, understandably drag in quite behind, then *still* keep his 6-second advantage and the leader's jersey in apparent contravention of the rules.  Is it me, or is it just no one really wanted to award the leader's jersey to that punk Moscon?

Welp, there's your crash (literally!) course, and with today's mere 1 moto wipeout, 1 gamechanger in the Giro *and* the Tour, a handy Nibs domestique plus some other guy at the ToC pulled before the day even started for biological irregularities, and a desperately cold'n' rain-soaked finale that caused the Giro organization to shorten the stage as Elia missed out on vindication thanks to frozen legs, I gotta say, I'm eager for tomorrow's undoubtedly more peaceful breakaway stage--forza ragazzi, and the lot of you, hold it together!

It's Yer Giro D'Italia in Preview, Part Tre: the Sprinteurs, the Climbeurs, and Puncheurs!

Sure, the race actually starts in a few minutes, but that don't mean we're done with our preview yet: while you're holding your breath while some poor bastard botches a bike change, we've got the sprinters, climbers, and stage hunters to break down!  So who've you got for stage wins, once you've been well and truly hosed by your GC picks?  These boys!

The Sprinteurs: let's be honest--recent bout of flu or not, if Elia Viviani is on half the form he was in 2018, he's a shoo-in for a passel of stage victories and the hallowed maglia ciclamino again.  First, the you-suck-uci-for-scheduling-the-amgen-epo-tour-o'-california-at-the-same-time-as-the-Giro has permanently gutted the giro sprinter field.  Second, this guy, unlike your typical sprinter musk oxen, can hang tough in all but the viciousest climbs.  Heck, if you can look fresher'n a daisy--or hell, an actual dead person--after last year's epic slog up the Finestre, as he did, what *can't* you conquer?  Still, there are a couple of other fast men here, most of whom are destined to crawl home weeping like wet-diapered toddlers after the first big mountain stage on Day 13, and scrappy little squirt Caleb Ewan, the tranquillo Fernando Gaviria, and Arnaud Demare could all dethrone, even if temporarily, the reigning king.  See that controversial Italian champ jersey they dropped on Elia?--kids, follow that!

The Climbeurs: look, if you can climb, you're a threat for Giro GC.  But some pretty amazing talent has been pressed into service, at least theoretically, for their team leaders, and all it takes is one captain's bonk for a mountain goat specialist to be let off the leash.  Ex-Carrot Ion Izagirre, who's whomped out an impressive palmares of his own this season.  Esteban Chaves, who if he doesn't get sick can charmingly crush just about anyone.  Carapaz, who better stick to backing Mikel !@#dammit.  Rafal Majka, who's pounded out a coupla Tour de France mountains titles. Pavel Sivakov--with poor Bernal out, now might be your moment. And of course, beloved ex-carrot Mikel Nieve.  Forza ragazzi!

The Puncheurs and Stage Hunteurs: Finally, the Giro is nothing if not unpredictable, and as the GC get too cagey watching each other, and hold back on the rollers to save energy in the big passes, there's some pretty wily stage hunters, and even out-of-place Classics guys, out for glory and a bangin' raise next year.  Tao Geoghegan Hart.  Bauke Mollema.  Bob Jungels.  Davide Formolo.  And I'm hoping that, as happens in at least one Grand Tour per year, some jailbait revelation or lifelong worker bee will pull a humungous solo breakaway and astonish and delight us all. Gooooooooo unexpected mystery man!

Welp, there's no doubt buckets more I'm missing, but them's my top picks.  Now let's get on with the show--and Landa, pleeeeeaaaaaaaase have a good ITT tomorrow!

It's Yer Giro d'Italia 2019 in Preview, Part Due: The GC Contenders!

Okay, tifosi, we got the corsa rosa down--now who's gonna rule it?  Probably one of these guys!

Mikel Landa: first, everyone can suck it for not including we love Mikel Landa in their top five.  Sure, he hasn't won a Grand Tour *yet*.  And with Alejandro Valverde missing in action with a gnarly butt-bone bruise, he'll lack some serious mountain firepower.  On the plus side, with Alejandro Valverde missing in action with a gnarly butt-bone bruise, he'll also lack the threat of a serious race-crushing bushwhack from his own teammate.  Of course, our luckless Mikel is down with a vicious toe-rub injury because Movistar sucks *and* all the gods of Valhalla are conspiring against him, but we know this--he's hungry, he's podiumed and won stages here before, it'd be bitchin' to give the unappreciative Movistar a giant !@#$ you as he bolts out the door to take Nibs' place at Bahrain-Merida, and, in a reasonably mountain goat's Giro where even the GC-blowing TTs are on the steep side, the boy can *climb*.  And even without Valverde, Mikel's got some hardcore backup: youngster Carapaz, who had a smashing Giro 2018, and Andrey Amador for the mountains, and JJ Rojas for some protection in the flats.  Aupa Mikeeeeeel--and the rest of you haters know what you can do with that!

Vincenzo Nibali: two-time Giro champ/don't forget his Tour or Vuelta either Nibs is focusing on the Giro this year, and that means one thing for the peloton: pain.  Pain on the climbs, pain on the rolling stages when he's in pursuit, pain on the flats when you can't even shake him, and most especially pain on the descents, where he'll blast by you and be enjoying a massage, a facial, and a cocktail back at the hotel while you're still white-knuckling your squirrely !@# down the first freakin' hairpin on the second-to-last Dolomite of the day.  Downside: second only to Tom Dumoulin's, his team's maybe not so strong as others' GC squads here.  Like that matters?  He's the freakin' Shark, !@#dammit!

Tom Dumoulin: all right, I'm still irked that someone the approximate body size of a steriod-suckin' Incredible Hulk can seemingly climb like a two-kilogram Chavito, but that aside, and ignoring his own grim outlook, Tom's gotta have nothin' but love for this route: he's got two whole weeks to conserve his energy before the mountains kick in, and he's got three whole time trials that, while not the flat profile beloved by specialists, nonetheless puts him on a bike that he can ride effortlessly while the other GC contenders are just praying to manage to stay reliably upright.  If he can minimize his losses on the giant passes, he could do this.  Aupa Mikeeeeeeeeel!

Simon Yates: the most excruciating "almost" of Giro 2018, when he bonked spectacularly on the grueling Finestre while that flailing spider windmill charged ahead for the win, he's got unfinished business here, and put a pretty sweet down payment on it with his late-season Vuelta win.  And while he says he's riding "conservatively" this trip, I assume that also means he'll be paying sharp attention to eating and drinking, to at least take one potential source of total collapse out of the threat pool. And who's he's got on his side? Cheerful Esteban Chaves, who'd also like to redeem a tough 2018, and we love fabulous veteran Carrot Mikel Nieve, who's already bagged the maglia azzurra and a buncha stage wins in this glorious race.  Hold your head together, and you've got a real shot at maglia rosa glory!

Primoz Roglic: look, I get it. He had a great Romandie, he's got a huge engine, he's an enormous talent.  But a three-week Grand Tour is an entirely different garanimal from a week-long stage race, and 21 days is plenty of time to grind even a strongman like this kid into a whimpering, jelly-like nub.  He's got only a handful of Grand Tours under his chamois so far--though who's to say this won't be his breakthrough?

Miguel Angel Lopez: he's young--in fact, last year's third place is also the reigning young rider champ.  He's brilliant--and has had a great start to his season.  And typical for Vino, who has been known to actually crush people into tiny carbon piles by the steely glare of his eyeballs, Astana has brought a squad, including twee-but-formidable Ion Izagirre, designed to kill. But I'm not sure Lopez's got this one just yet.  But I am sure that Vino'll make sure anyone who says that !@#$ is gonna pay for it!

And Finally, the Absentees: hey, I'm the first to say that that ungrateful arachnid-weasel is doing the Giro a favor by not showing up this year, but with happy lieutenant Geraint Thomas also delusionally thinking he'll get an equivalent shot at the Tour this year, that's two bigwigs out, alongside the ever-formidable mostly-bridesmaid Valverde that really open things up--and mercifully shield our eyes from the grotesque sight of Froome on a bike til his main goal in July. It'd be bull!@#$ to say that the absent won't define the race as the participants--so for the guys that are left, and particularly all my ex-Carrots in the house--now's yer chance to blow this race apart!

Well Giro fans, them's mine--next up, if I get around to it before a celebratory pre-race bar crawl with my Lupo Wolfie mascot derails it til after the show's already started, the sprinters, the climbers, and the 'nother threats!

It's Yer 2019 Giro d'Italia in Preview, Part Uno: The Course!

All right, we already know that the race organizers tailor-made this course to seduce Tom Dumoulin into participating by cramming in three freakin' time trials, instead of sensibly tailoring it to deserving natural climbers like Mikel Landa, in which case Dumo better cut the cagey psych-out crap with how out of form he is, be !@#damn grateful, and ride it if he's suffering from the !@#damn bubonic plague. Anyhoo, it being the perfect Giro, it's still a smashing course with plenty o' opportunity for unbelievable breakaways, spectacular bonks, and astonishing mountaintop triumphs, so what've we got? This!

The Overall: As I mentioned, this year's Giro's got *three* individual time trials, which means, no matter how climby they are, three opportunities for the mountain goats to fall over like dominoes on a quake fault and lose the race entirely to the Slightly- Less-Jolly-Than-Usual Green (well, actually red) Giant.  Dammit! Besides them, we have about 5 sprinty stages, 8 medium lumpy stages, and--the entire point of this three-week pain circus--5 big giant mountain stages.  Woot--bring it on, and gentlemen, I'll be sure to mimic your superhuman efforts by enthusiastically toasting you with an Aperol spritz!

The ITTs: we start, punctuate, and possibly podium-smashingly end the Giro with ITTs--no team ones, thank god--with 6k of flat and 2k of leg-nippin' nasty on Stage 1; a generally upward trending tho' not killer incline 35 k slog on Stage 9, and, to completely screw the GC for guys with a, let's say, imperfect grasp of time trial technique, on Stage 21, 17 k with a hill halfway, some last-second mountain points up for grabs, and a 4k descent at the end. Maglia Azzura hunters and crap bike handlers--keep yer eyes open!

The Sprints: like anyone cares, because it's the Giro d'Italia, but still, Elia Viviani put on a truly masterclass show in these last year, so I guess I gotta talk 'em.  Stage 3 stretches you out on the hills around Siena before a nice flat finale; Stage 5 pretends like the breakaway's got a chance with a hilly start then a pancake though awfully bendy finish into Terracina; then it's time for the mountain-shy to cringe home with some bull!@#$ stomach problem unless they can hold out til the flats pick up again on stages 10 and 11; and you get one more chance for glory on Stage 18--if you can make it there!  Sure you don't want to do the Tour of California instead?

The Rollers:   Stage 2's got a flat finish, so break at your peril and pray you don't get mortifyingly caught by the charging fast men in the last 200m; I don't know what the hell a "conurbation" around Rome is, but there is one on Stage 4, as well as a nice 4k uphill finale; Stage 6 is an exhausting 238k slog with a tricky twisty finish; Stage 7 takes us to L'Acquila with a teasingly flat run in until the road jumps upward; and Stage 8, our longest at 239 k, lulls you to sleep with with a flat 140k before kicking you in the nuts for three categorized climbs til a technical finish.  Then, a short'n'dirty stage 12 drags you *twice* up the 20% incline to Principi di Acaia, with the first Cat 1 beast o' the race, Montoso, to welcome you there; Stage 15, still a punishing 232k, takes us into friendly Il Lombardia territory, with the Ghisallo, Civiglio, and San Fermo.  Now take a rest day, honey--you're gonna need it through the big passes til Stage 19 gives you one last chance at mercy with a breakaway-friendly, low summit finish!

And Last But Not Least, The Entire Point of the Whole Race: yes, it's the mountains, baby!  Hope you caught your breath the first 12 stages, because now, it's a whole new world o' hurt: you ease in, sorta, as Stage 13 takes us up the Nivolet with a 15% finale; Stage 14's got 3,000 meters o' climbing in a quick 130k to Cormayeur.  But I hope you're not feeling too relaxed from your rest day--Stage 16 smacks you right in the Alps with 5,700 meters uphill, including the Presolana, the Cima Coppi (Italian for "We're !@#$ed") of the massive Gavia, and, if you're not crying in yer mamma's skirts yet, the mighty Mortirolo.  Whew, I'm I glad *that's* outta the w--aw, crap, it's Stage 17, with ginormous climbs and a vicious uphill finish!  But don't get too comfortable waiting out the sprinters and breakaway artists, and for !@#$'s sake, GC contenders, espresso up for your last chance to redeem your miserable bonk and 10 minute time loss on Stage 16: Stage 20 is a one-way ticket to hel--I mean, the smashing Dolomites, with 5,000 meters of suffer, including the Cima Camp, the Manghen Pass, and the Croce d'Auna to the last Cat 1 slog up Monte Avena.  Make it outta here alive?  Congrats, you just won the race--unless you blow it all on the ITT tomorrow!

Well, them's your 2019 Corsa Rosa basics, and remember, the Tour de France is for charlatans, braggarts, and media whores.   Next up: the GC Contenders--forza Mikeeeeeeeeel, and all of you lucky enough to participate in this beautiful event!

It's racejunkie's Race Safety Guidelines for Every Conceivable Variety of !&#$wit!

Look everybody, we've barely made it through one Monument this season, and already we've got road-rashed collarbone-snapped riders piling up on race courses like empty piss-water beer cans in a frat house.  So what can we do to help these nice athletes stay upright, and in one piece?  This!

Spectators:

1. No. Selfie Sticks. Ever!

2. Next !@#$ing !@#$wit who sets off a flare next to the peloton is gonna have that !@#$ing thing shoved down their throat like some fire-eating !@#$ing circus freak.  Understand, asshole?!

3. If you're gonna slap *anyone* in the face with an inflatable promotional item in the last 15 seconds of a sprint, let it be yourself--or at least that six-foot-seven assclown who just budged in front of the primo spot you've been hoarding since 4 o'clock this morning.  And keep that thing behind the barriers !@#dammit!

4. Hey, let your freak flag fly, honey.  Just not a fourteen-foot Lion of Flanders in the face of a bonking rider desperate to minimize every inch of the 8000 meters he's just finished climbing!

5. Don't text and walk.  You have *no* idea where you are in space.  At least until all 14 kg of a breakaway lands on your dimwit body and ends their race right there. Come to think of it, anywhere on the planet, in any situation, this oughta be a face-smackable offense.  But we'll keep it to this context for the moment!

6. Children.  You know what children are?  Cannonballs with feet.  Shot out of a roller-coaster-shaped cast-iron tube at a million miles an hour with no more sense--or sense of direction--than a drunken amoeba.  Keep 'em back!

7. Straps. Nice purse! Hey, cool camera! Which any rider has the preemptive right to instantly garrote you with like a B-movie gangster if you let it fly out into the wind and catch their handlebar.  Hey, are you that jack!@# that took down our dear little Iban?

8. Dogs.  Man, I *love* dogs. And I'm writing this directly to you, Fido, because it's obvious you're the brain trust in your relationship with your stupid owner, who refuses to keep you on a short leash for the six seconds it takes the peloton to flash by because you might feel oppressed for the moment before you decide to roll in another animal's poop on the roadside.  I don't care if a !@#damn steak truck crashes over in front of you and spills its meaty guts in a gift straight from God, or if your owner throws the BIGGEST TENNIS BALL EVER right out into the yellow line in the middle of the road, or if there is nothing more compelling to you ON EARTH than a stampeding herd of spinning carbon wheels begging to be chased after and bitten into submission.  Stay off the freakin' road, for chrissakes!

9. Runners. I get it, there's something about the dazzling internet glory of letting your barely-covered less-impressive-than-you-think neon-highlighted junk bounce out into the TV screens of thousands of people while screaming like a maniac, while the only part of you anyone actually maybe wants to see, your head so you can be id'd and thrown into a !@#damn gulag, is crowned by some giant pair of Viking helmet-horns and threatens to spear some poor flyweight climber like a tropical fish, that hardly *anyone* can be expected to resist.  Well, resist it. Just...back off before you crash somebody, you gaudy embarrassment, and for god's sake, put on some real underwear!

10. Drunks.  Hey, I know that there's !@#$-all to do for the six hours you're freezing on a mountain top or baking to death in a desert or getting torrentially-rained on slipping on cobblestones but make doping jokes, write chalk encouragement or obscenities on the pavement, or simply get hammered. But don't let alcohol make an ENTIRE PLANET OF SEVEN BILLION PEOPLE hate your !@#$ing guts, and some unfortunate bone-broken rider put you on an angry DS hit list, when you stumble obliviously into the roadway and take out some guy who's spent approximately 25 million training hours preparing for the exact moment you happen to lose total control of your most basic bodily functions.  Dammit people, make sure the one teetotaler in your group keeps an eye on you!

Race Motos and Cars: your job is to *escort* the riders, not jerk to a stop so they go flying through your rear windshield, knock them sideways into a barbed-wire cattle fence, or plow them over from behind in some incidental inconvenience to your sad little Vin Diesel "Fast and Furious" fantasy.  In fact, they're why you're there.  Drive like it!

Race Organizers:

1. Inflatables.  There is truly nothing more exciting for the fans, and riders, to see than the red kite dangling from that giant inflatable bridge thing.  Even more exciting, however, is for it not to collapse on some poor bastard just trying to drag their exhausted carcass to the finish line.  Pump, generator, attendant, done!

2. Road furniture. Hey, you know what's even more fun than finishing a bike race after 6 hours barbecuing in 200-degree heat and vomiting your guts out in front of 76 eager TV cameras? An unmarked and apparently totally unnecessary iron pole in the exact center of the road you can crash into at 40 kilometers an hour!  Um, no it's not.  Remember, if there's gotta be carnage, some squishy volunteer with a waving flouro-flag makes a *lot* nicer landing surface than sheet metal!

3. Weather.  It does, I admit, make great television to watch a peloton-hipster's ridiculous handlebar mustache encase in sleet like some freakish mountain hermit, or Nairo Quintana slowly freeze into an adorable tabletop wedding-bash ice-sculpture, or some heavyweight climber sink into melting tarmac and be preserved for all eternity like a woolly mammoth for some delighted, if puzzled, future anthropologist to dig up.  And of course, you can't underestimate the highly smug martyrdom aspect of the sport, which also makes the bitter envious couch peloton all want to see these guys *earn* their pampered princeling sports-icon paycheck, because we have to !@#damn earn *our* paltry one in some !@#$y job with a miserable prison guard of a sadistic boss !@#dammit.  But geez, these frail little things *need* their fingers and toes--can we make "just before they're desperate enough for their lives to let another human being urinate on them like some disgusting politician scandal-video" the rule of thumb for calling it a day already?

4. Timing.  This isn't a safety issue, but it *does* completely piss me off, so I'm throwing it in.  How *dare* you schedule any other race at the same time as the perfect beautiful Giro, you twisted freaks?

Race Helicopters (I Mean Holy !@#$, We Have to Talk About Race Helicopters!): now, we *love* you.  You bring us beautiful field-art shots of tractors slowly circling in perfect harmony as bike wheels to carefully sited bales of hay making up bike frames.  You show us historic castles, the impeccable elegance of an echelon, where Sagan is peeking out from an impossible distance, and the argy-bargy of a sprint whose hairs-breadth result can only be seen from above.  And what else are you apparently doing now?  *That's* right, buzzing the finish line with your power-blades and blasting rows of barriers into unsuspecting, and, let's face, downright eggshell cyclists staggering across the finish line.  Jaysus, they made it through all these other idiots, and now they have to worry about you guys sending them to hospital?  Stay airborne til these tiny little things get to shelter next time!

And Last But Not Least, The Folks Who Keep Watch at Crossing Zones and Other Race Guardians: we all know that public-safety work can be incredibly boring, spiked with the sort of intermittent heart-stopping terror that makes the rest of us entirely to wussy to even casually *think* of doing your job.  But when your *sole* purpose at that race is to secure the course for the riders against a veritable army of teeming citizen dumb!@#es, please, please, please, do not turn your back for even a *second*.  Because that's the *exact* moment that Joe Q. Numbnut is gonna sprint *right* across the approaching peloton, and fold those suckers up like a giant carbon-spandex origami menagerie.  Never underestimate our astonishing dimwittery, and race organizers, give these folks a giant raise!

Well, them's mine, but I'm sure I'll be back here when some eejit decides to, oh, dig up a coupla cobblestones from the Arenberg for a souvenir just before Van Avermaet powers through, or some other spectacular act of world-class stupidity I can't even begin to dream of.  But let's start with these--and don't make me add to this !@#damn list, you hear me?!

It's Yer 2019 Cycling Year In Preview (Yeah, You Read Right)!

Ok kids, time to shake off that post-New Year's hangover, toss yer 2018 team kit in the trash, and pull up yer big-boy chamois--another shameful year is behind us, and another one is rarin' to begin!  So what've we got ahead?  Here, yer 2019 Cycling Year in Preview:

January: Team camps round up! AG2R to preemptive counseling for inevitable Tour de France loss; Astana to WHEREVER VINO WANTS YOU TO GO AND WHATEVER HE WANTS YOU TO DO YOU WORTHLESS WORMS!; Deuc-whatever-Quick Step "Wolfpack" to Alps for extreme wilderness training, mistakenly tear Philippe Gilbert to pieces in pursuit of fleeing rabbit.  Guess the 'pack just got a little smaller for this year!

February: Classics training! Record 2 spectators on course at Tour of Oman, soigneurs vaporize into dry air awaiting passing peloton at feed zones; 68 riders positive for "!@#$loads of caffeine" at Tour of Colombia, field decimated for stage 2; Sagan recons Gent-Wevelgem press room for intensive preening, smack-talk training.

March: the Classics begin! Nibali takes Milano-San Remo (again) after using 2-by-4 to preemptively whack every fan he sees with a camera outta the way on the roadside; Simon Yates wins Paris-Nice after defending champ Marc Soler mistakenly chases down Adam; Sagan repeats Gent-Wevelgem after Viviani blinded by Sagan's gleaming beauty just before finishing sprint.

April:  It's the cobbles, beeyotches! Sagan lost in Forest of Arenberg, taken in by wicked witch in house built of candy; cobblestones torn out, replaced with asphalt when Roubaix first-timer Froome complains, "They're ouchy!"; Alejandro Valverde sweeps Ardennes, bolts for team bus, disappears behind sweeping black satin cape when UCI  photographer notices Bala can't see own reflection in mirror; Wolfpack distracted when Van Avermaet throws raw meat by side of road.

May: It's Il Grande Giro, baby!  Mountain stages cancelled after Tom Dumoulin protests they're "too climby"; Landa takes individual time trial, wins Giro after sneaking to course night before, pointing arrow for time trial course away from valley floor and up the Mortirolo; Egan Bernal gains 93 minutes on Fedaia without pedaling when team mechanic mistakenly hands him Froome's Tour de France bike.

June: Time for Tour de France prep! Alberto Contador back in action at Dauphine as fans snatch Caja Rural team boss, force them to sign one-race contract; women's peloton train for--aw, what the hell do they really have to train for in France in July, anyway? Porte doubles at Tour de Suisse, Australia's richest family thrown into bankruptcy when bet fortune on Porte winning the Tour de France in 4 weeks.

July: What else? It's the Grand Bull-shay! Sky rewards Geraint Thomas for incredible 2018 victory by kicking him off team bus to "save gas," making him transport Froome's luggage between stages on foot; Froome out after eyeballs weld to readout on power meter, sent to be freed by surgical specialist in London; Movistar to "9-man-captain" strategy, fistfight ensues at team meeting, Nairo only one to make it out alive when hides behind water pitcher on table; no-one bothers to ride La Course, Giro Donne officials startled when entire planet's female riders show at their start line instead.

August: the Vuelta begins!  Euskadi-Murias loses 26 hours on opening team time trial, regains on first mountain top finish; Yates blows double when confuses Oscar Rodriguez' neon-green team kit for safety vest of road-hazard flag guy, doesn't bother to chase down on decisive climb to Santuario del Acebo ; c'mon, who's really watching the Tour de Pologne, anyway?

September: Time for the World Championships! van der Breggen, van Vleuten DQd from time trial and road races after signing in late due to exhaustion from epic 48-hour "Fortnite" battle; Alejandro Valverde wins men's time trial stripes, because nothing in this ridiculous sport makes any sense any more; Cav grabs men's road race because "I gotta justify 13 consecutive years of slagging other sprinters for sucking somehow."

October: Nibali wins Il Lombardia after having vertebrae broken by dipwad with selfie stick, legs run over by stampeding elephants, arms fractured by out-of-control cruise ship, and feelings really, *really* hurt by mean kid who cut in line at gelato shop; Sagan switches career to unicycle when miffed at perceived lack of adoring press coverage, UCI votes to make 2020 Paris-Roubaix one-wheel-only; 'cross season underway, Belgian 3-year-old busted for using training wheels in debut victory; Mikel Landa announces team switch to "for chrissakes, anywhere but Movistar, please!"

November: Transfer rumors confirmed! Sky announces replacement sponsor "Joe's Suspicious Internet Testosterone Nut-Patches.com"; Geraint Thomas to "back to haulin' Froomey's laundry, I guess"; Quick Step erroneously signs actual wolves, Gilbert, Alaphilippe, Evenepoel out of contract for 2020.

December: Team kit reveals! Euskadi-Murias switches to bunny suits, tiny riders swooped away by hawks; AG2R to controversial "disco ball" outfits so at *somebody'll* notice 'em in the peloton next season; "Joe's Suspicious Internet Testosterone Nut-Patches.com" design rejected by UCI for too- graphic imagery.  Bummer!

Well folks, that's yer 100% Guaranteed racejunkie Year in Preview--so when this !@#$ goes down in 2019, don't say I didn't warn you!

It's Yer 2018 Year in Review!

Y'know, a whole lotta mortifying can happen in the next 27 hours, but even with the world o' cycling doing its worst, I figure it's safe (enough) to remind us, before the Prosecco bender kicks in, what were the highlights--and let's face it, the lowlights--of 2019.  So before auld aquaintance should be forgot, it's on to your 2018 Year in Review!

January: Dozen riders popped for EPO at Vuelta a Costa Rica, World Tour peloton clean; Peter Sagan poses as Napoleon for Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne; not one, but *two* glorious baby Carrot squads, Euskadi-Murias and Fundacion Euskadi, hit the hills.  Watch out Froomey, the *real* climbers are comin'!

February: Oman, is it hot! Vino's boys take 1st, 2nd at Tour of Oman, but who gives a crap--our little Izagirre, Gorka, takes 3rd!; Viviani starts of huge winning season at Dubai Tour, Cav takes--damn, was that his only victory this season?; Dane Michael Valgren smokes Omloop Het !@#dammitthat'salottavowelsjusttosay'news'.  On to the Classics!

March: UCI unveils war on mechanical doping by politely asking Froome if he does it, heralding denial as start of clean new era; Tiesj Benoot takes Strade Bianche in emotional, brilliant win, trophy mistakenly awarded to Wout van Aert instead; Wiggo assures BBC he "100% did not cheat," no-one cares. 

April: van der Breggen smashes Flanders with 27k solo breakaway; Boonen smacks Sagan for whinging how no one ever helps him; Saganator responds by winning Roubaix; Nibs out of Pais Vasco with gnarly saddle sore; if I hear one more !@#$in word about the "Wolfpack" I *swear* I'm going all Bouhanni on someone!

May: What else? Il Grande Giro, baby! Peloton irked Froome allowed to ride, better him nailed than them; Disgraced inept dope-weasel Riccardo Ricco' releases "Heart of the Cobra," apparently some weird new concoction he's taking;  Froome breaks away with winning move on e---uh, e-xceptional bike on the Finestre. You're not worthy!

June: Pre-Tour prep time!  Geraint Thomas takes Dauphine, setting up slap-fight with Giro-tired Froome-dawg ahead of July; Lotto Soudal barred from using "speed gel" on legs at Tour de Suisse, , take 16 hours to make it to start line from team bus, serves those !@#$ers right for plotting to screw Greipel; UCI plans to ban tramadol as soon as some better !@#$ comes along, but here boys, have at!

July: It's the Giro Donne, baby! Oh, right, and that other race.  Van Vleuten seizes mighty Zoncolan; Gendarmes tear-gas peloton in mistaken raid on irate farmers; errant camera strap and attached total moron snap Nibali's vertebrae, ruining Tour; Nairo Quintana--well, what the hell *did* he do there?; mild-mannered domestique Geraint Thomas takes maiden Tour de France victory, Froome gets all the headlines, *again*.

August: BinckBank Tour convenes at Kit Kat Club; Bernal and Landa in serious San Sebastian crash, I told you get outta that craphole Mikel!; Moscon banned after Tour de France DQ for being a total tool; our wee Izagirres sign for Astana?; the smashing Vuelta begins, Nibali riding despite surgery, busted vertebrae BECAUSE THE REST OF YOU ARE WUSSIES YOU COWARDLY SIMPS!

September: It's the World Road Championships, honey!  Mummified Alejandro Valverde wakened from crypt by ancient spell, claims men's road race; van Vleuten finishes women's race with broken knee, van der Breggen grabs the stripes though; Movistar calls out Michelton-Scott for wheel-sucking at Vuelta, race stopped for medical attention after entire peloton's heads collectively explode; Aru criticizes beloved bike manufacturer Colnago, stripped of Italian citizenship, forced to get passport from "Walmart Kids' Bicycle Department," JAYSUS CAN'T ANYONE BUT THE BRITS WIN A !@#DAMN GRAND TOUR ANY MORE?

October: It's the Race of the Falling Leaves! Landis announces formation of new cycling team "!@#$ You Lance Armstrong," offers him bale of weed in consolation; Chavanel in final race ever--waaaaaahhhhh!; Thibaut Pinot wins Lombardia, Nibali takes second because YOU'RE ALL WEAK; Stephen De Jongh in scary training crash, saved by Strava peeps.  Whew!

November: Contract season! Quintana to switch--aw, crap, just trainers for 2019; Gerrans to Goldman Sachs post-retirement, accidentally crashes world economy on third day of work; Euskadi aim for Tour de France wildcard invite, you go Edu and Rodriguez!; Giro route revealed, totally coincidentally has 850 kilometers of ITT not meant to seduce Dumoulin back, discourage Froome *at all*.

December: Team kit reveals!  Aru scowls through UAE photo session after being mistaken for towel boy; Deceuninck concedes defeat, basically remains Quick Step; print shop accidentally puts "V.I.Poo" toilet deodorizer logo on AG2R kit instead, nobody can tell the difference.  And Nibali's contract up for grabs after last-minute sponsorship disaster--Sky, you've still got some money lying around, amirite?; and no, I can't bear to talk about Paul Sherwen here.

Well folks, that's yer crash course in 2018--now kids, let's keep it clean out there next year, and *no*, I repeat *no* shenanigans!

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

Yep, it's nigh on the New Year, where we wash ourselves clean of our filthy year past and revel in the sparkling perfection of the year to come. Yet, judging by their actions, certain denizes of our beloved peloton who appear to be entirely freed from the curses of self awareness and self reflection could *really* use a little help from their friends.  And who better to know what the actual peloton needs than us?  So listen up cyclists: here's Yer New Year's Resolutions for 2019!

Geraint Thomas: As the reigning Tour de France champion, I will claim my rightful place as the undisputed leader of Team Sky in Jul--(Froome kicks in nuts)--urgh, yessir, I'll get on your laundry right away!

Chris Froome: Yeah, glad we got *that* resolution straightened out.  AND I WANT THOSE DIRTY CHAMOIS SPOTLESS, AM I CLEAR?

Simon Yates: you two jack!@#es just keep on fighting.  *I'm* gonna add a yellow winner's jersey to my red one!

Romain Bardet: you Brits can all can suck it.  Time for a new French champion of the Tour!

Gianna Moscon: I'll shut my racist stupid yap.  Hey, Brailsford, what's with these handcuffs, how am I supposed to !@#damn smack anybody like this, anyway?

Alejandro Valverde: Me? I'll still be in World Champion gear when Peter Sagan's 80 years old and retired to the countryside. Now the only reason I want you on my wheel is to bring me up a water bottle, you got that Nairo?

Chantal Blaak: you think *I'm* going back to superdomestique duty?  I'm regaining my stripes in 2019!

Peter Sagan: I'll complete my Monuments sweep.  *After* I tell you how unappreciated I am again!

Nairo Quintana: I will figure out what the hell's been going wrong with my training regimen.  Hey, maybe switching to Team Sky would help!

Fabio Aru: I will--hey, where are you guys going?  I'm right here! No, that's Nibali, I'm right *here*!

Mikel Landa: Listen to me very carefully Mikel: I will get the hell outta Movistar.  JAYSUS MIKEL WHAT MORE EVIDENCE DO YOU NEED TO SEE THAT UNZUE'S GONNA !@#$ YOU OVER TIL THE END OF TIME ALREADY!

Alexandre Vinokourov: I'll hire Mikel Landa back.  Baby needs another Grand Tour win!

Tour de France: We will cave to public demand and the impassioned pleas of the highly qualified women's peloton and put on a fully-supported, publicized, and televised 3 week Tour de France.  For the guys.  *You* just get a !@#$ty crit this year.  Now freshen up my drinky-poo, will ya babe?

Brad Wiggins: No. More. Books.  Besides, I've got my Olympic arm-wrestling career to look after!

Floyd Landis: I will piss off Lance Armstrong by my mere existence. Every. Single. Day. 

Andre Greipel: Two words, Lotto: Caleb. Ewan. Is. Toast.

John Degenkolb: the longer the 'stache, the more the victories.  Guinness Book of World Records, here I come!

Annemiek van Vleuten: uh, artistic cycling?  I'm running outta things to win, here!

Anna van der Breggen: You. Me. Rematch!

Tom Dumoulin: Oh, all right, with 2200 kilometers of time trialling at the Giro d'Italia I guess I'll have another go at it this year.  But *no* more !@#$in' Finestre, you hear me?!

Toms Skujins: I'm gonna perfect my latke recipe.  Oh yeah, and ride that framey thing with wheels on it, too!

Euskadi Murias: World Tour.  And we're bringing back our rightful team kit, too!

Pippo Pozzato: In honor of my retirement, I will get a giant tat listing every one of my career victories.  Aw, man, I know I'm running outta room on my arms legs and torso, but do we gotta put that freakin' needle *there*?

Well, boys and girls, you got your assignments. Now go get 'em, or you'll get even worse ones for next year!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2018 Racejunkie Awards!

Yes, cycling fans, it's awards season, that beautiful time of year when we all dress up in our smartest team kit, hit the red carpet, then immediately hit the bar to numb the impact of the coming rightful pride or grotesque humiliation with truly toe-tingling supplies of alcohol or the off-season vice of one's choice.  Prizes--I swear--for those arrogant or desperate enough to claim them: a smashing custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to deface yer team car, yer bike, or yer face; eternal glory (or embarassment); and, an actual corporeal tchotchke you can put on your mantle right next to your Giro trophy, giant cobblestone, and positive test results.  So who's distinguished themselves, or besmirched their family name for generations to come, this year?  These people!

Race o' the 2018: La Course.  Annemiek van Vleuten beating Anna van der Breggen *just* on the line, on the sole scrap of a women's day at the men's Tour de France.  The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat in one soulcrushing screenshot!

Guilty Pleasure Award: forget not winning the actual Tour de France to a lesser teammate: what was actually more ignominious for resident Sky human power-meter and godawful abomination on the bike Chris Froome was his highly enjoyable humiliation at the hands of French gendarmes, who tackled the Dawg and yanked him off his bike as he attempted to anonymously slink off the Col du Portet with his bodyguard after stage 17--and a disastrous day--clothed in what appeared to be a billowing giant Army tent. Needless to say, hilarity--or rather a torrent of French-tinged swearing--ensued.  This was terrible, and ought to be swiftly forgotten.  I mean, just look at it!  <iframe width="360" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0rWjV1apxhk" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Punk o' the Year: Racist slurs.  Sucker-punching cheap shots, including a bad-optics DQ from the Tour de France after smacking Fortuneo's harmless nice-guy Elie Gesbert in the face on Stage 15 for no discernible reason nary a kilometer into the day.  And a general attitude of assholery unequaled even among the most classless of jackwagons in the peloton.  Congrats, Gianni Moscon-- if you can call it that!

Existential Crisis of Award: 10 years after his ban from Operacion Puerto expired, and at the approximate age of when our planet's supercontinent Gaia broke apart into the 7 big wunks we enjoy today, Alejandro Valverde's scream of triumph at the World Road Championships this year was outshouted only by cycling's collective shrieks of disbelief, admiration, joy, disgust, and horror.  Yep, this one's for all of us, since it took (no disrespect to Bala's power and perseverance) the collective cringing denial of the cycling authorities, press hounds, and enabler tifosi to get us here.  Congrats--now get that look off your face every time you see those World Champion stripes!

Karmic Justice o' the Year: perpetual Armstrong stinging pest Floyd Landis, who turned around years of fan ire over his bogus "Floyd Fairness Fund" and total peloton ostracism for breaking omerta'  to start an instantly successful cannabis biz and, even better, stick it massively to lifetime-banned Lance by taking his $250k whistleblower windfall and starting a freakin' cycling squad.  Toke that, Armstrong!

Fuckwit Tactics o' 2018: FFS, Movistar--this triple-team-captaincy crap with Nairo, Alejandro, and Mikel is *never*, *ever* gonna work.  And sure, for 2019, you've sagely apparently decided to knock that down to the slightly less idiotic two-equal-captain strategy.  But why the !@#$ did it take you so long to learn your lesson?!  Mikel, I'm telling you, these clowns have wasted your potential--but there's still time for you to get the hell out!

The Empire Strikes Back Award: sure, it's already been an embarrassing generation or so for the poor French.  But to have the Brits bag not just their beloved Tour de France, but the other two Grand Tours as well, has gotta be a special kind o' nut-kick for not just them but for other historic cycling powerhouses like Italy and Spain.  All hail the Queen--and you might as well all start learning how to sing the national anthem now!

It's (No Good) To Be the King Statuette: look, in any normal year, Geraint Thomas would be here for
"Superdomestique o' the Year"or some admirable endeavor.  But this is still 2018, and the guy was actually able to ride out of Giro-tired Froomey's shadow and take his maiden Grand Tour victory.  Not that it matters to Chris this year when he kicks your !@# back into second tier status--now get off yer bike and pump my tires, you lowly minion!

Carrot Rising Prize: Bring one baby carrot into the smashing Vuelta a Espana amidst an all-star gaggle of gasping climbers, and what do you get?  That's right baby, one debutant Euskadi-Murias boy to rule them all! Oscar Rodriguez' beyond-bangin' stage 13 win on the fierce gradients of La Camperona. Aupaaaaaaaaaa--and watch out Sky and Movistar, they're coming for you next year too!

Total Weeper of 2018: yes, John Degenstache's tearful redemption win, after years of recovery from near career-tanking injury, on the cobbled streets of the Tour de France.  But for me, this is hands-down a heartbreaking but beautiful tribute by Canadian nice guy and first-time Grand Tour stage winner EF-Drapac's Michael Woods, gasping with exhaustion at the end of an epic Stage 17 victory at the Vuelta a Espana and dedicating his win to his and his wife's late son Hunter.  Yeah, I'm still crying--but you know you are too!

Marginal Bull!@#$ Award: Holy Jiffy Bags, Batman, Sky's out!  Which raises the question, who's gonna pay the civil damages when they get sued for allowing Geraint Thomas and Froome to engage in a cage-fight-to-the-death for team leadership ahead of this year's Tour de France?

Worth His Weight in Gold Award: yeah, Nairo weighs about as much as butterfly's breath, so this one seems about right.  Honestly, whatever funk he's been in, his beautiful win at the perfect Giro d'Italia years back *was* worthy, so hopefully, somehow, he'll get his mojo back--*after* Landa gets a real crack at team leadership, of course!

Entertainer o' the Year: Toms Skujins.  Even more than Peter Sagan, Trek-Segafredo's resident potato-lovin' Latvian--and wearer of the polka-dot jersey at the Tour de France in truly a breakout year--swept the cynical cycling press *and* the tifosi off their feet with a blizzard of roadly panache, lively tweets, and simple joie de vivre.  From hot chocolate to Christmas onesies, cyclocross coverage to of course the glories of spuds, there's nothing Toms won't weigh in on, to our collective delight.  Keep it up, kid--and no, we won't forget your achievements on the bike that got you here!

Enabler Prize o' 2018: nothing says "shape up or else!" about your rider's ignorant, racist, crybaby behavior like punishing him by--uh, by not imposing any material consequences whatsoever for two straight seasons' worth of total jackassery.  Sky, I don't care what races he wins or how much !@#$ty "any publicity is good publicity" he sends your way--get a grip on Moscon's twitface behavior, and get your house in order!

Suck Retirement o' 2018: yes, Pippo Pozzato's last-minute retirement announcement blows, not least because our dashing Pippo, off to nurture young cycling talent and, bizarrely, take up a career in roller hockey, is single-handedly destroying cycling's single greatest source of semi-porno selfies since Cipollini.  But for me, the greatest if most unheralded sucktastic retirement is Italy's sprinter extraordinaire grande Giorgia Bronzini.  After a precocious beginning (and equally strong finish!) in track, Giorgia racked up *2* UCI World Road Championships, a pile of victories in the fabulous Giro Rosa, and emphatic wins in races from China to the Basque Country.  Now, it's off to impart her wisdom--if unfortunately not her intimidating speed--to the whippersnappers.  Grazie Giorgia, I know the sport will continue to benefit from all you do!

Doping Scandal of 2018: after years of explaining away buckets o' testosterone patches, boxes of unattributable vials, and performances that make DiscoveryPostal look like a post-bender New Year's Day beginner club ride, Team S--I mean, 3 Masters racers from the Vuelta a Miami were popped for EPO and similar antediluvian substances by crack cycling police force UCI.  Ya gotta give UCI credit for catching 'em at this level--it's the only way to ensure the pro peloton remains the sparkling-clean bastion of purity it is today!

And Last But Not Least, the Golden Hanky Award: what happens when you're unconditionally swooned over by the press, mobbed by smokin' hot fans of every persuasion, showered with lucrative sponsorship gigs, finally the winner of the legendary Paris-Roubaix (in World Champ stripes, no less), and generally granted more deference than God?  *That*'s right, if you're bike handler perfecto Peter Sagan, you complain to the press about how unappreciated you are and threaten to ride your mountain bike off into the obscure sunset.  Cry me a river, honey--just turn off the waterworks *before* you pop another wheelie for the cameras!

Well folks, them's pretty much mine--so step up winners, and own your victories if you dare!

It's Yer Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!

Yes, it's the holidays, that glorious time of year when we wish good will to all our brethren and sistren, except Team Sky who's relentlessly crushed the fun out of all the Grand Tours with their boring lifeless death-by-power-meter approach so they suck but everyone else we'll cut some slack.  So who's been naughty or nice this season, and what do we gift 'em? Enjoy, dear peloton--you deserve it!

1. Gianni Moscon: how many racist sucker-punching wankmeisters does it take to change a lightbulb? Who cares, but I'll tell you what that kid *does* need--a damn muzzle. And viewing his latest obscene gestures to the cameras straight from the warm-'n'-fuzzy lovefest that is team camp, we should damn well slap on some mittens, too.  Now *don't* take 'em off til you've learned yer lessons, ya little punk!

2. Floyd Landis: All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, and I'm fi--oh wait, that's Jeff Spicoli. Let's just deliver this new team boss, and pleasingly perpetual annoyance to Lance Armstrong, a truckload of Doritos to go with his boatloads of bud!

3. Mikel Landa: the 2019 Giro.  Because until you get one, Unzue is *never* gonna 100% back you for the Tour, the new stupid "two team captain" strategy is *still* gonna fail, and you will always, *always* be !@#$ed.  We love you Mikel, you can do this--just maybe scarf an extra espresso before all those extra time trials this year and it's yours!

3. John Degenstache: damn, I'd love him to win Paris-Roubaix this coming year!

4. Peter Sagan: impeccable bike-handling skil--no, he got that.  A screaming horde of fanboys'n'girls second only to the Beatles--yeah, done and dusted.  More moolah in endorsements than god--mmm-hmm, been there already.  World cham--no, he has like a million o'those.  Aw hell, he doesn't need anything--maybe give the boy a Tour de France mountain stage, just to mix it up a bit!

5. Andre Greipel: a big ol' win on the Champs-Elysees.  Eat *that*, Lotto, you faithless goons!

6. Lotto-Whicheverscrewedhimover: a lump of coal.  You *suck* for jacking our big lug over!

7. Team Sky: Jiffy bags.  Ya gotta be running low by now, amirite?

8. Anna van der Breggen: La Course.  Because she was so, *so* close this year!

9. UCI: Salbutamol, or whatever performance-enhancing drug would give you the strength to bust anyone bigger'n some poor Master's racer for doping!

10. Alejandro Valverde: cripes, he's got the World Champion stripes and at least another 80 top years in the legs--I guess just that everyone won't have just ditched bicycles for flying cars and jet-packs by the time he packs it in?

11. Alexandre Vinokourov: Okay I don't really know what to get you Vino so please don't hurt me but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give Mikel Landa a nice contract and 100% Grand Tour backing, and lure that boy the hell outta Dodge!

12. Dave Brailsford: a crack legal team.  No reason--just good to have in your back pocket in case you ever need it!

13. Geraint Thomas: like, a nice little "participation" trophy or some such comforting trinket given to the kid who always gets picked last in gym class.  'Cause heck knows Froome ain't gonna let the mere defending Tour de France champion have another crack at it this July!

14. Our Baby Carrots: between Edu Prades, Oscar Rodriguez' stealth triumph, and every darn breakaway in every race you rode in--what more our future superstars need, except to continue on the same flower-strewn path?  A case of giant bottles of podium Champagne--you're gonna get 'em anyway, might as well enjoy 'em up front!

15. Marcel Kittel: a buzz cut.  I'm serious.  It's like a reverse Samson & Delilah thing--shave off the gorgeous pompadour, regain your winning ways. Worth a try, right?

16. Nairo Quintana: his mojo.  After Mikel Landa kicks his !@# at the Tour.

17. The Women's Peloton: a TOUR DE FRANCE. Not some bull!@#$ pacifier snoozer-to-watch throwaway circuit race, a REAL FREAKIN' TOUR DE FRANCE. !@#dammit, are you people *trying* to make me doubt the existence of Santa Claus, how much longer do I have to ask for this?!

18. Finally, My Dear Readers (Both of You): look, what with everyone *still* reeling from Alberto Contador's retirement and that catastrophic stick-figure's victory at the Giro, it's been a tough 'ol 2018. May all your cycling dreams, at least those of which I would approve, come true!

All right kids, that's about as much genuine goodwill as I can put out there in one go without passing out.  So crank those maudlin tunes, lift that tasty spiked nog, and Merry Festivus and Happy New Year to all of you!

Paul Sherwen, 1956-2018

Look, I'm just a fan--I never knew the man. But the dulcet tones of Phil & Paul were the soundtrack of my intro to, and most of my watching of, pro cycling. How it could possibly be interesting to watch a bike race for six hours. The attacks, the dangers, the hard-working ennui of sitting in the bunch waiting for the final 2 kilometers of a sprint. How team tactics, no matter how weak or strong the legs, could win, or kill, a race. How a 200 meter long increase in the gradient of a climb could be enough to completely blow one's engine and destroy one's stage-win dreams. How GC could be decided by a moment's inattention, an ill-timed drink break, a minor mechanical. The historical significance of a 12th-century chateau, precisely what bottle of wine he and Phil enjoyed with what entrees the last time the Tour de France chanced this way. And yes, the brief, exhilarating naivete of believing that sporting miracles do happen, that a 7-man train ticking impermeably up a fourth straight Alpine climb could be just impossibly strict training and perfect symmetry of spirit, that one man could shine that brightly, without guile, cheating, and the ruthlessness to use personal tragedy and the sympathy it rightly engendered as a cudgel to all challengers on the road, but particularly off. That, once exposed, such things were an anomaly, a scrubbable stain on a beautiful sport, its essential purity untouched by the fleeting minutiae of individual vanity and sordid scandal. In the US, for years he and Phil together were cycling's only TV ambassadors, both riding and shepherding the Armstrong era's ridiculous ratings to Stateside coverage of other races, the perfect Giro, the maddening Vuelta, the brawling combat of Paris-Roubaix. And who better to recall and recite the precise career trajectory and sing the slender palmares of every unsung workhorse who ever snuck out of a breakaway, benefitted from the dismissal or just other ambitions of greater riders, or cracked within meters of the line after the daring dash of a lifetime? If a name got misidentified here and there, if an entire generation of commentators, journalists, and even fans was left to grapple with its own complicity, these were far outweighed by the obvious love for the sport that he so thoroughly engendered in others. Condolences to all who knew, loved, and worked with him. No other commentators have ever replaced him, and I can't imagine any ever will. Thank you, Paul Sherwen. You'll be missed.

It's Yer Eleven Cycling Things I'm Grateful For This Thanksgiving (and a Few I'm Damn Well Not)!

Yes, it's Thanksgiving, that glorious American holiday where we reflect on how we stole this country from its rightful owners, confirm the world's grossest stereotypes of national excess by gorging ourselves senseless on stuffing, gravy, turkey, cranberry sauce, and pie, try not to stab Grandma's sterling silver dessert fork into the head of our crazy-!@# racist nutwhack paranoid conspiracy-theorist grand-uncle, and retreat to the couch in the living room hoping to accidentally drown out the sounds of other people doing the dishes while we watch the football game before we--JAYSUS CAN'T ANYONE SCRAPE THEIR PLATE OFF BEFORE DUMPING IT INTO THE SINK WHAT THE !@#$ EVEN IS THAT ARE YOU PEOPLE !@#$ING ANIMALS?! Oh right, and be thankful for stuff. So what cycling things am I grateful for (and a few I damn well ain't) this year? This!

1. The Giro. Yes, that disgrace won it this year, though fortunately I've almost blocked that out. What you *can't* block out--its monstrous climbs, harrowing descents, its fickle twists of grit and fate right up til the last possible moment. We love you il grande Giro--now I'm *telling* you Landa, ride this next year!

2. Not just one, but *two* teams full of baby Basque geniuses are back--and they're already getting results, including didja see Oscar Rodriguez' incredible stage 13 Vuelta a Espana mountaintop triumph!? May the ghosts of Carrots past smile upon you all--now go out there you smashing wee climbers, and make the peloton cry up every one!

3. Speaking of Basque cycling--Izagirres! Mikel! Mikel! Amets! Oh, no matter what team they work for, I'm bawling into my Euskaltel hat in gratitude right now...

4. Lotto-Soudal's Stig Broeckx. After a life-altering, nearly fatal crash in 2016, he's back on his mountain bike--and already aiming for the road. Peace, health, and happy riding forever to this wonderboy!

5. Toms Skujins. No, you can't pronounce it (or you can, smartypants, but I sure as hell can't), but boy, can you admire this kid! Social butterfly, damn hard worker, potato aficionado, and oh right, 5-stage mountains classifications holder at the Tour de France this year--you go Toms!

6. UCI's war on noncompliant--uh, socks? Because we wouldn't want to bust any superstar cash cows for *doping*, now would we!

7. Marianne Vos. Yes, there are other cyclists who've had an amazing year, and even won some races--and who were coming back from injury, as well. But all-terrain champion and Best Athlete In All Human History Vos is simply hors categorie. Allez you brilliant bad-!@#!

8. Peter Sagan. The face that launched 10,000 wheelies. Hey, forget his riding--this guy is making this broke-!@# sport *rolling* in dough!

9. It's super nice to see Alberto Contador doing so much to mentor the next generation of cyclists. Especially when he could just be kickin' back with a beer and playing with his dog all day instead for the rest of his life! Um...you sure you don't want to reconsider a comeback Alberto?

10. Alejandro Valverde in World Champion stripes. Because at least we're not all yammerin' about Froome this instant, amirite?

11. Floyd Landis. Sure, I've maybe said a few things here'n'there about Floyd over the years--and wholly merited, I might add. But Floyd gets *giant* thanks in 2018 for taking his humongous whistleblower payout
and starting a bud-based cycling squad with it, right in the eye of ol' pal Lance "I Never Tested Positive" Armstrong, who, of course, is banned for life from doing a !@#damn thing in cycling more useful'n wiping dog poo off his own wheel after a mountain bike ride. Good onya, Landis--and we can't wait to try your new team's recovery drinks!

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not:

1. Mikel Landa screwed already, *again*. What the !@#$ing !@#$, Movistar?

2. La Cour--What the !@#$, it was the single most exciting day at the *men's* Tour de France last year and now you're not only not expanding it, but making it some boring-!@# circuit crit, to boot? !@#$ you ASO!

3. Seriously, Spain and Italy--not a *single* Grand Tour victory this year? What are you, France? Now get back training and fix this ridiculousness for 2019!

Well folks, them's mine, and that's not even half the bitchin' stuff I could think of (or complain about). So let's raise a drumstick, pour some wine, and give a toast to Thanksgiving 2018!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2018 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards!

Wearing every red shirt you own in mourning for a Grand Tour just past? Still missing the cries of "Aupa!" and frantically waving Basque flags by the mountainside? Waking up from troubled sleep wondering what the !@!% is all the fuss about Porte? Yes, you've got Vuelta a Espana Withdrawal Syndrome, honey, and we've got the cure: it's yer incredibly prestigious 2018 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie awards! Prizes--I swear, for any desperate recipient who claims 'em--a custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to decorate yer head; a whole wunk of dashing racejunkie stickers to deface yer stuff; and a random hideous trophy tchtochke to proclaim yer shame on yer mantelpiece. So with that promise, let's get to it--and hope none of these schmucks earn these same embarrassing awards next year!

1. Attack o' the Race: Nairo Quin...nah, just kidding! 23-year-old baby Carrot Oscar Rodriguez--out of contract, tho' presumably no more--of smashing startup Basque squad Euskadi-Murias, grabbing stage 13 in a daring--and almost certainly doomed--dash from a breakaway with such formidable competition as Rafal Majka and Dylan Teuns. Icing on the cake: Euskadi announced its continuation--and its inevitable invite--for 2019. Get used to it, peloton--you're gonna be seeing a whole lot more of these guys on top of the podium next year!

2. The Sky is Falling Prize: what? No blank-eyed drones drilling up every climb in a relentless annihilation of every hint of competition? No swept-under-the-rug bull!@#$ about totally accidental testosterone deliveries or surreptitious snarfs from a heretofore-unnecessary asthma inhaler? Yep, to the relief of cycling fans everywhere, the mighty Team Sky army had virtually nothing to say this Grand Tour--and I'll *double* their damn prize if they promise to sit out the next one!

3. Crash o' the Race (Fan !@#$wit Edition): Wait a minute...where's the !@#holes in neon banana-hammocks staggering into the climber's lines? where are the blinding smoky flares causing vertebrae-breaking season-destroying pileups? C'mon, not even some asshat with a wind-whipped camera strap aimed directly at a GC contender's handlebars? Ohhhhhhh, it's the *Vuelta*--and let's *keep* those race-wrecking camera whores at the Tour!

4. Crash o' the Race (Race Personnel !@#$wit Edition): okay, maybe not *everyone's* got the memo. The clueless doofus who thought an oncoming sprint finish was the perfect place to take his morning constitutional for no apparent race-related reason whatsoever. What the !@#$?!

5. Crash o' the Race (oh !@#$ oh !@#$ oh !@#$! Edition): Between the flyer just shy of a rock wall and right over a cliff, to the truly scary look of slight confusion on the man's face as he climbed out of the ravine--DiData's Louis Meintjes' stage 15 high-speed descending wipeout was absolutely terrifying. Luckily--aside from the typical cyclist bloodiness--he came out okay. Whew--let's hope nothing like that ever happens again!

6. Crash o' the Race (What the !@#$ing !@#$? Edition): Look, I love helicopter footage as much as the next fan, particularly as it applies to bucolic herds of cows or dynamic moving-tractor field art. But what we *don't* need is a low-flying helicopter crew pulling some ill-timed movie-chase stunt and spilling a pile of flyweight cyclists like dominoes across the tarmac. Damn, do you know how *fragile* those little things are? Not to mention all those expensive bikes, you eejits!

7. Exercise in Total Futility Award: Eventual winner Simon Yates, impatiently gesturing on the crucial stage 15 for perpetual leeching remora Nairo Quintana to unhitch from his damn back wheel and help. Are you *nuts*? It's *your* damn red jersey to defend--and even if it were Nairo's he *still* wouldn't budge off your wheel?

8. *I'm* Not Crying, *You're* Crying Moment o' the Vuelta: Let's leave aside that it was an incredible win by an incredibly unsung rider on an incredibly talent-packed breakaway. But EF's Michael Woods tearful post-stage interview describing his thoughts on the final approach and dedicating his victory to his stillborn son was just more than anyone on the same entire planet could take. Congratulations and condolences to this lovely rider and his family--now give me the damn Kleenex, *again*!

9. Redemption Song Prize: seriously, *Cofidis*? Like, they're still a *team*? First a stage win with A-list pugilist Nacer Bouhanni, then Jesus Herrada bags the leader's jersey? Where have these voracious Grand Tour conquerors *been* all these years? Aw, who *doesn't* love a comeback--or hell, even a come-from-nowhere-since-forever!

10. Smack Talk o' the Race (Pot Calling the Kettle Black Edition): Movistar bitching out Michelton-Scott for wheelsucking. Has Nairo been missing his last two years' worth of race replays or something?

11. Smack Talk o' the Race (On Yer Knees! Mechanical Edition): y'know, one can hardly blame poor, butt-nekkid Fabio Aru for swearing after his kit- and skin!-shredding crash on Stage 17. But when he vulgarly insulted his Colnago *bike*, man--whether his chain choked up or not--*that* was just a bridge too far. Yep, even worse than the bruising he took from the nasty fall was the groveling apologetic phone call Aru had to make to the venerable bicycle maker Ernesto Colnago in penance for his unforgivable verbal assault on Italian design. Some wounds heal faster'n others I guess!

12. Breakin' II: Electric Boogaloo Prize: entertaining as at least one of the other Grand Tours is, the Vuelta is really the only race where the breakaways are more'n a shameless opportunity for a 100-kilometer display of the sponsor logo on one's !@# before the perfectly-timed reel-in by the joyless chasing peloton--here, *every* break was a genuine, and more often than not actually successful, threat. Me, I think it's the crazy-!@# terrain and sheer befoozlement of sussing out the lumpy intricacies of even a flat stage at this Vuelta. Whyever--still made for rip-roaring suspense 'n' fun!

13. Don't Curse Him Don't Curse Him Don't Curse Him! Award: look, we all know that anytime you label anyone--particularly a wee climber with a vicious kick--the Next Lance/Basso/Alberto, they flame out like a gallon o' gas on a Kleenex. So here we've got jailbait revelation/2nd on the overall Enric Mas, in only his second Grand Tour ever, and now, even Contador is piling on the praise. Yeah, I know, I think so too--but can we all keep our yaps shut til we make sure the kid's not gonna flip out?

14. Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them Prize: hey, the whole reason we *love* the Vuelta is because it's a playground for climbers, not some simpy sprint-fest. But for the poor speedsters who neglected to read the road book before committing to this madness, the average profile of a "sprint" stage--which contained only slightly fewer climbing kilometers than the entire Himalayas--must've seemed like a cruel joke. We love you race organizers--flats specialists, probably not so much!

15. Lookit Our Little Izagirres Award!: Didja see? Well didja? Right on Ion gamely taking up the reins of unexpected leadership to an impressive result--and bro Gorka for helping to bring him there!

16. Domestique o' the Race: He entered and exited in excruciating pain, shocked everyone nudging into a breakaway, and, even more unusual for a Grand-Tour-winning team captain, gave his all unreservedly for his own domestique Ion when it became clear his multiple fractures actually did impact his shot at the win. Vincenzo Nibali--you are fuoriclasse!

17. Punk-!@# Move of the Race/Best Performance in a Team Drama Statuette: sure, he hogged everyone's energy and services long past the time it became painfully obvious that the only way he was gonna see the GC podium was to fly over on it on his airplane home, but ya gotta give it to Quintana--he *did* grudgingly concede, after Bala spent half the race herding him up the mountains and the other half bagging stage victories, that he'd help Valverde if he had to. Of course, that was approximately 38 seconds before Alejandro had his Annual Grand Tour Total Spectacular Freakin' Meltdown while (literally) within spitting distance of preserving third place, and having totally squandered any shot at the top of the podium that picking him as team leader in the first place and dedicating the team's energy's to that cause might've given him. Then, of course, the team announces it will still, inexplicably, back Nairo again for next year. !@#dammit Movistar, what does it take to prove to you that this !@#$ strategy doesn't work?!

18. Last But Not Least, the STF *Up* Already Award: we *get* it. A British rider has now won every single Grand Tour this year. And one of 'em was suspended for PEDs, the other was popped for a salbutamol level more commonly seen in asthmatic elephants, and another one had a wee bio-passport suspicion-index issue back in the day. But we concede, you won 'em all, fair and square. Now *please* shut the hell up til Mikel takes the Giro next year!

Well folks, it was a beautiful Vuelta. Now *please* Movistar, give this one to Mikel Landa next year!

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana Rest Day Dos Roundup!

Holy crap, I can't believe I even let rest day uno get by me, and now it's rest day dos already! So what's going on, and what's gonna happen to light up the next week? For my money, this!

1. Holy double crap who cares about GC a baby Euskadi rider won a mountain stage! Aupaaaaaaaaaaaa Oscar Rodriguez--and watch out Colombians, the newly-reconfirmed pro-conti Basque climbers are coming at you again next year!

2. Vuelta, Schmelta--!@#dammit Mikel's really gonna stay with Movistar next year?! Nairo is never, *ever* gonna concede team leadership to you Mikel--the hell with honorably honoring your contract, get the heck outta there I tell you!

3. Yates, man. Nairo was never, ever gonna help you yesterday. It's your damn red jersey, isn't it? Plus he's a wheelsucker anyway!

4. Nacer Bouhanni did *not* get into a shouting match with his DS and sucker-punch his team bus. He got into a shouting match with his team bus and sucker-punched his DS. Keep it straight, people!

5. So Nairo promises if he's "got to" work for Alejandro Valverde, he will. Getting a little annoyed with Piti's eye-rolling whenever he has to let off the gas to help you out, are we?

6. Isn't it *so* much less boring not having Team Sky DiscoveryPostal's drones ticking away at the front like a pack of amphetamine-stoked lemmings?

7. Nibali working for Ion Izagirre. Class.

8. Dropping the helicopter so low at the end of stage 6 that it blew a helpless AG2R toothpick flat on his !@# at the finish line? Geez, race organizers, aren't you already on considerable notice that these scrawny guys have been known to be knocked off the mountainside by the passing flutter of a butterfly wing, much less some huge honkin' aircraft?

9. Thibaut Pinot. After watching him barely able to stumble across the line after his desperate crack at the Giro, that was a *great* freakin' redemption ride!

10. Walking directly into the path of a sprint finale going full gas is the height of irresponsible stupidity. What a !@#$ way to ruin--and bloody--poor Alexandre Geniez's victory!

11. Vuelta fans are disproportionately less obnoxiously camera-whoring than their Tour de France counterparts. That said, feel free to give it up for Euskadiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

12. Uran probably can't podium, but boy is he hanging on gamely til the last kilometer every day. And lookit our wee Izagirre!

13. Yeah, *everybody* misses Contador. Cripes are we getting lonely for panache!

14. Speaking of which, Miguel Angel Lopez. Watch out next year!

15. OMG DID YOU SEE THE WHOLE SERENA THING AT THE US OP--yes. It's not cycling. When Marianne Vos deliberately whacks over a race official with her cross bike, we'll talk.

16. Where the !@#$ is the women's Vuelta a Espana!

17. Ben King, man. *Tell* me you didn't ink that contract extension (in particularly, the 'salary' part) til after your smashing double stage wins!

18. There is no other race right now but the Vuelta. Except the ones Andre Greipel is winning after Lotto !@#$ed him out of a contract next year, woot!

19. This talk of Valverde bailing out of the Vuelta to prepare for the Worlds is crazy. This ageless android races nuts-to-the-floor 366 days a year without any apparent impact on his performance. And we'll be saying the same damn thing 20 years from now!

20. Louis Meintjes. Geez he looked woozy. Glad he didn't suffer a head injury--and why the hell wasn't he pulled from the stage just in case anyway?

All righty folks, we've still got a spiky time trial for Nairo to choke on, and a race-deciding mountain stage to come on stage 20. Aupa Land--oh, !@#$ you, Movistar, this is all your fault!

It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Dos: the General Classification Contenders!

Yes, for the fifth Grand Tour in a row, last year's dope-popped defending champion, and everybody's favorite rider, Chris Froome, will be--naaaaaah, just kidding! Mercifully, he's keeping his flailing tainted-!@# carcass at home, so basically, we got ourselves a race, y'all! Less mercifully, however, through either injury or attrition--at least until our fledgling baby Carrots take wing in a season or two--there's rather a dearth o' Spanish or Basque contenders this year, but still and all, a fine field and a lively race to come. So who do we got? Read on--and if I'm wrong as usual, have at!

1. Mikel Nie--!@#DAMMIT MOVISTAR YOU SUCK AND THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! If you'd had Mikel ride the Giro and not the crappy Tour de France like I told you to, he'd be rested'n'rosy for the Vuelta, but instead, a series of bone-crushing crashes have him out of the darling Vuelta (*and* the Worlds, *double* suck!). Did I mention this is all your fault Movistar? Fer crissakes if you don't lose him to Vinokourov like you completely deserve, set him right to win *one* of the two superior Grand Tours next year, willya?

2. Vincenzo Nibali--oh wait, *he's* still !@#$ed by some numbnut with an airborne camera strap and is hoping to merely be in *less* excruciating pain for the final week. Which brings us to...

3. Ion and Gorka Izagirre: look, we know they're good for at least a stage win (or two), if Nibs'll let 'em out to play--and who deserves it more than these wee whiz-kid ex-and-always Euskaltel boys? Better, there's not *so* many stupid flat time trials and echelon-smarting windy tundras as in the Tour show. And, at 29 and 30, they're in primo GC-snagging years. Aupaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa--and stuff it, doubters, you can eat the confetti blasted off the podium ceremony!

4. Nairo Quintana: alright Nairo: you gotta get by just *one* "co-captain" now, but it *is* Alejandro Valverde, who'd bushwhack the Tooth Fairy to recapture the baby tooth from under his pillow and, though generous and helpful to others, might be lured to change his mind in your case for a podium--or top--spot of his own. Luckily, he, like you, tends to completely choke on at least one vital day. Which naturally segues into...

5. Alejandro Valverde: Deficits: he's got a "co-captain," and is the approximate age of "older'n Moses." Pluses: because he's been cryogenically preserved between race days and for the entirety of all his off-seasons, he's biologically only 16 years old, but with the tactical mind of a Cold War stealth submarine commander. Sure, he tends to crack--but this guy can smell others' suffering like shark on wounded tuna, so ignore him at your peril!

6. Michal Kwiatkowski: geez, even Sky's running low on guys who can win every Grand Tour they ever enter. But with Froomey still smarting from playing bridesmaid to his own superdomestique, and surely-impending-Sir Thomas understandably figuring what the hell more can he do this year more'n the Tour de France and a seat with the Knights of the Round Table, they've still got Kwiato, who's had a pretty bangin' season, for a high GC placing. The benefit, of course, of Sky not clearly contending for, and inevitably getting, the win, is that the other squads won't be so preemptively cowed into total !@#-covering cowardice that they hopefully won't be afraid to actually attack, as opposed to meekly accepting their usual fate and instead painstakingly crawling to their real objective of second place. *Please* light it up out there, guys--especially you Izagirres!

7. Rigoberto Uran--oh, Rigo. We know you can do it. *You* know you can do it. But somehow, someways, through twists of bad luck and form, you just haven't done it quite yet. Particularly since EF has given you another super-strong support squad, I refuse to give up on you. Go Rigo--as you're truly capable of doing!

8. Thibaut Pinot: he's found his true and forever home at FDJ, where he just re-signed. And he had an *incredible* Giro until one fateful virus absolutely gobsmacked him on the way to the Falzarego. So he's clearly got talent enough for even the Vuelta's brutal passes, *and* the fire for redemption--and hopefully nothing more this time--in his guts. Go go Pinot!

9. Fabio Aru: oh, Fabio. Whatever's been going on with you physically, I have to surmise that all the pressure on you to be the next Ivan Basso just made you crack like a noce. But you seem pretty optimistic, so we'll aim you for a stage and a final podium. You can do mountains, kiddo--remember?

10. Richie Porte: he's just announced he's heading for Trek next season, so he's got *one* more Grand Tour shot with the formidable BMC machine, and I figure that, in his quiet way, he'll try his damndest to make the most of it. Problem: he *just* missed the shiny pre-race press schmoozer due to "gastrointestinal problems," and announced today that he's not nearly at the form he was in the Tour. Dag nabit Richie, don't you realize no-one actually *has* "gastrointestinal issues," they're just something riders drop out for mid-race when they're about to get popped for dope? And, with Froome out of the race, he's got no-one to domestique for but himself. Now get well soon, and if *anyone* with *any* illness gets within 20 yards o' you the next three weeks, I want you to spray 'em with enough Lysol to empty a fire extinguisher!

11. Last but not least, Simon Yates: my, we've got a wide-open field this year--anyone thinking this Vuelta's gonna be superlative fun? Anyway, with poor Porte apparently, well, indisposed, and a really incredible Giro stage-win hat-trick behind him, lotsa money's riding on this kid, especially with his brother to back him. Me, of course I'm putting my money on more sentimental, if inevitably stage-winning-but-GC-losing, causes. Enjoy raking in the big bucks, the rest of you!

Well, that's mine, and yes, I'm sure I missed your faves like a colossal blockhead. But I'm busy rooting for the new baby Basques who are sure to fight incredibly hard, so you can just bow to the real champs o' the race while they pass by!