Lookin' Good...Uh, Some of You: yes, the traditional Tour de France trying grounds, the Dauphine', is upon us, the brief prologue is complete, and a few things are clear: Wiggo (second at 1 second back) and Cadel (a respectable 9th at 5) look mighty fine, and Andy Schleck...well, let's just suggest that at 102nd at 28 back, and with all the time trial miles at the upcoming Tour, Johan Bruyneel's not exactly gonna be crackin' a champagne bottle for his maillot jaune hopeful unless it's over his !@#damn head. Add to that this race's parcours including a 53k time trial on stage 4 and a weird downhill finish on what could otherwise be an Andy-friendly stage to Morzine, and Schleckino's boss-man ain't likely to be happy ahead of July. Head for the hills, Andy, *now*--at least in those, you're supposed to be able to outrun 'im!
A Humble Proposal: and, I see there's been just a raft of UCI "whereabouts violations" this year, and for the simple error of intentionally avoiding a wholly-deserved drug te--uh, accidentally forgetting to call into their nannies every six seconds--it seems to me a lot of people are getting awa--uh, wrongfully accused of nefarious acts against morality. My solution: the Official Racejunkie Electric Dog-Collar Tracking Machine! Yes, under the fair and sensible control of Noble Crusader and Exemplar of All Fairness Pat "Dick" McQuaid himself, strap one of these puppies on the latest crop o' suspect riders, let 'em just try one impromptu secret trip to, say, Dr. Ferrari's place for a "barbecue", and zappo!--your rider stays safely put under the known, tender and entirely lawful ministrations of his own team docs. Wait a minute...
Yer Heartwarming Sacrifice of the Week: finally, big thanks to fervent anti-cheating advocate David Millar, who, despite some petty suggestions that a single silly doping poz you're ever so grateful occurred to cleanse your conscience oughta nonetheless keep one outta the unimpeachable Olympics, has announced himself reluctantly at the British Olympics team's disposal, if only to help Cav and set an example for the impressionable kiddies. Y'know, it's things like this that restore my faith in humanity. Landis, maybe we'll finally see you back in action this year!
Yes, Milan's behind us, Paris is ahead of us, and it's time for the coveted 2012 Giro d'Italia Racejunkie Awards! No trophy, but eternal glory and a bitchin' free racejunkie bike sticker to any awardee unfortunate enough to read this are theirs! So without further ado:
Punk-!@# Move of the Race: sprint-wank Roberto Ferrari's near-horizontal swing by the line, fruitlessly-begged-for apology by team management, and half-blase', half-snarling !@#$-you response. Classy!
Crash o' the Race: Frank Schleck's screw-your-brother last-minute draft as squad leader, subsequent retirement from a bike-crash boo-boo, and Johan's extremely public attack-dog dope-smack, including even a threat to his brother Andy and a disgusted slag that at this point only Cancellara's got a spot for the Tour. Oh, come on, Johan--I thought Oliver Zaugg pulled a pretty brave breakaway on the penultimate stage, at least give that guy a job in July!
More'n Just Beer and Back-Bacon Surprise o' the Giro: look, we all knew he was all kinds o' talented, but let's be honest--only Ryder Hesjedal called Ryder Hesjedal,and the rest of us were morons. Oh, Canada, [your] home and native land...you rock, Ryder!
Tifosi Award: to the unnamed Cavendish-dissing roadside wisenheimer, rewarded with this forgiving tweet: "Amongst incredible cheering from British & Italian fans today, 1 dude chuckles "ooh Cav's in trouble!"... I'd stopped for a piss, dickhead!"
Break Like the Wind Prize: theoretically wholly misplaced Belgian Thomas De Gendt, as the helpless GC field behind handed him a podium spot without even a whimper. Daaaaamn, did you see that?
Scalatore of 2012: indeed, Ryder was great--his body has no business whatsoever where he was when he was in the Alps and Dolomites. But Rodriguez is beautiful to watch, whether he's poking his rivals for weak spots or flying uphill on his own. Forza Purito--a nobler loss was never had!
Ghosts of Christmas Past Trophy: Damiano Cunego, soooo close on the Stelvio to a hint of the glory he so effortlessly nut-kneed Gilberto Simoni to steal so very long ago. See you at the Classics next year Damiano--do you *really* wanna be Scarponi's beeyotch at the Giro again?
Escape From New York (Well, Milan) Award: yes, just as Vinokourov's goons were measuring GC-!@#$up Roman Kreuziger for a pair o'cement shoes and a permanent date with the bottom o' Lake Garda, Roman--no idiot, it seems--ripped his guts out for the stage win to Pampeago and a temporary moratorium on his execution. Nice save, Roman--but pull this !@#$ again and you'll be sleeping with with the fishes for good!
Wake Me When It's Over Tactic o' the Race: Liquigas is in control of the peloton. Liquigas is in control of the peloton. Liquigas is in control of the peloton. Liquig...yeah, hell of a lot of good that did!
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Basso Award: am I the only one who remembers what a cool calculating Contadorian snot Ivan Basso was in his pre-Op Puerto days? Well, now he's just the most gracious, appreciative, humble guy on earth, equally tranquillo on good days and bad. Dang, I thought that crap back in the day just improved your performance--who knew it jerk-morphed your personality, too? Kudos Captain Civility!
Domestique o' the Giro: I'm callin' this a tie between the faithful Van de Velde, who as a former maglia rosa could've easily chosen to be a resentful lead weight and instead did the entire race proud, and Basso lieutenant Sylvester Szymd. At least it paid off for Christian--but Sylvester, you done your unheralded brethren (and sistren) good!
My Eyes! My Eyes! Award: y'know, what I *don't* need to see for a good half-minute in the live coverage is an AG2R guy fumbling around with the works down his bib shorts and swingin' out for an off-sides 30-kph on-the-fly nature break. What, like the moto's got nothin' better to do? Uh, there's this "general classification" thing that's kinda neat, dudes...
Unrelated Doping Hilarity o' the Month: Wim Vansevenant, ripped off by a dope dealer selling 'im a bogus banned product, and his career and legacy are ruined anyway. Ah, the old oregano-in-the-weed-bag trick...next time ask your team doc for 'nutritional help', you nit!
You're Fired You Mother!@#$er! Award: well, I hope that clown who brilliantly led time trial king Taylor Phinney off the course in Milan enjoyed his ride on the moto--even if Taylor don't come back and run 'im over with it, I'm sure it's his last trip anyway!
And Finally, Your Near-Miss of the Race: two-wheeled terror Mark Cavendish, gamely crawling up the mountains like a whacked-out turtle only to lose the red jersey on the final day by one lousy point to Purito. We still love you, Cav--even when you piss us off!
Well, them's mine, and if I missed anyone, I imagine I'll learn it but quick. Congrats to all our winners--and hey, there's always next year!
Woo-hoo Ryder! Aw, Crap, Purito!: okay, I admit it--I'm so happy for the great (and pleasingly non-assholian) Ryder Hesjedal on his (and the first Canadian) win of the Giro d'Italia, but part of me thinks the whole thing blows, because to me, the Giro is fundamentally a climber's race, and for Purito to lose it on the last day in a friggin' 28 k time trial just sucks the mountains' supremacy out of the Giro. But Hesjedal rode truly spectacularly in the mountains, and even Purito could barely shake 'im when he tried yesterday on the Morirolo, then on the Stelvio, and on the all the days before. So despite my disappointment over Rodriguez, thanks to all the boys for making it a nail-biter, a bow to De Gendt for his phenomenal last-minute near-win outta nowhere, but most of all, congrats and huzzahs and ungrudging admiration to Hesjedal and our friends up North--you won it fair and square, and are damn right a "mito" for doing it!
Well, dear reader(s), except for the bloody anarchistic store-destroying arson-fest that's about to start in Milan over the Italians' failure to capture even a podium spot, that's the fabulous Giro d'Italia for this year. Next up, after I stick up some photos/footage on here in a bit: the incredibly prestigious and highly objective 2012 Giro d'Italia Racejunkie Awards!
PS Was anyone else watching Scarponi's intermediate checkpoint times and thinkin', "I call bull!@#$?" Giro gods, please forgive me!
You Got Six Hours, Rodriguez! (And Basso, And Scarponi, And...): all right, I could be eating my words by lunchtime, but let's be honest: they couldn't drop him on Pampeago, and they're all crap time trialists, so unless Ryder has a spectacular bonk today, they ain't likely to drop him for more'n enough than a stage win on the Mortirolo and Stelvio, either, and there's a maglia rosa with Hesjedal's name on it in Milan. Too bad for tension's sake they aren't closer against the clock, right? Though Purito has sucked less than usual this year. Anyway, they've still got a chance, so good luck, boys--and damn, it'll really blow if all those domestiques from Liquigas did all that work the last three weeks for nothin', Ivan you at least owe 'em a podium! Vai Ryder...and Purito...aw heck, I am *so* conflicted on this one!
The GC Heats Up and Shakes Out: what an exciting day in the saddle, as Rodriguez Scarponi Basso (finally laying down the law on his own) and Hesjedal surge and the GC finally starts--but only just starts--to take shape. Still, Basso and Scarponi have a lot of time to make up, and Purito needs even more time on Hesjedal ahead of his inevitable monster suckage in the time trial--but damn, that kid is an all-terrain threat, and who doesn't love our neighbors in the Great White North? Forza Ryder--uh, Rodriguez--uh--oh, just let the best man win! Here, Scarponi's scramble to glom back on and the gruppetto's hotly contested run to the line:
Run, Roman, Run!: of course, the big loss today goes to Astana's really very talented Roman Kreuziger, schlepping in a humiliating 11-odd minutes back, dashing his much-hyped GC hopes and drawing the distinct ire of his directeur sportif, who's already suggesting he can kiss his team leadership goodbye. Y'know, that's a bummer and all, but what I'd *really* be afraid of is pissing off famously intemperate de facto Astana head Alexandre "I Will Gut You Like a Pig, You Failure!" Vinokourov--the hell with bicycles, Roman, steal a freakin' moto or something and get the hell outta there *now*!
My Besotted Uncynical Rah-Rah Moment: check it out--Euskaltel jailbait Jon "Rockstar" Izaguirre for the stage-16 win at the Giro in, for heck's sake, his first-ever Grand Tour debut. Suck that, you big-budget ProTour big-shots--and keep your dirty thieving money-dripping mitts off Euskaltel's talent you bastards!
Good News For RadioSkank (And Goodness Knows They Need It): no, not that desperate ostentatious bull!@#$ "nothin' to see here, move on folks!" love-fest between Frank Schleck and Johan Bruyneel--after the Crappiest Collarbone Break of All Time, Fabian Cancellara's mercifully back in action at the unfortunately named Bayern Rundfahrt, which means that between, say, him and Horner, they'll be able to salvage at least two wins for the squad at the Tour de France this year. Welcome back, Fabian--and please, stay safe and upright the rest of the season!
Up, Up, and Away!: screw all that tiresome sprint crap: after the Alps failed to winnow the field, the Giro gets serious in the Dolomites this week, and for my money, if Ivan Basso don't change tactics but quick, he's !@#$ed in Milan. Y'know, I admire Liquigas for its sensible containment tactics, I suppose, but Rodriguez is gonna attack, and smooth and steady as Basso is, if Purito can otherwise stay more or less with him, he's gonna smoke 'im on the steeps. Even Scarponi was the only one who could grab onto Alberto Contador's shirttails last year, and if he can get over his own preference for response rather'n independent attack, he could take Basso too. And frankly, I don't know that Ryder Hesjedal, who I'd love to see on the podium, is any less reliable despite his less formidable squad, and he's distinctly shown some punch this Giro. Ivan, you can't just minimize your losses any more--you've actually gotta *gain*, and before the penultimate day on the Stelvio. Am I the only one who thinks this?
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhhh/Caught In a Bad Romance: geez, I honestly didn't think it was possible, but things are getting even worse between the Schlecks and Johan Bruyneel, as Frank drops out of the Giro with a popped (though apparently re-located) shoulder, and not only does Johan immediately pronounce him a "total wuss," (c'mon, you know what "disappointment" means), but Johan implies that he'll screw his *own* chances for another Tour de France credit by keeping Frank out of the Tour just to hose over Andy. Man, Johan, just grab Alberto Contador for a hot night out at a nightclub and rub the Schlecks' nose in it, whydontcha--are you really gonna be *that* much of a cad, especially when it's *you* who miscalculated hiring 'em? I mean, sure, the boys get the hell on my nerves, too--but show some class you punk!
We Love You Robbie "Head-Butt"!: last, but absolutely not least, a tearful farewell to the great Robbie McEwen on his retirement, because not only *must* one love a man who threatens to shove a fist down Lance Armstrong's throat, but the three-time green jersey-winning "Pocket Rocket" was truly one of the greatest sprinters of his--hell, any--time. Robbie, we'll miss you--and we look forward to watching your upcoming proteges stomp the field! Here, a few of this fantastic Aussie's greatest hits (literally, if you count him grabbing that fan by the throat):
1. Either Peter Sagan is the Next Lance Armstrong, or that kid is doped to the gills. Wait, wouldn't that make him the Next Lance Armstrong anyway?
2. Every time Jens Voigt talks about retiring, isn't it like the sky's suddenly turned black, the earth's opened up beneath your feet, and a giant plague o' locusts has just whacked you smack in the face?
4. Dave Zabriskie. !@#damn, his upper body is absolutely motionless in a time trial. How the hell does he do it, Botox?
5. Pat "Dick" McQuaid--Alberto Contador just lies awake at night thinkin' of ways to piss you off every day, doesn't he? It's *gotta* be killin' ya!
6. If David Millar *really* felt so crappy about doping, he'd turn down his Olympic spot even though the rules now say he *can* ride.
7. The only consolations whatsoever about Robbie McEwen calling it a career are (1) he's gonna coach other sprinters in the fine art of trash-talk and (2) Roberto Ferrari's even more of a wingnut. Why head-butt a rival when you can just bring 50 of 'em down into the barriers?
8. Saturday and Sunday at the Giro. Yap, Baldy, yap--this weekend we hit the real mountains, honey, and the race of truth begins in the Alps--forza Purito!
9. I don't *what* the hell kind of painkillers Levi Leipheimer's gotta be on to ride the way he's ridin', but don't tell me you wouldn't take 'em!
10. The Giro d'Italia really fixed things this year. It's much, much better for the riders to have to navigate incredibly narrow 180 degree turns 300 feet from the line on every stage, than to have a bunch of those "mountain" things. Good work guys!
I Feel Love: finally, the Giro d'Italia has announced it will have a special tribute to Donna Summer tomorrow, and tifosi, let's get it started right here: Thank you Donna!
Pur(ito) Adrenalin: yes, as the Giro heads upwards at last, it's already a battle royale amongst the week-3 GC contenders, as stealth candidate Hesjedal relinquishes the maglia rosa to Joaquim Rodriguez who was really only here to practice, Basso continues his reign of quiet competence, and even Frank Schleck managed to scare the nuts off the Italians for a stage or two before he bonked it today. Could it be everyone's favorite big brother could pull off a podium on a grand tour he'd barely prepared for, now that we've all forgotten what a fine contender he is when he isn't on little-brother nose-wiping duty? Or is Johan Bruyneel gonna yank him out before the finish line in a panic-and-regret-driven move to keep him fresh to boost Andy in July? Will anyone else remember how ludicrous it is that Scarponi is sitting in as moral compass/anointed victor for Contador? All will be answered, dear tifosi--stay tuned, and let's just get through these last coupla sprint stages til the first high passes this weekend!
RadioSkank and Quick Step Talk Smack: y'know, I'll admit it--I thought evergood Chris Horner was just joking when he suggested Levi Leipheimer was "playing possum" with his pre-race "I'm no way close to being able to win" cool-out, but when Levi got notably pissed back at him, and then big bodacious Boonen had to step in to calm things down, I can come to only one conclusion: Johan Bruyneel is a colossal wanker, and this is shaping up to be a far better Tour o' California than I'd hoped. All that, and Jens and Sagan, too? First one o' you to pose next to Boonen while dressed in a gladiator outfit (you, not Tommeke this time) gets a free racejunkie hat--and no Photoshoppin'!
Oh, And BTW Octomom is Bankrupt: in "what the !@#$ is *that* doing here?" news, Lance is on slutty (non-cycling) gossip website TMZ as he continues his "I'm a Hero! Screw You!" campaign by appearing on some new talk show. Look, you can vote on his innocence, too--wait, or is that for the "Would You Rather Do Kim or Khloe Kardashian" poll?
Eeeeeeeeeewwwwww!, Or, Give Your Soigneur A Raise, Or Else!: finally, a warning for every smugly doping cycling starlet--watch who you're hiring to jam that needle in yer !@#, 'cause if he's anything like Roger Clemens' strength coach, he just may be grabbing a swab o' your butt-DNA to prove he was injecting you with dope and insulate himself from Lancian "you lie!" attacks years from now. Uh, not to intrude into these very intimate relationships, but am I the only one who thinks a few team helpers' shut-up pay just increased another, oh, 300% just now?
Lance Speaks: well, I guess Floyd Landis and Tyler Hamilton can hit up McDonald's for a Happy Meal in peace from now on without Lance Armstrong screaming they're lying sacks of crap and threatening to shove them face-first into the sizzling fry basket: when it comes to any future investigations into doping, lying, and general scumbaggery, he just ain't gonna challenge 'em anymore, even if it means losing his Tours de France. As a special bonus, we won't have to listen to endless repeat loops of that robotic "I've never been proven to dope" from now on, and more, you can all go !@#$ yourselves, 'cause he doesn't care what you think. Whoa, wait a minute Lance, you mean to suggest you actually *allow* other people around you to think? Too bad for your domestiques you didn't tell 'em that 10 years ago--look what you did to the ones who actually tried it!
Ulle Right Already: in other repentant doper news, Jan Ullrich's thankfully emerging from his post Op Puerto pit o' despair, unlike some sadder counterparts in similar scandals, coming out into the world again actually enjoying his bike and conceding that, well, maybe, he "made some mistakes." Y'know, dope-slap Jan all you want--I certainly have--but I forgive 'im now for crushing my trusting innocent soul, and before I get called on the carpet for being some doper-enabler puppy-kicking devil-sympathizer, *tell* me you liars that you don't prefer his old-school one-lie, retreat-into-silence omerta (or the open screw-you defiance of a Vino) over all that crying whining self-serving bawl-for-the-cameras I'm-so-sorry-(I was busted) jailbird-for-Jeezus bull!@#$ of--uh, certain riders who were welcomed back to the peloton. Either don't do it, or do it, take yer lumps, and shut the hell up--anyway, glad your depression is behind you Jan, now let's go eat!
Rollin', Rollin', Rollin', Rawhide!: and, the smashing Giro d'Italia has finally started to turn uphill, not enough to bust apart the GC just yet but certainly enough to (1) bonk or crash most of the sprinters out of the race, despite Cav's controversial under-the-wire squeak thru the stage-6 time limit and (2) let the hardworking unsung roleurs get their day in pink on the breakaways. Bravo, little worker bees--remember, it's the meek who shall inherit the earth, or at least someone else's maglia rosa when it gets stripped off 'em from a doping poz!
So Long, Farewell, Auf Weidersehn, Goo--Holy !@#$!: finally, best wishes to onetime prodigy ohn-Lee Augustyn, retiring from the pros due to ongoing injury to open a bike shop in South Africa. If you'll recall, the youngster was on a hell of a run at the 2008 Tour de France before a most impressive flyer off a steep descent and a tenacious scramble back to the uplands: Good luck John-Lee--and remember, you'll *never* be as bad a descender as the Schlecks!
Well class, the first few days of the Giro are behind us, there's many more yet to come, and as the boys nurse their ambitions (and bruises) and plot their upcoming bushwhacks, let's ponder some of the valuable lessons we've learned:
1. Roberto Ferrari is one selfish mother!@#$er. Even if he *has* just been smacked into making an insincere apology.
2. I'm really glad Mark Cavendish is back to verbally abusing others, but if Cav were Robbie McEwen, he'd've chewed Ferrari's leg off his body yesterday like a meth-crazed pit bull.
3. Considering he's already the Most Cursed Maglia Rosa Ever, Taylor Phinney's conducted himself most graciously. Give that boy a gold star for etiquette!
4. Jeezus, could Denmark *have* any more road furniture?
5. Vincenzo Nibali's considering whether to reject a measly 1.8 million euro offer from Liquigas in favor of a cooler 2.5 mil from Alexandre "TAKE MY OFFER OR I KILL YOU, YOU WORM!" Vinokourov or BMC. Ivan Basso, I guess this means if you want the Tour de France next year, it's yours!
6. If you're gonna run the Amgen EPO You Suck Tour o' California during my beloved Giro, at least !@#damn do it during the flat stages. Like you haven't already decimated the Giro ranks enough--what the hell is *wrong* with you freaks?
7. Wow, there really *is* someone out there who time trials worse'n the Schlecks.
8. Can we just start going uphill already for chrissakes?
9. There's no need for Michele Scarponi to panic about the GC yet. He can wait until Lampre gets slaughtered in the team time trial for that.
10. Contador sez he knows the 2011 Giro is still really his, but sportingly pegs Scarponi as *this* year's favorite at least. Backhanded compliments much, Alberto?
Forget this kid's Secretariat lineage or the fact he's been hyped as the Next Great American Cyclist since he first dropped his diaper-clad butt on a Big Wheel--after a blazing win in the opening time trial, jailbait phenom Taylor Phinney just cemented his fame in his own right for completely keeping his cool (outwardly, anyway) when the Gazzetta commentators started screaming their heads off 8 k from the line and Taylor materialized 38 monstrous seconds behind the rapidly disappearing peloton with a chain-twiddle that seemed to take his poor mechanics forever a subsequent car-window futz with the brakes and, by the end of a chaotic finish that sent bodies flying up the barriers, Cav'd come out of nowhere looking too surprised to even do his normal victory dance and Taylor'd slipped in, cool as a cucumber, right back to the pack and into what seemed like an impossible pink. Now *that* is one collected boy. Complimenti, Taylor--and you're clearly doing something right with 'im, BMC!
Interestingly, Taylor talks about his new pink bike that would soon cause him trouble, just prior to the stage this morning:
Tomorrow: the fateful stage three, and a touching tribute to the late Wouter Weylandt. Go swift and safe, Tyler Farrar--you did it for him at the Tour, so I've no doubt you can do it again for him here!
Yes, it's truly time for the fabulous Giro, and while the very concept of a "sprinter's Giro" makes me yack, there's still plenty o' mountainous suffering to be had in this gorgeous race, so here's Yer Official Guide to the 2012 Giro:
The Corsa: starts in Denmark, which is bitchin', but is pretty well flat the first week, which blows. Week 2: we start to hit the hills, honey, and begin to tease out out the GC hopefuls from the hopeless. The last week: the high passes at last, including a record-setting altitude-o'-agony on the fearsome Passo Stelvio *after* a same-stage slog up the Mortirolo. The prologue: a twisty, technical 8.7 kilometer time trial to put a bod into pink. Stay upright, boys--you got a looooooong way to go yet from here!
The Fast Men: like I'd care, but Thor, Benna-Jet, Mark Cavendish, and, most of all, heartbroken good-guy Tyler Farrar are there, and frankly, Hushovd better pull *something* off to make BMC forget his Classics. And go Cav--we're only going to see you for a few days anyway!
The Favorites: for the first time in a long time, there really ain't any. But Vuelta god Rodriguez wouldn't mind it, Ivan Basso needs it, and Roman Kreuziger--well, it'd sure've been nice for his beauty rest had Alexander Vinokourov'd not rashly marked him for 21 consecutive 3 a.m. wake-n'-pokes by the narcs by recently bragging a fellow Astana-ite had "won a race like Vino!" My question: without Contador's wheel to aspire to, will Michele Scarponi have the mental and physical wherewithal to take the whole show on his own? Here, an exclusive pic of Frank Schleck after hearing the news of his RadioSkank leadership from Johan Bruyneel:
The Climbers: crying in their Cheerios 'til about stage 8, basically, but thankfully, the Giro organizers haven't totally lameified the route. And while the GC freak out marking each other--Jose Rujano, the queen stage is yours!
And, Yet Another Reason Our Friends Down Under Just Rock: finally, while this has nothing to do with the Giro, it's still surely a sign of something good, as from the Aussie (non-cycling) sports federations comes this plea to warm the hearts of stoners everywhere: since pot doesn't actually *help* performance, please, please, please take it off the banned-substances list! Y'know, moralize all ya want, but it's true--Jan Ullrich once gained 67 pounds during the off-season from attacks of the munchies alone. How the hell else you think Lance kept winning the Tour?
Well, dear reader(s), onwards and (I swear) upwards--here's to the magnificent prize you're shooting for!
Yes, it's a mere five days to the start of the glorious Giro, and just two months from the hypeapalooza of the Tour de France, and frankly, since there's no Alberto Contador to kick the absolute crap outta everyone 'til the Vuelta, things is gonna be a lot more unpredictable this year. The latest:
1. Bio-passport-bustee/new Androni hire Franco "Oh No He Shaved Off His Euromullet!" Pellizotti sadly isn't riding the Giro. On the plus side, he's still gonna be prettier than anyone else who *is* there, except maybe Ivan Basso or Cunego. That's one less guy to hog the hotel mirrors, anyway!
2. Basso's looked like !@#$ this season, tho' to be fair (for once), he's had some nasty whacks on the pavement. But after actually thinking about bailing, he sez he can ride the Giro to win now. Despite the Giro's obvious superiority, am I the only one thinkin' all this must be just a liiiiiiiiiiiittle bit ego-crushing for the former Next Lance Armstrong?
3. Frank Schleck as 'Skank team leader at the Giro. Either Johan Bruyneel *really* thinks Andy'll perform better if he comes out from behind Frank's skirts, or he's called it a day entirely and is pinning his July GC hopes on old-as-Moses (if still phenomenally bitchin') Chris Horner. One of you bros better save *one* of these Tours for Johan, Frank--Machiavelli there could reverse-dope your !@# and turn you into a mewling kitten if you cross 'im!
4. Michele Scarponi, who used to be at Liberty "Blood Bags 'R' Us" Seguros with Alberto Contador, is now the "defending" 2011 Giro champ since Contador's win was stripped and given to Scarponi. Anyone else snortin' their espresso out their noses right now?
5. In related Scarponi news, fellow Lampre teammate/former Giro theif Damiano "I Told You You Were a Classics Man" Cunego is now relegated to being the squad's also-ran back-up man. Bow to Gilberto Simoni like you should've the first time, you karma-slurpin' twerp!
6. Cadel. A little down, but he'll be back by July. Hell, he can't do worse'n baby Schleck!
7. Brad Wiggins. After a time trial, sprint, and up-'n'-downer in Romandie, has ever so exclusively a one-trick specialist as Wiggo looked so badassian for the Tour? Just watch yerself none of the other GC contenders thwap you off the Galibier for pretty well calling 'em all dopers today...
8. The Amgen EPO You-Suck-for-Decimating-the-Giro Tour of California: you *suck*, Tour of California, and the UCI scum-weasels who rescheduled you! Oh, Robbie McEwen, how *could* you make this your very last race...at least dope-slap someone upside the eardrums into the barriers a few yards from the finish line for old times' sake!
Coming soon: your comprehensive guide to the 2012 Giro. Lesson One: Giro rules, Tour drools--now scream it at the top of your lungs til your voice gives out!
Let's be fair: on paper, Frank and Andy Schleck are admirably accomplished. National champions (okay, Luxembourg), a buncha Classics, stage wins and an overall win at the Tour de France (I know, PJ, not really!), and Giro and Tour podiums before Andy was even out of diapers. But in reality, we know the problem: compared to the hype on 'em, these guys are !@#$ups. Why, and what can we do to help 'em turn it around? Here:
1. Leopard Trek. A great idea, but it wasn't given enough time to develop. And frankly, when you've got Fabian Cancellara workin' for ya, yer average beer-guzzling pudge-gutted nacho-scarfin' American sports nut, much less an actual cyclist, oughta be able to sit there in his Barcalounger with his finger up his nose scratchin' for canapes and still put in a fine placing in a road race. Solution: dammit sponsors are instant-gratification crybabies, give 'em two seasons to develop next time whyndontcha?
2. They're Codependent. There's brotherly love, and there's brotherly luuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvvvvv. Frank's been catchin' you worms too long, Andy. And as a little sister, I do understand. But it's time to spread those little wings and fly on your own. Solution: Separate squads and a little healthy family rivalry. One of you's gonna have to suck it up and try to beat the other guy!
3. Time Trials. Look, all the practice in the world can't turn this lovably gangly dork into the compact muscular efficiency of a Cadel or the preying-mantis sleekness of a Dave Zabriskie. But !@#dammit, *someone's* gotta be able to shave off a few seconds for this boy *somewhere*. Solution: bike-fit gurus, I have it on completely legitimate authority (uh, mine) that Johan Bruyneel will personally pay you 1 million buckaroos for the perfect machine. Hell, he's losin' more'n that on Andy at the moment, right?
4. Descents. Il Falco he ain't. And descents *are* scary--for good reason. But they can be learned. And if you can't get down the Galibier without gripping onto the tarmac with yer teeth, fingernails, eyeballs, and nether hairs, you're doomed to lose. Solution: start low. Strap the kid flat on a skateboard at the top of an Alp, pat his hand for comfort, and give 'im a good hard Olympic-luge-style push. At worst, he can only fall two inches to the ground, so he'll soon get his confidence after a coupla 70 kph switchbacks. Voila'!
5. Denial. It's rainy. It's sunny. It's windy. It's calm. I'm still smarting from the ultra-wedgie Johan Bruyneel gave me this morning. Andy, as even you've finally acknowledged, at some point you gotta *own* this pup. Contador and Cadel have got something on you, and you need to figure out what pronto. Solution: Alexandre Vinokourov. He'll either dope you, berate you, or break your kneecaps with his bare hands, but one thing he *won't* let you do is whinge (did I get that right dear Brits?) to the press like some aristocratic inbred ascot-wielding tea-drinkin' weenie. START WINNING YOU WEAK-WILLED BASTARD OR I'LL FEED YOU TO THE SHARKS LIKE A BLOODY CHUNK OF CHUM!
6. Security. No Kim, no win. You don't separate Linus from his blanket, Schroeder from his piano, or, god forbid, Tommeke from his smoothie-smooth masseuse. Johan, the chemistry just ain't workin'. Quit bein' a beeyotch and let Andy have Kim Andersen in the team car. After all, let's cut to the chase here, the boys were better before they started on your squad. Am I right, or what?
7. RadioSkank. You boys just aren't Lance Armstrong, and no matter what you accomplish for him or for you, Johan will never, ever forgive you for it. He'll never forgive *anyone* for it. Look what happened to Contador for chrissakes! Solution: get out, out, OUT!
Well folks, them's mine, and their guaranteed road to success. If you got another way(s) to fix the Schlecks, spit it out--they need all the help they can get!
Down to the Last of the Classics!: yes, with Fleche-Wallone but a happy memory for surprise victor Joaquim Rodriguez, and Andy Schleck having conveniently blamed other teams for his own squad's relative fiasco in the race, it's time to wind down the spring season with the venerable Liege-Bastogne-Liege, baby! The bets: really, with Philippe Gilbert in quickly-rising form and confidence, and the forecast calling for "cold and crappy," they're pretty well on him. Also out for blood: Valverde, Samu', Oscar and Rodriguez, likely to be felled a bit by the temps even more'n they'll enjoy the upwards yank to the line; Simon Gerrans; Cunego, lookin' for vindication from his earlier Ardennes crash-near-the-line buckets o' Belgians; and, of course, Frank and Andy, ready for redemption. Here's the fun to come: Allez, allez Philippe--hey, at least your brother's promised a hometown boozefest-fest either way, you can mourn or celebrate with some of that strawberry vodka!
Fast (Well, Actually Not So Fast Lately) Times at Team RadioSkank: meantime, an apparently panicking Johan Bruyneel, wholly unused to losing (until Lance's return, of course), has unceremoniously booted longtime Schleck guide-to-glory Kim Anderson from RadioSkank's Tour de France team car, and also completely freaked out Frank and Andy, who have reassured the fans (and themselves) that they'll be checking in with Anderson by telephone "at least three times per day" and "we're really excited that Johan's got no confidence in us whatsoever for the Tour." Johan, of course, is cheerfully encouraging the two, revealing that his tactics for July are to "limit Andy's losses" in the flats, descents, and time trials, and just capitalize on his justly-lauded climbing skills. Jeez, kick him in the psychological nuts whydontcha--it's enough to make me feel sorry for the kid! Anyway, I wouldn't worry Johan--Andy has, after all, won the Tour de France once already. Of course, Contador *actually* won that year. And Cadel is freakin' *motivated* to retain that maillot jaune in July. And...uh, at least you're gonna bring Jens!
Mark Cavendish, Man of Action: finally, big points to Colgate poster-pup Mark Cavendish, who's not only aiming at the Giro, but now swearing he's gonna finish the Tour de France *and* still be ready to go for Olympic gold. Hey, as long as Thor's gonna be too busy workin' for Cadel *and* bizarrely chasing mountain stages, lookin' forward to seeing you in green again, Cav!
Yer Racejunkie Crisis-Management Quote O' the Week: so with Frank Schleck pronouncing himself delighted with his 12th place finish in Amstel Gold (and, because I'm a lady, I won't point out that we love Samu Sanchez dropped his chain at a key moment and still came in 7th), and wildly complimenting his baby bro for his brilliant work to get him there, Team RadioSkank honcho Kim Andersen is slightly less off the crack pipe in this assessment: "We don't expect more from Andy at this point." Now, of *course* the boy shouldn't be anywhere near on form when he's timing it to peak for the Tour de France. But correct me if I'm wrong here, even in April, oughtn't his form be *somewhat* north of "oh, !@#$"? Well, don't worry, as Johan Bruyneel's been indicating, I'm sure he's gonna be ready to kick Cadel's !@# in the time trial!
Freire Shocka: in other news, it was a damn brave--and damn near successful--move by we love Oscar Freire at Amstel, and a freakout surprise of a win (c'mon, wasn't it to you too?) by Enrico Gasparotto, and I gotta say, if Ivan really wants the Giro, Liquigas is looking pretty bitchin' so far this year. So Ivan, time to give us a real sense of your sweat equity at the Giro del Trentino this week--let's hope you're in as good a form as you are dashing a chef!
Good Thing There's No More Doping In the Peloton: dang, I know money's always a factor in the doping game, but couldn't our latest drug-snarfing dimwit Denis Galimzyanov have chosen a substance slightly less detectable THAN THE ONE DRUG EVERY SINGLE CYCLIST HAS TESTED POSITIVE FOR SINCE 2006 to use? This, my little Katusha friend, is why comity among nations is so important--you couldn't have kissed up to some *real* pros in the business like the Spaniards for some top-grade tips?
Fleche (Fleche!) Fleche for Fantasy!: finally, before we get to what's sure to be a rippin' Liege-Bastogne-Liege this weekend, Wednesday brings us the exciting Fleche-Wallone, and, while it's an awful tragedy I've got a vicious contagious and truly disgusting stomach virus that day and sadly can't come in to the office, my money's on sneak competition Jelle Vanendert, because not only is he almost named after one of the coolest desserts on the planet, even the Fleche organizers have no confidence in what few favorites still remain. Surprise us, Jelle--or heck, maybe one of the Schlecks'll do that even more! Here's the parcours, including the fearsome Mur de Huy: Allez Jeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllleeeeeee!
How Do You Say "Oy, Gevult" in Luxembourgish, Again?: dang, not only has ever-presumptive Tour de France darling Andy Schleck had a crap start to his season, he's having a disturbingly crap run-up to the Ardennes Classics he's supposed to wow everyone in, as he bails outta the Brabantse Pijl after a crash and inexplicably lousy recovery. Johan, what the hell are you *doing* this boy? We *know* he can't time trial, now you're not even getting the poor kid to *climb* like he can? And don't give us some desperate smarmy bull!@#$ like you're just "making him save it all for July!" In good news, though, last year's Tour de France late-career revelation Thomas Voeckler blasted the course, Philippe Gilbert is marginally confident he'll get his form back someday, and, obviously, all-round strong-man Cadel Evans' chances of retaining his maillot jaune in Paris are looking better by the day. Hope that's some comfort to you Andy--sure is to me! Here's Voeckler's bold breakaway victory, with bonus irritating techno-!#$! too:
Pop, Pop Goes the Weasel, the Weasel: and, that tiresome doping rodent Riccardo Ricco' still just can't let go of his glory days, with his legal squad asking for yet more time from the narcs for the public to dwell on his essential skankiness. Look, the kid's still even doing training rides in hope for a comeback: Give it *up* already, you miscreant!
Nyuck Nyuck Nyuck!: finally, ya gotta love how discredited banned clen-snorter Alberto Contador keeps stickin' it to impotent nemesis Pat "Dick" McQuaid on twitter. Here--look what a fan just sent 'im!: Who else rode that year again?
Don't lie to me, you lying liar who lies: when Boonen took off with fifty k to go, and then was hovering around 20 seconds, then around 30, then it seriously looked like he was stuck out there, you were screaming "No! Don't! Don't! What the !@#$?!" Who did he think he was, Cancellara? No, he was Tom !@#$in' Boonen, and he just spit out the rest of his competitors and crunched out more time on each cobblestone like a stone-chomping monster. And when he began giving thumbs up to the cameras and flashing a big fat "four" starting at like 4 k out, don't tell me you weren't thinking, "No no no no no! You've cursed yourself! You've just karmically conjured some dumb-!@# spectator to trip into your path! The velodrome is gonna warp beneath your wheels!" Well, it's not the first time I've been proven an eejit, but I must say it's about the most thrilling--and to you know who you are who even suggested for six seconds that it's a really miraculous turnaround this year, you're in serious danger of goin' straight to serious heck with the daisy-stompers and baby-noogiers, and anyway, I told him to go back on the blow first! Here, like you didn't just see it anyway: Quoth Boonen, "When I was all by myself in front, I just went for it as I know there are often disagreements behind over who is going to do the work. It's my greatest win. Claiming the fourth in such manner is just great." Tooooooooooooooooooommmmmmm!
In other post-race news, I see the Italian tifosi have already surrounded Pippo Pozzato's house with pitchforks and flaming torches for completely calling it a day the very second he crashed, so I hope they at least wait to hear if he actually had a good medical reason besides simple total psych-out before they light up his house, what crap luck for a phenomenal peloton-splintering Chavanel, congrats and happy retirement Guesdon, and Thor Hushovd--you are *extremely* in the dog house for that stupid crap dipwad bunny-hop debacle--and on Easter Sunday, shame on you!
Samuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!: Finally, for those of you who think you're excused from making a pilgrimage to the giant bronze statue of Samuel Sanchez in his hometown and spray-painting your entire house black-and-orange to honor the Euskaltel gods, I'd just like to point out that our boy not only made his rivals blubber for mercy taking the queen stage but that he also blazed in the nasty uphill time trial *and* bagged the overall in the Tour of the Basque Country, all on a salary (and total Euskaltel budget of what Boonen) apparently tips the napkin-boy at breakfast. Samuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
Yes, it's time for the thrilling Paris-Roubaix, baby! and while there seems to be a distinct lack of freak-out excitement this year with Cancellara down and out and Boonen jinxed as presumptive champ before he even gets his chamois cream on in the morning, for my money, there's nothing more fun. Will last year's dark-horse winner Vansummeren make Thor Hushovd cry like a Millar and take it again? Will an ill-timed puncture give Ballan and Pozzato the chance to humiliate the Belgians mid-waffle? Will Stuey O'Grady get trampled by a raging random herd of zoo-escaped elephants and claw himself over the finish line by the mere strength of his nose hairs? These and all your other questions will be answered on Sunday, cycling fans, so here's yer official preview:
The Course: you know it. Riders fear it. And Boonen eats pave' for breakfast. 27 sections of rocky bone-breaking hell and the Arenberg at 80k to go. Here, the Sky boys check out the cobbles: Looks easy, right?
The Forecast: !@#$! Rain! Anyone else thinking last year's blinding dust-storm was a damn cakewalk in compared to tomorrow's inevitable cloud-borne carnage?
The Players: yep, the usual suspects. But also Flecha, Vanmarcke, Chavanel, Boassen-Hagen-Dazs, and for all we know some hapless terrified no-mestique from Team Holycrapishouldastayedhome could be the last man standing at the line. Oh, and Lance Armstrong'll be there, not that I'm tippin' off Landis or nothin'. Me, I love a surprise--oops, that'd be Hushovd this year!
The Prize: your collarbone still workin'? You won! Oh, and this thing: Sweet!
Onwards, upwards--and for lots of these poor guys, probably downwards--to Roubaix!
At Least, I Think That's the Exact Quote: yes, I may be too stupid to understand the intricacies of "reticulocytes" and "holy moly, that !@#$ is good!", but I'm pretty sure antidoping lord Michael Ashenden isn't, and in the midst of resigning from UCI's bio passport panel because they're a pack of controversy-muzzling simp-weasels, he sez that while he might still be a liiiiiittle bit on the fence about the Clenbuterol thing, *something* about Contador's 2010 not-found-in-nature blood values--cross-referenced cross-checked hot-cross-bunned and crossword-puzzled--just ain't right. Totally coincidentally, Alberto has decided not to appeal his CAS verdict, and is just going to keep showing his penitence over his non-wrongdoing by tweeting training updates at Pat "Dick" McQuaid every six minutes in two languages and crushing everyone at the Vuelta after watching Andy Schleck get whacked at the Tour, *again.* So relieved to see the system's working--see you in August, suckers!
What the !@#$, Thor?: look, Thor, I've spent no small amount of energy defending you against dear readers who totally wrongly think you're a "whiner" and always making up excuses. So now your whole Classics season's crap form is because you just don't gosh darn like Flanders but you're hoping you'll pull something out of your !@# at Roubaix this weekend? Help me *out* here a little, bud, I still *know* you can triumph--that damn publicity photo of you in a wig and a skirt last season mentally whack you in the goods or something?
Spartacus Update: and, Fabian Cancellara has already recalculated his still-inevitable plans to take over the planet this season, springing back into action in May and ready to defend his Olympic time trial medal for at least the next 62 consecutive Games. In other good news, according to the x-rays, his collarbone looks to be back in one piece: Get well soon, Fabian--we already miss you, and they *need* you, man!
Stork Report: finally, many congrats to Mark Cavendish and Peta Todd on the arrival of their brand-new daughter, who, if her charming parentage is any indication, will be both adorable *and* mind-bogglingly fast. Look--the stork's already brought her her first bike!:
Not Fab-ulous: aw, crap, Cancellara looked great, and there he is two seconds later, on the floor in the feed-zone, his whole Classics in the toilette! Could anyone see what happened--an errant musette, a nimrod with a bottle to the wheel, Johan Bruyneel's cursed everyone from SaxoBank and should just burn right in hell from now on? Anyway, it was a lousy way for Cancellara to lose and a great honorable ride by Ballan Pippo (who I honestly thought might have it the last ten seconds) and of course Tom for the win. But wouldn't have it been interesting to see how the tactics would've played out with Cancellara still in the race? And incidentally, for that school-boy jailbait Sagan to have as many mechanical mishaps as he did and still go so bangin' means that he and Vanmarcke I'm convinced will be brass-knucklin' it out for a good decade to come. Anyhoo, get well soon Fabian, Thor please pick a team that won't absolutely crush you next year, well done Judith and Kristin, you rock Hincapie for completing no. 17 even if you still have to renounce that tool Armstrong, screw you NBCSports for cutting off the podium, congrats to Boonen on the recovery of your long-lost mojo--now time for that post-race massage! Oh, and here's the men's PODIUM !@#dammit:
On to the Ronde!: yes, as evil computer-hacking criminal mastermind Floyd Landis gets a November appeal date in French court on the grounds he can barely master a rotary phone, much less infiltrate a seriously-secured computer network, and the past and present Barbie-sparkle-princesses at Lampre get ready to defend against systemic doping accusations, it's time for the Ronde van Vlaanderen, baby, so let's take a look at this weekend's bloody battlefest!
1. The Course: ow ow ow ow ow !@#$in' flat ow ow ow ow ow !@#$in' derailleur ow ow ow ow ow ow OW MY !#@$IN' COLLARBONE ow ow ow oh !@#$ I'm glad it's over! Oh right, and they've bagged the Muur and seriously shaken up the route. And it doesn't help *anyone.* Oh, and watch out for nails, suckers!
2. The Players: --Fabian Cancellara: look, he's gonna kick someone's !@#$; it's just a question of when. If he gets more than two bike lengths on anyone, including Boonen, it's over. Plus, someone's gotta save RadioSkank's season! --Peter Sagan: right, he's just here training. But damn, this boy's on form! The stealth candidate no-one ever seems to notice 'til he's already smooching the podium babes. Top 3! --Thor and Gilbert: hard to believe Hushovd could be any more screwed than he was with Vaughters at ungrateful Garmin, but frankly, he ain't lookin' like I hoped. And hopefully Gilbert'll heal up from his toothache by the Ardennes. Come on come on come *on* Thor--what the hell?! And while we're at it, go Hincapie! --The Dark Horses: yes, Stijn Devolder, Pippo Pozzato, Freire, and a slew of even more recent bad boys are there. And Sylvain Chavanel is blazin' if Boonen sacks out. Me, I like newbie Sep Vanmarcke--not yet maybe, but soon! --Tom Boonen: Marked like dog on fire hydrant, but clearly, our charmer is back. It's this, or Roubaix. Take yer pick Tom, but one of 'em is yours! Here, let's encourage dear Tommeke by reminding him just how refreshing a long hot shower can be after a cold, hard race:
3. The Prize: well, apparently they used to give out massage oil, but these days, you have to settle for eternal glory. And a trophy. And podium babes!
4. The Latest Headlines: oh, those halcyon days when Bjorn Leukemans was gettin' so much action he couldn't keep his testosterone levels low enough to pass a doping test; now, the poor boy's a monk. Indeed, straight from the official Ronde site and the man himself comes this quote:"Whether I'm dry? Maybe You Should Ask My Girlfriend". Uh, no thanks Bjorn--but good luck in the race and all!
Off to Flanders--sticking it out til the finish line, that's a whole 'nother question!
Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: yes, he may be sportingly pegging Cancellara for Flanders and Roubaix, but ya gotta say (aw rats, *now* I've cursed 'im), after his wins at E3 Harelbeke and the bone-rattlin' Gent-Wevelgem this weekend, resurgent pinup Tom Boonen's lookin' preeeeeeeety sweet out there! Meantime, we're clearly seeing the more annoying side of Mark Cavendish losing the Edit button on his internal word processor, as he wanks away about losing a wheel on the Kemmelberg like it was that guy's fault and not just taking his lumps for being the fastest man on the planet (not a bad thing to be, by the way) but descending for less'n squat today. Giant bonus points for the mellow Edvald Boassen-Hagen for whacking an assclown who drove him sideways in the sprint and, especially, for the announcers at Sporza for having, so far as I could tell with my doofus American nonlanguage skills, an approximately five-minute argument on how to pronounce "Tyler Farrar." Here, the fabulous Tommeke finishes it off: Ga Boonen!--and if Google Translate just made me insult your grandma, sincerest apologies big guy!
Cadel Evans: Saving BMC's Butt Since 2010: and, congrats to defending Tour de France champ/hardworkin' new dad Cadel for a well-earned win in the Criterium International, even though Jens should've won it but clearly Johan Bruyneel has destroyed the career of everyone from CSC/SaxoBank ever, which just goes to show that Andy Schleck oughta start cryin' in his beer, and/or Frank's, right about now. Just hold out for a Tour without a time trial, Andy--I'm sure they'll fix the course for 2013!
Euskaltel Takes Off: last but not least, I'd just like to point out that while Albasini actually won the Volta a Catalunya, it was Samu Sanchez for the win ahead of the bunch sprint no less on a genuine wreck of a stage 6, and, since I'm gonna gloat all season every time they win anyway, we might as well get started right now. And speaking of Euskaltel, what the !@#$'s the sponsor wailing about making 'em change their team kit next season--don't fix what ain't broken you goons, I like their Halloween team kit just dandy!
Katushbag: yep, Mark Cavendish's finally defeated that horrible Diplomat Zombie that's devoured his brains this season, tweet-ripping into the bidon-tossing dipwad who took him out at Dwaars and demanding, not unreasonably, that said "dickhead" "get a license" before he's ever allowed on a bike again. I concur. Katusha-boy, you eejit, you're supposed to toss those drool-covered bottles on the side of the road as cherished souvenirs for the *fans*, not use 'em as in-peloton weaponry against yer rivals! Sadly, Cav's mood seems much improved today, but one can only hope that next time someone !@#$s with his sprint, he'll actively chomp through that guy's bike with his giant teeth and spit his cowering carcass full o' carbon shrapnel. Nice havin' you back, Mark--we missed you!
Wipeout: meantime, half the Grand Tour contenders, much less more humble sods, are already training-screwed from dents, fractures, and just plain frostbite incurred in the atrocious slop conditions at the normally peaceful Volta a Catalunya, with Basso jacked with a whanged knee, Jakob Fuglsang out with a busted hand, nice guy Julian Dean enjoying a snapped femur, and damn near everyone within earshot of a podium for May or July headin' for the safety of the team bus before a snow-truncated Stage 3 was even out. And dang, don't you *know* you don't let the delicate summer flowers at Euskaltel outside til it's time to put away their snowsuits for the season? Here, the glam side of cycling glory (look who!): Come back soon, everyone--in one piece, if you please!
Yer Contador Tweet o' the Week: finally, our wee hero Alberto Contador continues to power-noogie helpless nemesis Pat "Dick" McQuaid ahead of his inevitably-triumphant return to riding in August, posting evermore twit-pics of himself in training action, and, best of all, a photo of himself with his giant dog "Etna", named, touchingly, after one of his Giro d'Italia conquests. Keep it up, Alberto--remember, every time someone dope-smacks Pat "Dick", an angel gets its wings!
Suck It, Fanboys: well, that's my call, because listening to all this bitching over how Simon Gerrans was a twerp for slurpin' off Cancellara's amazing engine only to naturally be able to pip him at the line is like refereeing a comic-con nerd-match over what total bull!@#$ it is that that brief flashy turn by Liv Tyler as the elf-chick in Lord of the Rings got way more play than like 18 consecutive Harry Potter franchises ever did that hardworking modest young lady who played Hermione. First, Gerrans had his reasons--if the break got caught, he had other work to do. Second, it's not like he was a Pat "Dick" about it--he acknowledged Fabian as the stronger guy, and just gave himself some credit for decent tactics and the total miracle he didn't get dropped a week before the finish. Third, if even Cancellara's not whining all over Europe, why be more righteously pissed off than he is? Anyhoo, let's let poor Gerrans enjoy his victory before blacklisting 'im from the history books--and hats off to Nibali for saving at least a podium spot for Italy!
Lightning Volt(a): and this week, there's a hot field for the smashing Volta a Catalunya, including Alejandro Valverde, Ivan Basso, Andy "No Reason To Panic, Uh, Yet" Schleck, Brad "Eat My Dust Shleckino" Wiggins, and, of course, Samuel Sanchez to make them all cry for black-and-orange mercy. On tap--an opening-day bone for the sprinters if they don't bonk to hell on the way, then pretty much 6 days of leg-whomping uphill tests-for-the-Tour. Aupa Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllll--and Menchov, keep dreamin'!
Oh, No, I've Just Cut Out Desserts, Is All: whew, it's a good thing the entire peloton's too morally upright to dope anymore, except that guy who tested poz this week, 'cause that means there's no reason whatsoever for concern that there's yet another generation of undetectable EPO variants on the market, plus, as an added bonus, a much cheaper blood-vessel dilator that totally coincidentally turns everyone who takes it into 2-oz skeletal supermodel wraiths. Anyone else thinkin' more'n a few Nervous Nellies in the field are suddenly gonna start going on a truly pigtastic Ullrichian schnitzel-bender this week? Uh-oh, looks like *someone's* an early-adopter...
Too Bad There Won't Be Anyone To Ride It: yes, the magical Milano-Sanremo is upon us, baby, and with guys like Thor and Gilbert gettin' dropped like Andy Schleck on a half-assed descent, it looks like it's up to Tommeke, Freire, or Cavendish to take the win, and, according to my meticulous analysis of their physiological data, since Cav always wins everything anyway *and* has been annoyingly genteel of late, and Tommeke's gonna beat the crap out of everyone on the cobbles, I'm hoping that if it's not our charming Belgian redemption song it's retiring 3-time champ Oscar Freire to make it a four-peat and tie the great Erik Zabel on the top of the podium. Yap, yap, Spartacus, yap--until Cancellara repudiates RadioSkank and begs forgiveness for riding with the dark side, he can !@#damn well stuff it!
Oh Gyno, My Gyno: meantime, in heroes o' cycling news, famed Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Peloton" Fuentes is defending his lame Spanish charges of "endangering public health" with his by-the-gallon blood transfusions during the Op Puerto debacle in 2006 by contending that a hotel room is a perfectly sanitary, acceptable alternative to a hospital for the discreet publicity-shy drug-weasel, and, for *my* money, if anyone doubts it, they can always go back and confirm the sterility of all those syringes Astana (allegedly!) tossed in their Tour de France hotel garbage back in the day. Besides, what else are all those little nips in the hotel-room minibar for if not to clean up medical equipment, I ask you? I still hate your guts for throwing Roberto Heras under the bus, Eufemiano--but as a housekeeping expert, you're a peach!
Holy Crap, Cipollini is Serious!: y'know, I, like Paolo Bettini, thought the Lion King's dreams of return were just the nostalgic ramblings of a timeless legend alone with his memories of glory and podium babes, but when Cipo drops trou for the cameras again, you *know* this !@#$'s for real. Forget the admirable scenes of the man training with his crew--just dig that soundtrack, honey!
A Compliment for Pat "Dick" McQuaid: finally, I'd just like to express my shock and genuine admiration for our darling grumpy UCI gadfly, who managed to gack up on UCI's very website the news that his second-favorite Spanish dope-fiend, Alejandro Valverde, is back at the top of the UCI rankings just moments, it seems, after his return from his ban. Look, he posted this photo of Alejandro himself: Glad to see you can forgive and forget, Pat!
1. It's a good thing Andy Schleck actually had gastroenteritis to excuse his performance. Because--and I say this as someone who will personally nut-knee anyone who disses my beautiful mountain gods at Euskaltel--when the boys in black and orange beat your !@# in a time trial, you *know* you suck but good.
2. Tummyache, got it. So, apparently, do half these poor guys, including Thor which completely explains him falling off the back like a brick every stage so far (shut up!). So Frank, what's *your* excuse?
3. Tommeke. It's so great to see him back, physically and most of all mentally, in the game. Ten bucks sez he posts another soft-core shower video on youtube before the season's out!
4. Gustav Larsson. Yes, the conditions sucked for the later boys. Still, like you honestly saw that coming?
5. Jeeeeeeeennnnnnnssssss! Did you *see* his freakin' time trial? Jeeeeennnnnsssss!
6. Alejandro Valverde. It's funny how, when Ivan Basso came back from his Op Puerto ban, it took him over a season to get back to a remotely similar level. Valverde, by contrast, has started winning right away. Funny.
7. Speaking of whom, Ivan Basso. What the !@#$? Get out of the middle of the pack already !@#dammit!
8. Sep Vanmarcke. There ain't no moss growin' on that kid. Canniest up-and-coming fastman I think since Freire.
9. RadioSkank. Just...give Horner the GC for the Tour, alright Johan? But nice try today Klodi!
10. NBC Sports. We get it. 896 races since 2010 now have new winners since horrible Contador's horrible doping ban. Who gives? It's not like he's not gonna take Murcia again next year anyway. On a quasi-related note, am I the only who is absolutely *diggin'* that Alberto is dope-slapping Pat "Dick" McQuaid by posting a photo of himself training on his bike every two seconds on his Twitter feed?
Well, them's mine. I see Tirreno-Adriatico is rollin'. Cav, you want Cipo for a lead-out? I hear he's back on the market!
It's Paris-Nice, Baby!: yes, it's time for the Classics and Grand Tour prospects to really start to get twitchy--and paranoiacally parse each others' developing form--as Paris-Nice hits the road, honey! The parcours: bookended by a coupla time trials, the last day's uphill--and what's sure to be a disconcerting 90% chance of rain for tomorrow. The startlist: damn near everyone, including a cautiously optimistic defending-bad-!@# Tony Martin, Valverde, Ivan, Damiano, Wiggo, Samu', Tommeke, Jens (bow, beeyotches!), and, of course, Thor. Yap, yap, GC, yap--Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnssssssssss!
A Word From the RadioSkank "Oh, !@#$!" Department: meantime, I'm not sayin' this is a sign the French have been chaining Thomas Voeckler like a dog inside a wind tunnel since last August or nothin', but the Tour de France organizers sure seem to want to smack Andy Schleck off the podium at least: they've actually increased the amount of time trial miles ahead of the race this July. Hey, Andy, you were already warned to ride the Giro this year--tho' I'd rather you not treat *that* superior race you still wouldn't win this year like a cheap consolation prize!
Mmmmmm...Donuts: and, forget such trivial concerns as "your stupid ban left me without a GC contender" or "Saxo Bank is making me pay off their sponsorship scrubbing the men's room in their headquarter with my teeth" or "you're the jackwagon who pulled a BMC and left me with no freakin' firepower"--what's *really* coming between Alberto Contador and Bjarne these days ahead of Alberto's August return, apparently, is donuts. Specifically, Contador *wants* donuts, and Bjarne won't let him *have* donuts, so our sugar-suckin' diva is reportedly packing up and heading to Movistar, which not only has lots of, but will personally hook him up to an IV and feed him as much do--uh, donuts, as Alberto ever wants. Dang, Bjarne, I'll air-mail you a dozen from Dunkin' tonight if it'll help you two kiss and make up--just be glad the whiny little rugrat don't want a beefsteak!
It's That Damn Bionic Bike Again: finally, tho' of course I'm devastated an Italian didn't win, warm congrats to Fabian Cancellara on his first triumph o' the season at the Strade Bianche, particularly because, since I'm nice, it's gonna be the only thing keeping Johan Bruyneel from sobbing like a baby all year. Here's the action:
It's Kuurnage, Kuurnage I Tells Ya!: yes, the early season perma-snoozeathon of perfectly flat roads (though some pretty exciting sprint finishes) is over, the fast men are kickin' back, and it's time for the hard-men o' the cobbles to come out to play at Omloop Het Nieuwsblad and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne this weekend and the upcoming big-!@# Classics, which means (1) Tom Boonen is ready to !@#$-smack every wanky naysayer who dissed 'im last season (this includes you, Lefevere!); (2) Thor Hushovd's finally gonna take Roubaix (shut up! go to hell! bite me!); and (3) Philippe Gilbert's gonna leave pretty much everyone else in the peloton crying into their beers like guys when that pilot "Goose" gets killed in "Top Gun." Me, I love underdogs, so I'm rooting for Tommeke--that is, at least til he starts seriously winning again!
Well I've Had/The Time (Trial) of My Liiiiiii-iiife: and, it's exceedingly bitchin' to see smashing comic-con fan-boy/aero-king Dave Zabriskie tearin' up the tarmac at the Tour of Langkawi, which so far as I can tell means just one thing--yap, yap, one of the best riders of his generation, yap, legacy, yap, papa's gonna be gettin' himself a whoooooooooooole lot of new action figures! You go, Dave--and nice ride! >
Mario "The Chest"'s Words o' Wisdom: man, not only does one of the most legendary sprinters of all time look mighty dashing in his birthday suit (and, y'know, is one of the most legendary sprinters of all time), Cipo also generously provided some surprisingly sage advice for disgusting worm-weasel/aspiring barkeep Riccardo Ricco' on a companionable ride together: get a respectable freakin' job already! Oh my god, I didn't realize my Dad was Mario Cipollini! Anyway, no word from the boss on whether Ricco' is gonna drop his quest for revenge, redemption, and new and exciting ways to poison himself doping--but I ain't gonna let that little clown mix *me* a drink if I ever happen into his little pub, that's for sure!
Show Me the Love!: finally, let's all have a colossal contemporaneous moment of silence and general karmic flow of good wishes for poor Saxo-boss Bjarne Riis as he gets ready to go before the power-drunk blood-lusting hypocrites at UCI to grovel for his ProTour license, not because he clearly acted like a monster tool by driving away the perfect Jens Voigt to the horrid RadioSkank, but because by betting the entire farm (get the "cow" reference? what a knee-slapper!) on Contador, he's just about hosed a whole lotta awful nice domestiques, mechanics, and assorted other team minions outta the rewards, and dubious glories, o' the highest ranks of the sport. Dang, Bjarne, that kid hypnotize you with those pretty long eyelashes or what? Snap out of it!
Or Maybe My Little Pony. Or Strawberry Shortcake. Or...: yes, Frank and Andy Schleck are waxing poetic about the season ahead, and having read their interviews, my question to these brilliant young cyclists is, are you on freakin' crack? Andy, I truly believe you *will* win the Tour one day, so long's Cadel, Alberto, and basically any mountain-friendly dimwit with even dubious abilities to downhill and time-trial are all, say, simultaneously stricken with massively foul 3-week bouts of food-borne projectile vomiting starting on July 1 of the next five consecutive Tours de France--but barring mishap on someone else's part, which to be fair would never be the way you'd want to win, it ain't gonna be this year. In which case, *why* does Johan Bruyneel apparently want to screw you outta the support you so desperately need to have even a hope at the top of the podium by burning out Frank at the Giro d'Italia this year? Sure, the Giro's an easier course this season--but let's be real, if a nakedly brutal course could so viciously take out Alberto, even a routine Giro's gonna knock Frank flat on his !@# for July. And yes, it *does* also eliminate the possibility that Frank could be RadioSkank's backup GC hope should you choke in the time trials even more than usual, tho' I know you're both usually too united and gentlemanly to consider such a thing. Then again, it's RadioSkank, who gives--Johan, just let Jens the hell out the door to tear up the course and you can stick dirty doping (allegedly!) Lance in there for all I care!
Soler System: meantime, in recovery news, twee tenacious mountain god Mauricio Soler, whose very survival not so long ago was uncertain, is back riding his bike at home in Colombia, and while he may never get back in the actual peloton, I think one can say without reservation that in the hard-man standings this guy makes even Johnny "Barbed-Wire" Hoogerland and Stuey "Bend Me, Break Me, Any Way You Want Me" O'Grady look like a coupla playground knee-skinned kindergarten crybabies. Best wishes in your continued journey, Mauricio, you bad-!@#!
Money Money Money: and of course, while French squads continue to bite, Spanish squads scramble for new do--uh, delis, and even the lamer Continental teams have enough dough to lure the big boys, the superlative Euskaltel-Euskadi is dragged down to diggin' change outta the seat cushions in the team car, rendering it damn near inevitable that (1) Samuel Sanchez is gonna be sent out on the street-corner with an accordion and an organ-grinder monkey to shill for pennies from tourists when he oughta be out training for the Tour de France and (2) that mercenary pigvert Bruyneel is gonna get to buy the cream of the Basque talent pool for his loathesome squadly machinations next year, *again*. !@#dammit, people, do I *have* to start another Buy The Euskaltel Guys Some New Underwear Charity Campaign--we barely kept 'em in Garanimals *last* season!
I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty: finally, a big welcome back to golden euromullet Franco Pellizotti, no longer with a place at Liquigas after his two-year exile for failing to preemptively manage his blood profile, but, fortunately, being heavily courted by the morally flexible and even gaudier-outfitted Lampre. Look, he's taking his clothes off already--aw, just like old times!
Problem: "retroactive" bans clearly mean !@#$: the guy's back on the road in a coupla months. And banning a rider after 6 years of dithering is ridiculous: the man's either already retired, or well past his useful shelf life anyway. And some guys, no matter what they do, they never get banned at all. Either way, they're all laughing their !@#es off. Conclusion: unless the governing bodies are willing to ban first and apologize later, or you get some lily-livered crybaby who blubbers for mercy immediately in regret over being busted in hopes of a reduced sentence, bans are !@#$%$#. Solution: Chain gangs. Look, the death penalty, while tempting, is (1) frankly a little bit harsh for snarfing a jolt of pre-race joy juice and (2) some sort of whiny "human rights violation" if you're a simpering socialist brie-eating ivory-tower criminal-appeaser country unlike the United States or, say, Iran. But chain gangs? Benissimo! And not just *any* ol' chain gangs--they're ultra-deterrent super-humiliating ProTour chain gangs! Yes, Alberto, you and your fellow dope-suckin band o' miscreants will not only be wearing some rusty medieval 80-lb. shackles right where it'd hurt to hold the handlebars and clip into the pedals, but you'll be specially assigned to shame yourself right in front of the folks it'll crush you the most! That poor bastard walking around exactly in front of the final podium in the 100-degree sun in a grotesquely obvious prison outfit with a broom handle with a metal point attached to it pickin' up yellow confetti while the Official Andy Schleck Fan Club covers you in lougies and the man himself stands above you on high gleaming in his brand-new maillot jaune? That's *you*, baby--enjoy that fresh air and exercise, *and* be on the cover of every publication in sports the next day! Wah, wah, the verdict was wrong, you lost your dignity for life and 20 bazillion euros worth of winnings and product endorsements--nothin' an "oops, sorry!" straight from the mouth of Pat "Dick" when you win your appeal can't fix right up, right? So who's with me--baby Schleck, you got a vested interest in this one, so long as Joha--uh, I mean, you got a vested interest in this one! Look, here's the crew for the Giro d'Italia! Hey...is that third-from-the-left Hinault?
And, A Shout-Out to Our Tom Boonen Fans: back on the Planet of Stuff That's Actually Relevant This Century, ain't it a real, genuine delight to see big Belgian babe-magnet Tom Boonen back on form and so confident once again at the Tour of Qatar? I *knew* getting him back into the discotheque and onto the white stuff (y'know...sugar) would get him back on top--way to go for once Quick Step, and who *knows* how that quiet Levi Leipheimer'll take off if he adopts this new training regimen! Oh, and feel better poor Cav...
Y'know, not to claim I'm psychic or nothin', because frankly I banked on CAS simping out with a one year ban, but I did have a dream about Alberto Contador last night, and while yes I *do* apparently need to get a life you wisenheimers, it was this: Contador's on his knees before Pat "Dick" McQuaid, clutching a big black UCI rulebook and wailing to the skies above with tears streaming down his face in one of those ostentatious and peculiarly American jailhouse conversions that totally coincidentally allows you to act like an !@#wipe your entire life then lets you off with just a crappy apology and still lets you rule over your family and like half the universe with an iron fist without any merit on your part whatsoever but you are ABSOLVED, baby, and Pat "Dick" had his hand on Alberto's head like he was a-drivin' the devil o' doping outta him and about to dunk him in the purifying waters of one of those foul contaminated oil-slicked bayou swamps because the skies above don't believe in environmental controls, and then I woke up this morning and whammo, Alberto was well and truly nailed and there Lance was on ESPN blitzed on whatever lite beer he's pushin' wearing a blurred-out "!@#$ You, Landis!" t-shirt and babbling on about how at least he wasn't that stupid back in the day and with the statute of limitations on doping about to run out Travis Tygart can just bite 'im and he's returning to the peloton and good luck nailin' him then either anyway.
So in this same spirit of thoughtful, reasoned analysis, let's proceed with our scientific review of the CAS decision. To summarize our hypothesis, I believe the technical term is "bull!@#$." You say flat out you think *both* UCI's paranoid plasticizer conspiracy and Alberto's "smoking cow" defense are equally unlikely, and the problem is he wholly unintentionally ingested a contaminated food supplement, and you're *still* banning him for two years? Y'know, I'll admit, I usually don't like "zero tolerance" policies, one because I don't personally want to get busted for anything and two because they tend to be used to treat a Cub Scout showing off the new jack-knife he got for Christmas like he's a triple-murderer perpetual-solitary feces-throwing sociopath trying to shank his prison guard with a filed-down toothbrush. But I can accept them as at least making some sense, until you say you *might* have made an exception to it if he'd *happened* to have made up the same ridiculous excuse for his positive that *you* just did. How the !@#$ does *that* make sense?
Yes, Contador's an arrogant, and probably intentionally performance-tweaking, twerp. One thing's likely, you didn't emerge at the very top of Manolo Saiz and Johan Bruyneel's snarling two-wheeled wolfpacks without *some* savant sommelier's knowledge of the finer points of the good stuff--if you wanted it. But the fact is that Andy Schleck could personally mainline him, Vinokourov, *and* Armstrong like some sort of repulsive bat-hybrid vampire, and he *still* wouldn't be the rider that an undoped Contador is. Righty-o, delusional rabid all-caps "CONTABITCH" haters, we'll see if that's still true in August, when Twerp comes back from his ban and obliterates the entire field in the Vuelta. One does wonder, though, if much-derided riders like Cadel and Leipheimer would've ever *quite* earned their prior reps as boring wheelsuckers *and* gotten even more wins, if Contador hadn't been somehow assisted in his startling powers of superacceleration. Unless this kid's truly an idiot, the end of the season'll tell us. My money, however, is on "aberrant if charmingly doe-eyed mutant genetic freak."
Still and all, even with the two-year ban, this really isn't as bad as it looks. Contador's actually being banned from riding for a grand total of six squat months, still allowing him to race, as noted, his own Grand Tour--even if Bjarne's team does go down in flames by then in a haze of sponsor abandonment UCI downgrades and tragic Riisian 24/7 meth-chasing, it's not like a Spanish squad won't pick him up by then. So it ain't like he's gonna have two straight years of no competition to lose his form, his rhythm, and the feel of riding in (and away from) a position-jockeying peloton. All he's losing are the victories. And sure, it'll look like crap in the history books, but really, what's a freakin' asterisk in Wikipedia and the skeptic's intellectual sense of dismay compared to the indelible, visceral raw footage of Contador whacking the crap outta everyone else in the mountains? So Scarponi (and don't even get me started on *that*), enjoy the hand-me-down maglia rosa, Andy, best regards for being a class act in your statements today, Cobo, sorry you won't get to make your memorable 2011 Vuelta a two-fer, and Armstrong, put down the champagne and the karaoke mike because one more !@#damn chorus of "We Are the Champions" and I swear I'm gonna yack!
Y'know, the world has come up with some pretty sick !@## punishments over the years-- drawing-and-quartering, Iron Maidens, sticking your head in stocks on the public square and letting the populace throw rotten vegetables at you--but for my money, the worst punishment of all has got to be, not CAS's two-year ban and retroactive stripping of results for Alberto Contador's poz for clenbuterol, but sentencing the poor doping sod to two straight years of listening to Pat "Dick" McQuaid's perpetual and obnoxious crowing of bringing a legendary champion that he doesn't like down. Damn, that monstrous harpy's shrieking would make me wish I'd given Andy Schleck the Tour he-also-unfairly-attacked-Alberto-in-but-inexplicably-got-a-pass-for too! Anyway, more to come of course (!@#$in' "day job!), but important statements have already been issued in the case, with Pat "Dick" keepin' it real with a simple singsong "ha ha!", and CAS stating, "There, we don't look like such *ussies now, do we!"
Racejunkie (extending hand): Hi Mr. McQuaid, nice to meet you. I'm racejunkie.
Pat "Dick" McQuaid: "Junkie?" Are you implying that I looked the other way for years while Lance Armstrong doped like a pig so I could bask in his reflected glory and take credit for the sport's exponential growth? Well, the feds just announced he's off the hook, so you're gonna hear from my lawyers, you bitch!
RJ: Uh...it's just my name. Here, I feel like we've gotten off on the wrong foot a bit. Would you like some coffee before we get started?
PDM: Why shouldn't I? It's legal! It's always *been* legal! There's nothing in the rules against caffeine!
RJ: Relax, dude, you're not even a cyclist. Why don't we begin. In light of today's complete exoneration of Lance by the narcs, and the universal blasting--some might say blacklisting--of Floyd Landis and Tyler Hamilton for speaking out about systemic doping on his Postal squad, what do you say to those who allege such occurrences only serve to enforce the omerta the sport purports to despise?
PDM: Two words, Racejunkie: David Millar. That guy could cry like a chick, *and* he didn't snitch.
RJ: What are your thoughts on the upcoming Contador verdict?
PDM: I'm fully confident we'll look like total !@#holes no matter what they decide.
RJ: Oh. Let's talk about the 2007 Tour de France. Now, assuming time moves forward in a linear fashion, at least in our puny human experience, it's obvious you knew Michael Rasmussen missed UCI pre-Tour doping controls before the Tour began. Yet you still let him ride for two-and-a-half weeks before yanking him out of the race on the very eve of overall victory. Can you comment?
PDM: Heh, heh, I always did hate that scrawny little motherf--um, it was an unfortunate miscommunication by an inexperienced administrative employee who has since been fired. Besides, *you* want those goons at Rabobank bangin' down *your* door at 3 in the morning?
RJ: There's been a lot of controversy in recent years over how terribly difficult the Grand Tours have become, particularly in the mountains, in an ever-escalating effort to thrill the fans. Do you think there's any chance that such grueling courses are virtually encouraging the riders to dope?
PDM: Nonsense. I personally have met with many fans who find it very exciting to watch riders like Evans, the Schlecks, and Sanchez manually push their bikes up 5 consecutive hors categorie climbs at 2 kilometers per hour.
RJ: The women's peloton has recently begun to criticize the sport for its lack of fair wages, and UCI specifically for its failure to support women's cycling. What is your response?
PDM: I told that idiot Verbruggen that once we let the female riders quit cleaning the men's hotel rooms that those ladies would start to get uppity. I mean, Bronzini? Get in the kitchen and make me some pie!
RJ: There seems to be a rash of recent doping cases among amateur riders, while the established pro ranks have seen a crash in the number of positives. Why do you think that is?
PDM: Wait'll they start making enough money to buy the good sh--er, we seem to be between effective testing methods at the mom--that is, I think the peloton has really turned a corner in its integrity, mindset, and overall level of sportsmanship. Damn, I *hate* it when the teleprompter goes on the fritz!
RJ: Any last words you'd like to add for the benefit of our audience today?
PDM: Oh, I can "add" all right. Especially unmarked 50 and 100 euro notes. Or how many pieces of lab equipment you've donated. Or, y'know, the carpet in my office could use replacement...
Home Sweet Home ('Til CAS Lets Him Off): yes, aside from a planned one-day sojourn to the Challenge Mallorca, Alberto Contador has reportedly returned home to barricade himself in his bathroom with his maillot jaune, 2010 Tour de France trophy, blankie, and some serious American-style weap--uh, to await his CAS verdict, and so far as I can tell that leaves six more days for Bjarne Riis to either (1) still be a professional cycling manager or (2) grow so obscenely rich for betting on this kid that he can maybe even afford to buy him a domestique next year in addition to his spankin' new private island in the Caribbean. No pressure, Alberto--just your personal legacy and the jobs of like 60 innocent victims!
French Kiss-Off: and, I see Vuelta a Espana mountains monster David Moncoutie is calling it a career on the Tour de France, focusing on defending his 5th King of the Mountains title in August instead, thereby leaving, I calculate, the number of French Riders Who Don't Suck At Their Own Grand Tour at a humiliating three, namely Sandy Casar, Thomas Voeckler (and God knows that saved 'em), and...uh....um....well, I hear that "Hinault" guy was pretty good back in the day! Oh, come on David, sure it'll screw your Vuelta, but *someone's* gotta take one for the team...
Baby Got (Cadel's) Back: meantime, it's truly heartening to see the ever-gracious Thor Hushovd commit to put his "full weight" behind Cadel at the Tour, which means, given Thor's 2011 performance in the mountains, this is the 1st time poor Cadel won't be left completely alone 90% of the time in the heights. Of course, if Cadel weren't Cadel and all, I'd rather see Thor throw his "full weight" *on* 'im for the Tour, but anyway, damn, BMC, you can't even spring for a bicycle for the guy to ride this year?
Ladies Night (Day, Whatever): and, the season is off to a fine start at the women's Tour of Qatar, with Kirsten Wild whangin' the heck out of a stellar field of sprinters, just in time to get in a couple hours selling Tupperware to pay her own salary before it was time to hit the hay. Pat "Dick" you loathesome cheapskate, quit whining about Paul Kimmage telling the truth about your being an oily disgusting Armstrong-slurpin' doper-enabler and get your lazy !@# out the chair to raise some dough for the women!
Who Gives A !@#$ About Contador, Don Cornelius of Soul Train is Dead!: R.I.P. Mr. Cornelius. You were the soundtrack to my childhood. Wishing you love, peace, and *soul*!
Allez, allez Philippe--hey, at least 
Allez Jeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllleeeeeee!
Give it *up* already, you miscreant!
Who else rode that year again?
Quoth Boonen, "When I was all by myself in front, I just went for it as I know there are often disagreements behind over who is going to do the work. It's my greatest win. Claiming the fourth in such manner is just great." Tooooooooooooooooooommmmmmm!
Sweet!
Get well soon, Fabian--we already miss you, and they *need* you, man!
Glad to see you can forgive and forget, Pat!
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