It's a Brand New Drinking Game!: yes, a Swiss court has issued a stinging ruling in a defamation case by noble defenders o' cyclist virtue UCI against vocal critic/remorseful ex-doper Floyd Landis: Landis is now and forever strictly barred from calling UCI, crusading prez Pat "Dick" McQuaid, or former ruler Hein Verbruggen, "corrupt", "terrorists", "fools", "full of shit", and "clowns", or saying they're no different than "Colonel Muammar Gaddafi." That's OK Floyd--if it makes you feel any better, by my crack legal reckoning, you *can* still call 'em "d**chebags," "wankers," "tools," "putzes," and "mimes," and say they're no different than "Mitt Romney!" Best of all, since Landis has to take out ads apologizing in the Wall Street Journal (along with, for some odd reason, some cycling publications), he gets to repeat all his accusations all over again so long as they're simply preceded by the word "aren't." Oh, sure, he's already gonna appeal--but in the meantime, I call next person who comes up with a new name you *can* call Pat "Dick" has to drink--last one upright wins!
Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Ride the Tour de France: yeah, watch out Sandy Casar and Philippe Gilbert: according to CNN, and thanks to some scumwad owners who oughta have their pets taken away, that Golden Retriever or Newfoundland wandering out on the course while you're going 60k an hour ain't just stupid, it's high as a kite, and god forbid it hallucinates you're a cat or some !@#$, 'cause now it'll go all Cujo on your !@#! Oh, man, now we gotta get the *spectators* off the drugs, too--ain't UCI overwhelmed enough *already*?
No, Giro, No!: in total suck news, one of the most exciting underdog GC contenders we've seen in years, Purito Rodriguez, has apparently decided to bag the Giro d'Italia in favor of the Tour this year because the Giro's crappy excess of time trial kilometers makes it a fruitless waste of his time. Hey, I understand wanting to intentionally exclude, say, the Schlecks with those shenanigans, but we love Purito? Really? Oh, Giro, you will always be my first true Grand Tour love--don't break my trusting innocent heart this way, please!
Back in Black: finally, and speaking of whom, there's *some* good news for the injury-plagued Andy Schleck and his lost season: he's already been back in action in the peloton (however briefly) this week, and is now set to take on the Tour of Beijing. Don't sweat it, Andy, at least Jen, Fabian, and your big brother Fra--uh, at least Jens & Fabian'll be there to help you next year!
Why Not Just Bash the Mountains Into Smithereens and Give Brad the Vuelta, Too, While We're At It?: all right, I get that Wiggo has the coolest sideburns since that high-tech "VHS" machine came out right around the same era as cheesy macho-man mustachoied video-porno-by-mail and all, and that it's great publicity having him at your race and all--but really, including 8 thousand k of (mostly flat) time trial in the Giro d'Italia for chrissakes? Am I hallucinating here that the Italians don't want one of their own to win their beautiful, historic race *again*? You ain't gonna keep Vincenzo Nibali from losing 20 freakin' hours of time next year unless you shove a rocket up his !@# at the start! And really, was anything more of a snoozefest this year than than watching Froome have to take a detour off the side of the mountains to have a relaxing meal and a mani-pedi til Wiggins finally caught up to him the next freakin' stage all July? Look, Giro--I get you don't want to be the masochist vertical-hell thin-air martyr-fest that is the Vuelta. And no-one's saying you should be--as the Giro d' Italia, you are perforce perfect as you are. And the mountain stages *are* pretty cool--if you weren't so hell-bent wiping out the advantage they'll give. But really, you want Wiggo so bad you're gonna screw everyone else but maaaaybe Contador? Aiiiggggggghhhhhhhhh! Well, if it makes you feel any better, at least Nibali'll have Vinokourov threatening to rip his legs off and toss 'em over the side of the Stelvio if he doesn't deliver--maybe that, if not the hopeless desire for the maglia rose on this course anyway, will give him wings!
George Hincapie, Drug Mule: aw, heck, if Hincapie's legacy weren't already presumed tainted enough, now comes reports that loyal Lanceian lieutenant/fall-guy Hincapie lied his way with a bucket o' EPO through Customs, which makes me not question the amorality nor sheer remorseless of Lance's (alleged!) cheatin' scheme, but, more importantly, your teammates took all these potentially career-destroying risks to cover *your* !@#, and all you would do for the guys was give George one lousy stage win? Forget (allegedly!) stealing 7 Tour de France victories from less well-connected, moneyed and organized squads--you're one cheap sonofabitch, Armstrong! Oh, George, you shoulda at least held out for one stage every Tour, you self-effacingly generous guy...
Okay Italy, you guys rode well--with Basso, Pellizotti, and Nibali all making some serious digs--but today belonged to the Spaniards (and one Colombian, Rigoberto Uran), as Purito made a daring attack on the final climb, half his country chased him down, and Euskaltel-Euskadi's great Samuel Sanchez pulled off his third--third!--second place in six years at the Race of the Falling Leaves. And what about that little Ag2R neo-pro Romain Bardet sticking it out for that long solo attack after the break got swept up (and being frankly just about the only good news Ag2R's had all season)? And, of course, there was the rain-soaked carnage: new world champ Philippe Gilbert bloodily baptizing his spankin' new stripes with an ugly (but fortunately not too damaging) crash-out on the course, and Alessandro Ballan posting a grateful shout-out to and picture of his scraped-up helmet. Yer surprising political wrangling: the ever-polite Samu subtly calling out his team boss for this year's controversial retooling of the team and bagging some key lieutenants in his desperate quest for WorldTour points (you *suck*, UCI!). Here, the final k: As for Joaquim Rodriguez, congratulations on being the first Spaniard ever to take the race, gotta dig your kickin' Brad Wiggins outta the season-ender 1st place rider WorldTour standings, and Italy--you got exactly twelve--twelve!--measly months to get your !@#$ together!
Bang Bang--As Usual!: yep, the charming yet lethal Alberto Contador continues to pay back Bjarne Riis for his faith'n'fidelity, bagging the venerable semi-classic Milano-Torino today against a field including Purito Rodriguez, Ivan Basso, Vincenzo Nibali, and Franco "I Still Miss His Euromullet" Pellizotti, and, as you can see on the clip about 37 seconds in, it's so all over when he attacks on Superga that the news report don't even bother showing the rest: Big gentility points to Alberto for saying Italy is like a "second nationality" for him in the post-race interview, but boys, despite a very fine second from Diego Ulissi, you've still got the Giro di Lombardia Saturday to salvage your national pride, so good luck, and get your !@#es in gear!
It's the Race of the Falling Leaves, Baby!: so, speaking of which, it is indeed the beautiful Giro di Lombardia (now "Il Lombardia") this weekend, and here's the route: On tap so far: 2-time winner and newly-minted (and eager!) World Champ Philippe Gilbert, surprise defender Oliver Zaugg, Liquigas studmuffin Vincenzo Nibali, and a whole host o' Spaniards who know how to whack a climb--full start list to come. Forza Vincenzo--anything that'll start you off on a good footing with yer new boss Vinokourov now is just one more line of defense if you piss 'im off later!
And, Helpful Examples From the Pros: lastly, in an excess of masochism, and also because if I have to hear one more thing about Lance UCI or ASO this week I'm gonna hurl, I find myself randomly wondering what happened to that drug-snorting dopus Riccardo Ricco since his sad exile from the sport, and apparently, kids, it ain't too good: uh-huh, his flashy ol' website's former domain name's for sale, and I imagine it may come cheap. On the plus side, Roberto Heras looks to have a fine sports-training biz nowadays, and we can all see how well Tyler's done of late. So if you're *gonna* be a cheater, o aspiring young weasel--and I sincerely hope you're not-- at least study, study, study, and learn from the guys who get the redemption thing right before you hit the goods for heck's sake!
Road Runners: yes, as Judith Arndt retires in a blaze o' striped-jersey glory and Tony Martin's still catching his breath after Taylor Phinney came within 5 seconds of kicking his !@# in the time trial, it's time for the men's and women's world road championship races, baby, and we've got a coupla smashing courses with drama to spare: in the Sunday men's race, the sprinters vs. the breakaway punchers slugging it out for control of the race up the Cauberg as the Italians hope to capitalize on the star-heavy Belgians and the Spaniards cannibalizing their own teams, and for the Saturday women's, Marianne Vos desperate to grab the ultimate prize after years o' second-bananadom vs. Georgia Bronzini suckmasterly whacked with the flu just days before she hits the course. As for Cav, he's estimating his personal chances as far south of the butt-end of nowhere, but to give him credit, he *has* hauled himself up the hills a bit better than in years past. No offense Cav, so here's a last pic of you in world champ kit--but I still hope Boonen or Freire stomps you in this one!
News From Planet Wussbag: and, just days after Pat "Dick" McQuaid daringly suggested UCI might be open to, y'know, examining its own cowardly enabling hypocrite rump-kissing Lance-groupie complicity in the disgusting doping that's plagued the sport, UCI's shockingly backtracked a bit on that one, opining that instead of letting any uncomfortable truths come out, it'd be much better for everyone if teams, riders, and governing bodies all kissed and made up and forgave each other and moved on in the spirit of reconciliation, optimism, and relentlessly gutless ass-covering. Of course, they still plan to beat the legal crap outta Paul Kimmage for blowing the lid on their repulsive conduct, but they *do* feel really, really, really bad about how they ruthlessly crushed Tyler, Floyd, and everyone else who blew the omerta on their creepily cozy relationship with their 7-time Tour-winner cash cow. Not enough to be honest about the sport's problems, though! Next up: Wile E. Coyote's press conference on how he deeply, deeply regrets always trying to catch the Road Runner, right after he successfully smashes him into roadkill with a 2-ton ACME anvil and spits'n'eats his meeping feathery carcass for breakfast. Touching, truly!
It Just Keeps Getting Better: finally, bad news for crap-luck Fabian Cancellara, who apparently was desperate as everyone else to get the hell outta RadioSkank but has an ironclad contract binding him to Johan Bruyneel for at least another year. Jeez, Johan, you really *have* managed to alienate almost your entire stable of Class-A talent--now bow down to Jens Voigt for deigning to stay with you at all, and kiss his bike shoes 'til your lips fall off if he even lets you in his airspace, peon!
Victor Cabedo, a young cyclist in his first year with Euskaltel-Euskadi, died today during a training ride after being hit by a car. Although only 23 years of age, Cabedo was already building an impressive palmares. In 2011, he won a stage of the Vuelta a Asturias and placed 5th in the Klasica Primavera while with Orbea, Euskaltel's Pro Contential feeder squad. In 2012, Cabedo joined Euskaltel, where he placed well in the Vuelta a Asturias and made his Grand Tour debut at the Giro d'Italia, placing 129th. He was also 8th in the Spanish national road championships. His last race was this year's Tour of Britain, from which he retired due to illness.
Euskaltel-Euskadi issued an open letter of condolence on its website here. Deepest sympathy to his family, friends, and team.
Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: yes folks, the World Championships are underway, and it's time for the races o' truth to decide who will grace the noble striped jersey next year. Lookin' good there at the Tour o' Britain, Cav, but it still ain't your course! Today: the men's and women's first-ever team time trials, hailed by besieged and desperate Pat "Dick" "I never met Armstrong! He's a figment of your imagination!" McQuaid as a wild success. Victors: Specialized's all-star lineup of Ina Yoko "We Love You! Please Don't Kill Us!" Teutenberg, Amber Neben, Evelyn Stevens, and too many other bad-!@#es to count, making the most of a rolling course with a fine-tuned lineup, and, to even their own surprise, Quick Step, as BMC's Tejay was just a little too strong for his own damn good and inadvertently dropped Taylor Phinney in the screaming chaos on the Cauberg. But even though Phinney was mad, he's not mad--honest Tejay! Completely in the doghouse: Lampre, whose director slapped his helpless squad by saying he was waiting for at least "a show of pride." Ouch! Next up: The 24.3k women's individual time trial on Tuesday, with a flat finish after the top of the Cauberg, with Emma Pooley and unexpected London bronze medalist Olga Zabelinskaya looking for stripes. Oh, come on--like it wouldn't be fun to see Zabelinskaya come outta nowhere again!
Going to Schleck in a Handbasket: and, back in the 'normal' road world, Schleck-brothers guidance-counselor Kim Andersen has confirmed what's been so painfully obvious to us all: with the occasional exception of big bro Frank (who I always thought could've won a Grand Tour by *some* means if not stuck babysitting his more-hyped little sibling), the Schlecks just can't function without each other. So leaving aside how diplomatically Andersen just called Johan Bruyneel a !@#$head--and you gotta admire that--here's my question: so if Frank gets banned this year for using a masking agent for no doping-related reason whatsoever--a-yup!--how the !@#$ is Andy possibly gonna be able to win the Tour de France next year? Forget that he can't time trial or descend for dirt! Oh Andy, *so* fragile--I wonder, (forgive me Jens o great one!), can even Voigt save you next year as he hopes? Aw, the hell with that--Johan, you know you're gonna hose Andy anyway, just give 2013 to Jens right now!
House of Pain: yes, it's almost time for the World Championships, dear reader(s), and with the Spaniards sending an obscenely talented squad that may simply crush itself under its own firepower, the Belgians sending Tom Boonen, and the Brits of course sending Mark Cavendish, my dilemma is, for the men's race (since Georgia Bronzini is taking the women's--is too!), do I root for multi-world champ/imminently retiring Oscar Freire, who seems to be at this moment miraculously free from whatever !@#-dissolving saddlesore, freak vertebral injury, fan-wielded buckshot wound, or spontaneous wrist combustion he's usually battling, or for dear redeemed Tommeke, back on top and ready to kick an already-nostalgic Cav's butt on the finish of the Cauberg if Gilbert didn't out-prep him doing the Vuelta? As a little reminder, I bring you Roubaix: Yap, Gilbert, yap--ya got two stages at the Vuelta, allez allez Tom!
Aw, *Suck*!: in other Worlds news, this year we're seeing for the first time the intro of the team time trial, which is sponsor-team, not national-team, based, which means I'm gonna sit there and mope while we love Euskaltel-Euskadi gets screwed, *again*. Geez, give these guys a chance, willya--at least make it one big straight uphill or something!
Fast Car: meantime, Filippo Pozzato and his fans are outraged over his vicious 3-month ban for paying (alleged!) Lance dope doc Dr. Michele Ferrari $50,000 over 6 years for "training advice," which also keeps him off the national squad for life (leaving Paolo Bettini with a pack of 23 year olds and the spotless Vincenzo Nibali for the Worlds, incidentally), and I gotta say, I really do sympathize with poor Pippo and this ridiculous suggestion of any possible wrongdoing on his part. After all, what else were all those Operacion Puerto boys doing visiting Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes back in the day, if not to merely receive his "training advice" on, uh, how to perfect their valuable ladyparts Kegel exercises? Anyway, it seems Pippo is handling the stress of exile pretty well, and if he's not, who cares? He'll be back, um, training in no time!:
Lookin' Good, Alberto!: finally, good news for Alberto Contador: as thanks for taking the Vuelta a Espana right as Tyler Hamilton was throwing his ol' team boss to the sharks, Bjarne's rewarded Contador with contract extensions for two of his favorite domestiques. Keep it comin', Bjarne--surely you can convince Saxo and Tinkoff to toss you a little more dough to round out the roster *now*?
Well, Alberto Contador's returned (eventually) in triumph, a really smashing edge-o'-your-seat Vuelta a Espana is behind us, the Worlds are ahead of us, and it's time for the incredibly prestigious 2012 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Awards!
Tour, Schmour Award: let's get this outta the way first: in 2012, the Giro was great, the Tour was weak, but this year's Vuelta was the best Grand Tour we've seen in *years*. Sure, the riders are still curled up on the floor of their team buses in fetal positions clutching their quads and sobbing for mama--but what's not fun about that? Bravo to the organizers--and let's hope at least a few strong contenders aren't too scared out of their minds to participate again next year!
Well, *Somethin'* Ain't Right There Prize: don't say you weren't thinking it, Pinocchio--when Contador couldn't drop Purito on three consecutive Alberto-perfect mountain stages in week 2, it sure didn't look like just some out-of-practice racing legs were the glitch. Oh, come on, I like the flashy little twerp too--but really, you didn't wonder just a *little* bit?
Holy !@#$ Save o' the Vuelta: yep, it's a two-fer for our tranquillo doe-eyed Pistolero--his blazing attack on (dang, well before) Fuentes De'. Perfect tactics that will be minutely studied by wannabes in trouble for years to come. Don't tell me I alone remember how much this kid had to learn about strategery just a few short seasons ago!
Oh, *No*! Bawling Blubberin' Scenario o' Doom Prize: in a related award, poor, broken lord o' the climbs Purito, who even rode the time trial of his life for heck's sake, being so totally caught unawares by Alberto's freak attack on the fateful Fuentes De'. Was I the only one who wanted to run up to him afterwards with his teddy bear and a lollipop?
Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: Alejandro Valverde. Really? Attacking former leader/3d place finisher Rodriguez for the points jersey in the very last move of the race? Okay, technically he had the right. But why would he act on it, except to be a colossal !@#$? You already *got* second, Alejandro--drop on anvil on Purito's package too whydontcha?
Uh, He Was Riding? Prize: sorry, but former Vuelta champ (shut up! I'm still glum about Roberto Heras! shut up!) Denis Menchov. It was great he bagged a stage win tho!
Crash o' the Vuelta: no-one was even really hurt for once, and thank goodness for that, but for drama it's no contest, Alejandro Valverde's 50-odd second loss--by Sky attack or by accident--at Valdezcaray. Karma's a bitch, ain't it?--and quit cryin' already, you lost by more than that anyway!
Is There *Any* Sport Spain Don't Kick !@# In? Statuette o' Exasperation Award: two minutes between the top boys on the podium, then even the closest guy a cool ten--ten!--minutes back. !@#$in' insult moratorium--anyway, you know who you are!
Sticktoitveness Award: there's sprints at the Vuelta? Up to the very last day, that you have to ride over 8 bazillion mountains to get to? Well, he did grab a season's worth of wins in two weeks doin' it--well done John Degenkolb!
Wily Stealth Move o' the Race: Euskaltel-Euskadi, intentionally keepin' it low-key without even a single stage win, juuuuuuuust to take the unsuspecting peloton by surprise next year. Right on, Orange Armada--see you on top o' the podium in 2013!
!@#$-You Moment o' the Vuelta: take his Giro, take his Tour--AC's still takin' it to the bank, mother!@#$ers! Yep, in a perfect flashback to Armstrong at his last Tour de France, Alberto's 7-finger salute to UCI on the roll up to the line, one for each Grand Tour he's got and a couple they think he don't. Brilliant!
Class Act of the Race: Purito, every single damn day. Pride without braggadocio, defeat without blame, sportsmanship without pettiness--on that alone, Rodriguez gets the win, so I really hope we see him do it one day!
Well, them's my awards--so crack the champagne, hide the syringes, and let's get ready for next year!
And, Our Contest Winner: finally, with major bonus points to those of you who generously brown-nosed for Euskaltel and offered even more creative responses, our Part Tres contest winner, straight from the Holy Once-Eroski Cap-o'-Destiny is: Jez! Jez, check yer email, pick yer lucky rider-winner, and the rest of you--thanks ever so much for playing, and if Andy Schleck don't suck, I may even run this during the Tour next time! Naaaaaah....
It's the Bola del Mundo, Baby!: I'll give this to Alejandro Valverde (along with whatever else he's been given): whether it's gaining 3 seconds on a stage, like today, or 30, he ain't going down without a fight, so I expect 'im to give even tomorrow's excruciating climb relentless whacks for time til he completely cracks while Purito, I hope, will at least go for one last stage win. Y'know those Escher drawings with the staircases that go up and up and up til suddenly you're impossibly upside down? Yeah, that's the Bola del Mundo. Here, the profile: Hope y'all got fingernails, boys, 'cause when your legs and gears fail you you're gonna need 'em to claw up to the finish line!
Bite Me! Thor Was Sick!: okay, so we finally got our explanation for BMC's all-season suckfest: Thor and Cadel had viruses, and are curled up on their couches with their teddy bears before coming back to kick Classics and Grand Tour !@# next year. Get well soon guys--now quiet down and take your naps already!
Thanks, Pat "Dick", You Pig: well, nice work hosing women's cycling, you officious weenie--as if Pat "Dick" McQuaid's totally coincidentally proposing amnesty for busted dopers (at least, amnesty for the ones he's still in love with, since I see he's also now interested in what Lance's former teammates Dave Z Tommy Danielson and Vande Velde have to say)as soon as it looked inevitable that Armstrong was jacked and UCI was completely discredited as a pack of sycophant glory-slut cheat-enablers weren't bad enough--now Brit cycling Amazon Emma Pooley, tired of the women being forced to play ignored loser Ken to men's cycling's spectacular Barbie, is taking not only a likely year's sabbatical but also, possibly, calling it a damn career. !@@#$, people, would a guy of her stature have to bag her career because no freakin' team has decent funding--I mean, the !@#$in' Schlecks have jobs next year for !@#$'s sake!
One More Time, Honey!: and, as Liquigas studpuppy/2010 Vuelta champ Vincenzo Nibali is declared the lucky winner of our Week 2 Contest Three-Week Rider Insult Moratorium, there's one last chance to call the Vuelta, gain immortality, and make me be nice to someone I hate. Look, here's Vincenzo: ain't he cute? Anyway, enter here to win! a Rafflecopter giveaway
Come Sail Away/Come Sail Away/Come Sail Away With Me (If You Can): y'know, I honestly don't know which looks worse--Contador's just blowing after his ban, or Contador blowing Purito outta the water after his ban. And if weren't for the sheer strategic masterpiece that made this amazing result possible, frankly, I'd be diving desperately right now for my happy rainbow trusting place, which is still a smoking ruin from like 2006. But nice fakeout pimping the Bola del Mundo at the press conference yesterday Alberto, and dang, that must've been one hell of a rest day! Still, I'm quite crushed for Rodriguez, who really was earning this Vuelta bravely against Alberto's two-week-long string of fruitless ankle-nipper attacks, which apparently whacked 'im all at once today and who, of course, took his devastating loss with sportsmanship and grace. Say what the hell you want about Alberto and Bjarne (and I will), but this was just !@#$in' brilliant. So do the last five minutes if you must, but man, if you've got more time to burn, watch the incredible scene play out!:
News Shorts: meantime, I could go on with the in-depth analysis that the following items deserve, but because I love both my faithful readers I'll keep this mercifully short: Tyler's still wankin', Pat "Dick" McQuaid's still wussily proclaiming Armstrong-neutrality and screwing women's cycling, Andy Schleck's still out of commission and still needs to learn to (1) freakin' descend already and (2) ride without his brother, and, last but not least, clean-sport advocate Jonathan Vaughters has officially outed Tommy D, Christian Vande Velde, and Dave Zabriskie as ex-dopers, but *does* at least admit he won't work with Jorg Jaksche not because he's a doper, but because he's an !@#hole. Ugh, glad we got all that out on the table--please, can we get the women some !@#damn airtime for once and get back to actual bike racing now?
Name That Podium!: finally, enter here to win Part Tres of our contest--may eternal glory (and bitchin' prizes) be yours! a Rafflecopter giveaway
The time has come, the narcs all said,
To talk of many things;
Like why Alberto's lost his punch,
And from whence Purito's wings.
Valverde always creeps us out,
While Froome is justly slow;
But since they'll all test squeaky-clean,
I guess we'll never know.
Tyler's got a new book out,
In which he speaks his piece,
Of how Lance tried to buy him off,
And lessons learned from Riis.
USADA's got its witch-hunt on
With Lance's rocker chick,
Whose singing now could really help
Those doping charges stick.
So lesson learned for newbie pros
Turned off by all this crap:
If you're gonna do the drugs,
For God's sake, shut yer yap!
Yes, it was an excellent group of entries for our week 2 contest, "Alejandro Valverde Is...", with the following wee jems: (1) going to crash and burn in week 3 (not literally of course; (2) no sammy sanchez; (3) not as good as Chris Froome...ha go to hell naysayers!; (4) balding; (5) an unrepentant, unapologetic doper who got everything he deserved on stage 4; (6) a big !@#$in' baby! and (7) El Hombre! And, your winner straight from the Holy Once-Eroski Cap o' Destiny is...jenzerwoman! Jenzer, check your email, send me your info (I won't share it or nothin'), pick the lucky recipient of your Three Week Rider Insult Moratorium, and your prizes'll be in the mail! Thanks to all for playing, and now, on to Week 3!
It's the 2012 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Win Free Stuff Contest Part Tres!: yes, despite all predictions, the fabulous Vuelta ain't quite over yet--so enter here to win!a Rafflecopter giveaway
Okay, I've had it: Lance Armstrong, instead of shutting the !@#$ up like he's repeatedly promised and failed to do, has gone before yet another unquestioningly adoring audience deeply (and certainly justly) grateful for his fine charity work, and used it to proclaim he's always gonna be the winner of 7 Tour de France's anyway. I call bull!@#$! Why don't you pull that righteous crap in front of an audience of every teammate, sponsor, narc, journalist, friend, fan, and competitor you've ever screwed and *then* wait for the applause? Look, I don't expect anyone to be a saint. But if you're gonna be a smug little jack!@# about it, and particularly if you're gonna benefit from the fear, silence, or even just plain discretion of others, I say if you *did* actually do it (not just "tested positive"), the hell with putting some stupid asterisk next to your name in the history books, then let's give 'em all outright to none other'n fellow dope fiend Jan Ullrich for all posterity! Why? Okay, I like 'im better. But I've even got reasons here!
First, I don't care what the hell Jan was on, he was a beast. A beautiful, powerful, fragile, unpredictable, uncontrolled force. Sure, he maybe went a little wild at the schnitzel bar on the off-season and packed on a few kilos--who gives, it beats being some joyless wheat-germ-counting automaton, right? He succeeded despite his entirely human (okay, a pretty-jacked human, but still human) weakness. Second, bitch about omerta' all you want--and as to the aspect that shuts down any discussion of systematic doping in the peloton and its grievous harms, I surely agree--but at least Jan shut the hell *up* eventually. Isn't that at least more bearable than writing some lying sack-o-crap bestseller or crying like a self-serving baby for years after you're busted or making up some ridiculous excuse how you got like 80 gallons o'blood sucked outta you but not a single tiny drop ever got put back in? Please--give me silence!
Third, he's clearly been humbled, if still not forthright. No, he hasn't outed anyone who helped or joined him--which would surely be both helpful and cathartic for the sport. But he hasn't exactly blamed everyone else for his actions or gone on scorched-earth total-character-assassination search-and-destroy mission on anyone else who's ever criticized 'im, either. Yes, bonus points for honor among thieves! Finally, noting his kinder side--and he did do a buncha charity stuff, too, without yappin' all day about it--he'd probably be game to toss one to Joseba Beloki or Ivan Basso, too, one of whom looked pretty spectacular even among dopers before he hit that tar pit and the other who at least has won another Giro in much less spectacular fashion since his comeback. So join me in my new campaign to Give Lance's Tour Wins to Ullrich!
Say It Ain't So, Phil!: all right, I'll defend Phil Liggett over damn near anything. But as the whiskey haze wears off and the relentless pounding begins, I gotta concede defeat--Phil, you've just completely wigged out on this one. We know you love Lance. And we understand, really. Heck, I'm still in total denial over we still love Iban Mayo (oh Iban!). But this paranoid conspiracy theory !@#$ has sent you absolutely off the rails, Phil. And while I know everyone's calling for yer head, as one still besotted by the dulcet tones of your charmingly old-married-couple on-air spats with Paul Sherwen, I'm just gonna gently ask--please, please lay off the Lance commentary for now. Look--there's Jens! Let's talk about Jens! Jens couldn't screw anything up, right? We love Jens! Isn't that a nice bike he's riding today? See Phil, forget the naysayers, there's always gonna be a good place for you after all...
The Mountains Are Comin', The Mountains Are Comin'!: okay, Froome actually went pretty well today despite everyone dope-smackin' 'im for choking before he even got off the bike, considering he's gonna c--damn Insult Moratorium!--and Alberto, though as far as I can see not quite the time trialist he was when he first suddenly improved overnight in the discipline like a freak, definitely looked at home for maybe the first time this Vuelta. But for my money, the most exciting ride of the day by far was Joaquim Rodriguez, who not only smashed everyone's expectations even on a hilly course by only losing about a minute on the day to his main rivals instead of his usual, y'know, week'n'a half, but also set himself and all of us up for a thrillingly close mano-a-mano with Alberto in the high passes that could, if no-one bonks spectacularly, leave this race a nail-biter til the very end. Does *anyone* think this year's Tour de France holds a candle to this spectacular race? Meantime, it sure wasn't happy time out there for our dear Igor Anton, whose recently stated predilection for Norwegian black-metal music (got me, man, I just report this !@#$) might more productively be replaced by some nice upbeat techno music in his warmups, and for dear defending champ Juanjo Cobo, who might still get back in the game for maybe a stage win or two (bite me! will too!). Anyhoo, good on Alberto for not having to waste Saxo's limited energy on defending the red jersey for a few more days, the time-losin' crash early in the Vuelta is gonna be least of Valverde's problems this weekend, and Froome--there's a brief respite tomorrow with still a steep nasty dig of a Cat-3 final climb that the other three shouldn't be willing to kill themselves over, if I were you I'd grab any little gap you can!
Now *That's* Just Weak: look, the big boys doping to win a Grand Tour, or heck even some dipwad little race that might bag you a better paycheck next year, I get. I don't approve of it, I don't respect it, I think it blows unless I personally like the rider doing it, but I get it. But what the !#$% is with this season's scourge of freakin' Masters nimrods gettin' busted for drugs? Is it a desperate need for even modest hometown glory? Are they looking to take some high honcho's place in the big leagues when he falls on his dirty cheating World Tour !@# (well, syringe)? Look, you clowns, moral questions aside, as the Armstrong case proves, successful doping is a rich-and-well-protected rider's game--so suck up your limitations, and keep it to the energy gels and Red Bull you eejits!
Enter to Win!: and, don't forget to slag or praise Valverde, or better yet, brown-nosingly if irrelevantly slobber over the fabulous Euskaltel in our Week 2 contest, and win free stuff! a Rafflecopter giveaway
Higher Ground: okay, let's lay it out flat: Contador sure can still accelerate, but happy tweets aside he can't quite sustain it right now, either, and if he really don't pick it up next week, it's still lookin' like a distinct step backwards for our wee doe-eyed darling since the end of his ban. The legs a little competition-rusty? Sure. Froome already looking--aw, !@#$, he's the beneficiary of the Three-Week Rider Insult Moratorium from our week one contest! But anyhoo, Alberto's never before had to rely on someone like a Purito's comparative inferiority in the time-trial before, much less the hope that main competitors Rodriguez and a t--(!@#dammit, foiled *again*!) Froome'll bonk out in week 3 just as he hits his stride. Valverde? Having a hell of a Vuelta so far, but really, am I the only one just countin' down the days 'til his Annual Grand-Tour Great-Hope Mid-Race Meltdown? As for Euskaltel's Igor Anton, he, like the rest of our beloved Basque squad, is merely waiting patiently--so patiently--to surprise the clueless big-shots with a ginormous stealth attack (shut up! go to hell!). So pull it together Alberto, it's been more than a week already--you're only proving your skeptics' told-ya-so crowing right now! Tomorrow, a lumpy little diversion before Wednesday's 39 kilometers o' (rather twisty-turny actually) fear:
Fountain of Youth My !@#: meantime, it's been a bangin' week for guys like Jens Voigt, Christian Vande Velde, and Levi Leipheimer, cuttin' down the whippersnappers of the peloton like scythes at the USA Pro Cycling Challenge as Jens takes the King of the Mountains classification for goodness' sake but, sadly, also setting the sun on the career of big George Hincapie, who, despite his baffling loyalty to Lance Armstrong, has always been a class act, an eager and generous mentor, and a completely underrated and self-sacrificing talent. Me, as for retirements, I'll absolutely miss my dear erratic unapologetic Olympic-champion raving wingnut Vinokourov most of all--oh, Vino, promise me when you rule Kazakhstan you'll at least challenge rival national leaders to slug out on the road like the cowardly weakling punks they are...and here, George's price o' passion:
Contest Update: last but not least, it's game on baby for Part Dos of our Racejunkie Vuelta a Espana Win Free Stuff Contest, so enter for a chance to win! a Rafflecopter giveaway
And the Winner Is: with a correct answer to "who's gonna be in the red jersey at the end of stage 7?", it's Karl with "Rodriguez!" Karl, check your email, email me yer address (I won't pimp it out, I promise), name the lucky recipient of yer Three-Week Rider Insult Moratorium, and yer other stuff'll be on its way!
And Yer Win Free Stuff Contest Part Dos Is: yes, never let it be said that we here at racejunkie don't listen to our valued reader(s), because as kind participant Rosemary pointed out, the week one question kinda hosed the early comers. So, in keeping with the total arbitrariness of this fine contest, we're mixing it up with a free-form free-for-all for week two, so Enter Here to answer this week's question, and Win Free Stuff! a Rafflecopter giveaway
Good afternoon. I've called you all here today to address the evil jealous bitter-betty success-hatin' tinfoil-hat-conspiracy doping-accusation witch-hunt with which WADA, USADA, YADA-YADA, Torquemada, and carne asada are unjustly persecuting the entirely innocent me at the expense of truth, justice, and my truly mind-bogglingly humongous ego.
Look, I did it. You know it; I know it; you-know-who sure as hell knows it; heck, even your damn guppy knows it! What's more, I lied about it, I covered it up, and I stopped at nothing to destroy anyone who said I did it. So why confess now, after years of half-!@#ed "I never tested positive" denials?
Well, first, I *was* a national hero, I *am* a national hero, and I'm always gonna *be* a national hero, so who gives what you peons think? By contrast, I have it on excellent authority that Travis Tygart is a communist, Marxist, socialist, fascist, daisy-pickin', vegetarian, peace-lovin', Sunday-nite-football-hatin', puppy-noogyin' elitist, and we all know how well-liked *they* are. You get it? NO-ONE IN AMERICA CARES. No one in America cares that I did it, and no-one in America *particularly* cares what a pack of snotty man-purse-wearing mineral-water-drinkin' Euro-weenies think, much less that random French-car-company guy named "Hinault" you all keep yappin' about. I mean, we kicked your !@# SEVEN TIMES at your own game--what else do we gotta prove? Burn!
Second, I've achieved all my personal objectives anyway. I won seven Tours, I exploited every ounce of every other human being in the sport necessary to do it, and, as a totally unexpected bonus, I made Tyler Hamilton and Floyd Landis, who completely betrayed me and my obvious natural superiority by deciding after years of loyal service not to be my beeyotch and pursue their own selfish careers, look like massive, monster tools. Not like they needed my help--ha-ha! Of course, once I heard George Hincapie and Dave Z might've ratted me out, I figured I'd better come clean just in case--I mean, everyone loves them, I'd look like a jerk, it'd be like slandering Bambi and the Easter Bunny, right?
Third, I'd like to point out all those saps can do at this point is *recommend* that I be stripped of my Tour titles and entire career results, and we all know how *that* one's gonna play out, suckers! I've made bazillions of dollars; I've done some genuinely good charity stuff for some really deserving people; you're still all too afraid of me to criticize me; I've bought some very expensive lab-equipment for some very influential--uh, nothin'! nothin'! I misspoke!; and, best of all, I had the most money to buy the best doctors, the best drugs, and the most comprehensive doping program, so I'm obviously smarter and more deserving than all those cheap-!@# B-list also-ran podium-crawling losers who were stupid enough to test positive during my reign of brilliance anyway. Nyeah-nyeah!
I'll now take questions from Frankie Andreu, Filippo Simeoni, and Greg LeMond. Ha-ha--NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!
Off With 'Is 'Ead!: okay, the verdict is in on whether Sky should've stopped to wait for the red jersey to catch back up at the Vuelta after the race leader hit the pavement: Alejandro Valverde is a big !#$in' baby, and eatin' time for his crash was fair play. Sure, that same Darwinian philosophy didn't stop the Schlecks from bitchin' endlessly for two years about Chaingate when they'd just bushwhacked Contador the exact same way earlier in the race, but we can't ask for consistency from these guys, we can at least set, I submit, some ground rules: (1) you cause it, you wait for it, jack!@#!; (2) if we're talking seconds on a Grand Tour podium, suck it up and wait; (3) if there's a truly freak occurrence like some dimwit's dog, numb-nuts' race-course meander, eejit's support car, or weird psycho's small sharp object obsession, wait; and (4) if you've already !@#$ed people over at Paris-Nice, champ, ya might wanna hold the righteousness in check. Other'n that, may luck be a lady tonight, and have at, you cheap-shot mercenaries!
Slow and Steady Screws the Break: meantime, over at the USA Pro Cycling Challenge, the breakaway was more than irked yesterday at Liquigas princeling Vincenzo Nibali, who, according to his companions, sat on his butt like a lump 'til the break got munched like a bag o' Doritos just about in sight o' the line. Sure, Nibali opined he was just riding his own race (off the legs of like 20 other guys, but whatever), and the American sounded just a liiiiiiiitle bit bitter about their big-bucks press-darling Euro counterparts, but let's just look at this in practical terms--do you *really* want to kick out every wheel-suckin' weenie in the peloton, 'cause I can think of a few big names here, and you'd damn near have no-one left!
Now, *That's* the Hurly-Burly of Cycling: and, Garmin action hero Dave Zabriskie certainly gets my vote for hard-man of the race, not only busting himself for three straight days to help his teammates win the leader's jersey and the stage today, but literally throwing up with the effort by the side of the road *and* then remounting to keep putting the hammer down yesterday. Heck, I like a well-fought race as much as anyone--but aren't you guys taking this studly-masochism thing just a bit too far?
Back to the Vuelta, Baby!: finally, the Vuelta's back in the mountains tomorrow, Purito's already gunning for the win, and there's still time to enter this week's Win Free Stuff!
Rocket Man: well, there's two things for sure after the first mountain stage of the Vuelta: Contador's still the best steep-climb attacker in the peloton, and his rivals, particularly Froome, ain't bowin' to him just yet. Can Froome rely on his patient tick-tick-tick of the pedals to claw himself back to Alberto two weeks from now, with the Tour still in his own legs and Contador likely only to get stronger, if our Spanish dreamboat's anywhere near who (and why) the rider he was before? Alberto certainly proclaimed himself happy today, despite whispers his sprint-stage bonus-seconds grab was an early sign o' fear. But I wouldn't underestimate Rodriguez' seemingly endless ability in the tough gradients, either, but as to his assessment that today would show who's *out* on GC--bite me Purito, Juanjo's still got a bad tooth and Igor Anton was, uh, just saving his energy, yeah, just saving his energy!
No, Jens, *No*!: meantime, in vomitous RadioSkank news, Jens Voigt has inexplicably signed on with Johan Bruyneel for his (possibly) final year in the peloton, proving once and for all that our puny human minds really are incapable of comprehending the divine consciousness in what must be, somehow, a wholly reasonable, correct, and perfect godly decision. Forgive my faithlessness, o Jens--I'm really *trying* here, throw us a bone and make us understand this horrible thing! Oh, man, next thing you'll tell me there *is* no Santa Claus...
Cavendish, Cavendish, Wherefore Art Thou (Going Next Season) Cavendish?: in transfer news, as even Wiggo genially concedes that Cav's screwed if he stays at Sky next season, pretty much every other squad on the planet appears to be vying for him, so for my money, if they're gonna win their bride (1) they better not have any o' those whiny prima-donna Grand Tour GC contenders; (2) they better have some serious preexisting fast-men or some serious dough to buy 'em, because our Manxman does love a lead-out; and (3) for you poor ol' Sky and Cav fans, he'll just have to look adorable in some other hometown's colors next season instead. Shouldn't be too hard, any of 'em, right? Hey, it's not like RadioSkank's got any Grand Tour hopes, and *someone's* gotta keep our dear Jens company--Mark, how 'bout them?
USA! USA! USA!: okay, what I really mean is "USA Pro Cycling Challenge!"--which really has a hell of a field out there--but anyhoo, isn't it dandy to see Tyler Farrar back on form after his craptastic season so far? Glad to see you back in action Tyler--now start thinking Tour de France 2013!
Win Free Stuff!: finally, remember Vuelta fans, in honor of this smashing race the game's afoot: enter here to gain eternal glory and to Win Free Stuff!
Yes folks, the countdown's nearly complete, Contador's got his happy legs on, and it's time for the amazing Vuelta a Espana! Here, yer official preview:
The Course: in a word--"oh, !@#$!" Blistering heat, seven--seven!--serious mountaintop finishes, mother-freakin'-steeps at every turn, one brief opening team time trial, squat for sprints, and even the lone individual time trial's an up-and-down thrilla of a leg-ripper. Sure, it's sadistic--but really, you'd rather watch 3 weeks' worth of snoozemeister flats? Get thee to the Tour then, you heathen!
The GC Players: Alberto Contador. Joaquim Rodriguez. Igor Anton. Chris Froome. And can *someone* give Juanjo Cobo *some* credit as a contender--he's the defending Vuelta champion, for heck's sake!
The Wildcards: well, there's some speculation that some o' the Belgians are in it to win. Hey, if the entire Spanish peloton simultaneously gets blasted with some disgusting spewing 3-week swine flu, who am I to say it's not possible?
The Breakaway Artists: you'll "break away" when Alberto Contador *says* you can, you peon, but with a host of Spanish continental squads, Euskaltel's loyal lieutenants in front of the hometown fans, and Damiano Cunego of all people in the mix, everything short of the high mountains is up for grabs. Sure, that's only like 2 stages--but that'll make the competition all the livelier, I say!
The Sprinters: honestly, who cares? But the likeable Ben Swift and the desperate RadioSkank's Daniele Bennati are riding, so good luck to you both!
The Fans: it's all about the fabulous Euskaltel-Euskadi's outrageously enthusiastic roadside army, baby--so break out yer orange-and-black, grab your spot on the sun-parched mountains, and get ready to scream your head off!
What: Each week of the Vuelta, enter my Win Free Stuff Contest for a chance to win the cooly-cool prizes!
Why: because it's the smashing Vuelta a Espana, baby! Like I was gonna run this thing during the Tour?
How: Enter below! Each week, I'll put the correct entries into the Holy Once-Eroski Cap o' Destiny, no peeking I promise, and I'll pick a winner!
Huh?: any disputes, errors or 'nother stuff, I'll try to fix it fair and square. Plus, major bonus karma to anyone who slathers praise on Euskaltel. Other'n that, good luck to all, and thanks for playin'!
Andale!: yep, forget that wussy little Tour de France and its pansy-!@# two mountain stages and its 8 gajillion nose-pickingly-dull flat-as-paper time trial kilometers--it's time for the fabulous Vuelta, suckers, and the real climbers'll be coming out to play! Out for blood: Alberto Contador, whose musette Bjarne Riis has stuffed with a surprisingly formidable squad of Alberto's most loyal minions; defending champ Juanjo Cobo, ready to prove he's not some middlin'-field one trick pony with the erratic Valverde at his disposal; the fabulous Euskaltel's Igor Anton (shut up! will too!); and, of course, Wiggins-beeyotch Chris Froome, free from the leaden weight of Brad's hipster sideburns in the heights to pursue a top spot of his own. Me, I'm hoping for Anton but rooting for Contador--if only to see Pat "Dick" McQuaid have to shake his hand!
If You Thought It Was Unsafe to Go to the Bathroom Before: then Tyler Hamilton oughta be even more afraid of encountering school-yard bully Lance Armstrong outside the ol' urinal now, because our snitch-happy tattle-tale is getting ready to release his autobiography, tentatively titled "Take That, You Pompous Lying Sack of Crap!" Not to be paranoid, Tyler, but you might wanna beef up that personal security--*someone's* comin' to toilet-paper your house in the dead of night now, that's for sure!
Don't Let Him Do It, Tommeke!: okay, Tom, we know that, like many more wary and experienced sprinters, yer backin' off the bone-breaking chaos at the line in favor of going mano-a-mano with the cobblestones you pound so fearlessly into submission, but let me say this--Quick Step treated you like !@#$ during your humbling comeback years, and if you let 'em successfully snare Mark Cavendish for next season, I guarantee you you're !@#$ed again. Do you *want* your impeccable Classics career blown by that ungrateful jerkwad Patrick "Better Riding Through Insults" Lefevere throwing all he's got at Cav's feet at your expense? No! Come on, Boonen, you still got *some* weight to throw around--hell, pawning a few broken pieces off yer ol' Lamborghini oughta raise at least a few euros to bribe some other DS to take 'im!
Finally, a Programming Note: next up: yer Official Vuelta a Espana Preview, and, it's the 2012 Vuelta a Espana Racejunkie Win Free Stuff Contest!
Except If He's Kissed Your !@# For the Last Decade, That Is: yes, folks, from WADA to USADA to UCI, cycling's now found itself in a grand conundrum: whether to look honestly if ashamedly at the problem of doping in the sport by one of its greatest heroes, a 7-time Tour de France winner, warrior against cancer, inspirational figure to millions, and blindly-adored national icon, or whether to look like a repulsive rump-nosing selectively-prosecuting obsequious hypocrite weasel toady so desperate to keep the fame it has won that it--well, he--will do damn near anything north of pimping his own grandma to protect the guy who donated huge wads of cash to his organization, provided him with a life-changing outlet for reflected personal glory, and, totally coincidentally, is alone among the team he minutely controlled in every detail in being clearly absolutely innocent of doing absolutely anything as an internationally-revered anti-doping-by-other-people's organization's completely objective investigation would inevitably determine. Wanna guess which route UCI president Pat "Dick" McQuaid has taken?
Look, I get the crap about "this is pointless so late in the game" and "everyone else did it anyway" and "who the hell's a !@#$in' Vino fan to take the high road on this?" But frankly, there's value for the sport--and more importantly, for less-flashy but still talented riders--in determining whether winning is even in part a luxury purchase for the most loaded and sophisticated buyer, and I'll take any cyclist who at least calls bull!@#$ on the favored-nations status of certain popularity-contest publicity sluts over a bunch of crocodile-tear-spewing whingers who dedicate themselves to policing everyone else's purity only after their own !@#es are forced to compete on a level playing field. So Pat, I beseech you--even if you really, truly wanted to--and let's face it, that's a big freakin' if--you can't evaluate Lance objectively. You can't even appear to, if you could. Because you courted him so relentlessly, your legacy is inextricably entwined with his, and there is no possible way on this earth you don't know that. Worse, you openly went after any rider who threatened you. USADA, at least, has been nothing but ripped to pieces for asking uncomfortable questions and is screwed no matter which way it comes out--so why not let it do its job?
Cruise, Booze, and Lose: yep, it took fabulous Aussie Anna Meares (over the retiring, and extremely still bad-!@#, Victoria Pendleton) to finally break the iron grip of the Brits on cycling gold in the sprint, but there was almost more fun outside the velodrome as Belgian omnium contender Gijs Van Hoecke was tossed out of the Games for partying just a liiittttle too hard apres-track--and really, with all the dope folks've been busted for these Games, *that's* what pisses off the Olympic etiquette narcs?--and the IOC announcing that onetime gold medalist Tyler Hamilton's finally being formally stripped of his medal over his doping admission. Okay, that's fine enough--but much as I like Ekimov, am I the only person thinking that giving the gold to any other one of Lance Armstrong's teammates from back in the day is !@#$in' *insane*? Hell, give it to Alexander Vinokourov or somebody whydontcha? Oh, wait...my bad!
It's the Tour o' Utah, Baby! And Eneco!: meantime, back in the peloton, the boys've divided themselves up quite nicely between the Tour o' Utah and the Eneco Tour, with Vande Velde heading up the pack in Utah after a typically slammin' Garmin time trial, Tom Boonen cannily taking the leader's jersey at Eneco, and, in one of the most nerve-wracking teaser-titles o' the week, Contador Tests...uh, the Cauberg ahead of taking on Chris Froome and Juan Jose Cobo in less'n a fortnight at the Vuelta a Espana. Keep on testing, Alberto--the climbs, that is, the climbs! And here's the dashing Tommeke--maybe he might give Van Hoecke a few tips on partying with a bit more dignity?
'Round and 'Round: so, you wanna know why the British are 10 bazillion times better'n everyone else on earth at track events? Well, forget that "they have a proud tradition of track cycling" or "they respect and nurture athletes in the discipline" or even just "Sir Chris Hoy is a rider for the ages" crap, because the French, of course, have got it nailed: yes, the Brits are using Ultra-Bitchin' Super-Duper Top-Secret Mega-Wily James Bond Spy Wheels on their bikes! And how do we know this? Because they Sneak 'Em In the Velodrome in Way-Devious Uber-Sneaky Opaque Bike Wheel Bags! Ah, yes, that *must* be it--if the French hadn't been pedaling those granite-wheeled foot-propelled Flintstone vehicles all these years, they'd've been tearing up the track *and* their own Grand Tour! Heck, nothin' like a paranoid conspiracy theory and gallons of cheap wine to soothe the dope-slapped collective ego...
Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome!: okay, so either you like 'im or you don't. You think he's either a drug-snarfin' cow-slandering cheat-weasel, or an innocent accidental contaminant-ingestor. You think he's either one of the greatest stage-racers in cycling history, or one of its biggest (after, well, y'know) frauds. But I think we can *all* agree that whether Alberto's an angel, a devil, or just plain adorable, he sure whines less than a Schleck, don't he! Anyhoo, Contador's back from his ban, he's humbly learned his lesson--if "screw you, I'll still kick your !@#" is a lesson--and already stretchin' his legs with his posse at the Eneco Tour before he whomps the bejeezus outta everyone in the Vuelta. Bienvenido a casa, Alberto--good or bad, it's been a looooooong six months without you!
The First Rule of Fight Club Is, There Is No Fight Club: Okay folks, as the phenomenal British squads single-handedly rebuild the Empire with a monster sweep of gold medals, we've now got ourselves a coupla hot'n'sexy controversies at the Olympic track events, and they apparently boil down to these: (1) the rules suck; and (2) the rules are fine, but if you say what they are, *you* suck. Why? So far as I can tell--and frankly, that ain't much, as I fully admit being completely baffled by bike races in which you, say, virtually track-stand for half an hour so you *don't* go fast--in the first case, the Brits are emotionally crushed for being screwed out of a medal in the women's team sprint after making a transition like a millimeter too early. Okay, like a crap hand-off in a relay race--I can get that. Blows, but as even the DQed athletes acknowledged, fair's fair. In the second case, the rules say if you make a crap start, you can start over. You can do this, according to the trackies whose angry and defensive posts I've perused, by just falling over on purpose. Uh...okay, cool. But now the Brits are pissed because they're being accused of cheating by the same sort of freaks who actually consider "badminton" an Olympic event, even though they followed the rules and didn't do anything wrong. So what's the prob? Yes, some poor sod on the British team mouthed off and *said* what they did. !@#$in' A, am I the only one who thinks that when things go in your favor and you're likely to look like an assclown for yappin' about it, you should just *hush up*? Thank you, y'all can just send me a check next time for services rendered...on second thought, maybe you better wait til after you try to explain why you're all stopped dead upright in the middle of a race! Here, the topple: and the frantic post-admission backtrack:
From the Pot Calling the Kettle Black Department: yes, the Lance Armstrong situation has taken yet another giant leap forwards towards justice: rabid anti-doping hero Pat "Dick" McQuaid of UCI has just declared that USADA ought to stop its investigation into whether Armstrong doped so he--that is, an independent investigator--can determine the truth because, well, USADA's not objective. Like a guy who hooked his entire career onto Lance's shooting star is, Pat? Lookin' forward to that verdict--at least, I'm sure Lance Armstrong is!
Vino Takes Over the World: finally, it's transfer season, kids, and while word's still mum on where Jens Voigt's gonna go, as expected reigning gold medalist Alexandre Vinokourov has neatly bagged Vuelta winner/Tour podium finisher Vincenzo Nibali, which means that not only is the guy going to be (fairly) making more dough than a bakery, but Vino's continued path from rider to newbie DS to Total Dominator of the Universe is well on its way. See what happens when you mess with Nibali, Liquigas--next time, be nicer when you tell the press he's yer beeyotch!
Faster, Pussycat!: Okay, both defending time trial gold medalists, Fabian Cancellara and Kristin Armstrong, are still recovering from prior season-wrecking collarbone snaps *and* freshly-incurred bloody crashes. So while I'll concede to my British reader(s) that even with gents like Phinney Tony Martin and even LL Cool Sanchez in the hunt Wiggo's pretty well a lock on the men's race unless, say, a giant flying smoke-spewing swoops down from the sky plucks him off his bike at 200k an hour and eats 'im like a canape, I do think there's a little more surprise on the women's side, with Amber Neben Judith Arndt Noemi Cantele and Great Britain's own Emma Pooley all set to lay out some serious hurt on the course. So wake me when the men's time trial is over, and go Kristin--hey, remember this?
Lay Off of Phil, You Freaks! so, I've been pondering this situation where cycling announcer for the ages Phil Liggett ignited a firestorm o' outrage for saying BMX and mountain biking don't belong at the Olympics--though he clarified, !@#dammit, that he doesn't have anything *against* 'em, he just feels track is being hosed--and I've come to the thoughtful and well-reasoned conclusion that his critics can all just !@#$ off. Why? Because he's Sir Phil freakin' Liggett, I say, so he gets a Special Total Lifetime UCI Dispensation To Say Crazy !@#$ That Makes People Screaming Insane. If Jens Voigt said he wanted to eat your cat for dinner, would you object? No! I rest my case. But before I hear any bitchin' from folks who wouldn't read this anyway, let me say I think we can all agree that not only do BMXers and MTBers have lovely bike handling skills, but let's face it, they're generally a liiiiiitttttttle less anal-retentive than yer average blinged-out full-kitted ascetic plain-pasta-snarfin' energy-gel-debatin' power-meter-obsessive roadie. And can we keep to the *real* Olympic debate, which is why is stupid crap like "rhythmic gymnastics" still *in*? Free Phil--and apologize to him too, you peons!
A Humble Question: finally, in reviewing the Liggett dispute, I came across a very lively UK site which asked if Phil was "Right, Or A Colossal Nob Jangler?" I gathered, with my incredible powers of perception, that "nob jangler" is *not* a compliment. Still--dear Brits, kindly humor your ignoramus across the pond--translation, please?
Wow, was the women's road race about 8 thousand times more interesting than the men's--4 hours of relentless attacks, intermittent then finally steady downpours, multiple pileups, a Cancellarian skid to the barriers at the exact same spot, the Most Crap Timed Mechanicals In All of Olympic History, and, despite a really surging Lizzie Armitstead, Marianne Vos' phenomenally nasty kick to the line. Cav my !@#! Anyway, deeply bummed for Shelley Olds and her disastrous flat (but was anyone else worried there seeing Vos adjust her shoe in the last few k?), shocked that the peloton let those 4 gap more'n an inch in the first place, congrats to Armitstead for the Brits' first medal this Games, smashingly impressed by Olga Zabelinskaya who had no business at all in that sprinter's break but still bagged the bronze, I was really rooting for Bronzini, but let's suck it up, the best woman won--Vos you total beast, your bad-luck streak is over, wear that medal with pride you earned it!
Next up: the men's and women's time trial. Anyone else up for watching Kristin Armstrong wipe that disappointment (and mud) off her face?
Diggin' It Diggin' It Diggin' It!: yes folks, we may simultaneously have our first cycling gold medal *and* positive test of the Games: after a hideously annoying Tour in which everyone was yappin' how clean they are and how clean cycling is and how clean their underpants are and how years of irritating public sobbing redeem you from being a selfish doping jackwagon, none other'n wily son of a gun Alexandre "I Will Take All You Other Lying Mother!@#$ers *Down*!" Vinokourov has just taken the gold not only from a group of sprinter squads that just wouldn't lend each other some legs, but an incredibly exciting but completely miscalculating breakaway that utterly underestimated Vinokourov's faultless if almost impossibly gutsy tactical sense. And sure, it would've been great if Rigoberto Uran had taken it--but where the hell was he looking when Vino took off? Anyway, sincere congrats to Wiggo and the rest of the Brits for an essentially solo job nobly done, holy moly did Greipel and the other Germans look pissed, I hope Cancellara didn't bust his collarbone again, really sad for Boonen's crap mechanical, I *do* hate to see the Americans looking so dejected, but right on Vinokourov for taking it for the geezers--and man, I hope you're clean! I mean, I'm sure you're enough to pass. But I truly hope you haven't dishonored the gold--so let's err on the side of honor, and give credit where it's due!
Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: okay, I get that Cav is gonna slather himself in gold, Wiggo will be the coolest lead-out beeyotch in history, and Millar's gonna start bawling about how clean he is the second the cameras swing Davidwise. But dammit, without Samu for everyone to kneel to, and at the risk of being pelted with Budweiser cans and Slim-Jim wrappers by rabid nationalists on my own home turf, I am rooting for Belgian babemeister big Tom Boonen, who in the four years since the last summer Olympics has gone from the lowest of coke-poz injury-beset train-wreck lows to the highest of rebirth-redemption-and-relentless-win-streak highs, and if *that* don't flush you with true Olympic spirit, you are a petty heartless goon who has pimped your soul too cheap. Alternatively, of course, I *would* accept Sagan or Greipel beating Cav's !@# just on principle. Allez allez Tom--don't let those wily pure-sprint squads outfox you!
Midnight Train to Giorgia: meantime, with the Sunday women's road race set for a mere two passes on the dread Box Hill, the Brits clearly bringing their A game, and Ina-Yoko Teutenberg capable of ripping yer limbs off just lookin' at you mean, I'm still betting on Italian powerhouse Giorgia Bronzini, who, despite expressing concern that the usual sprinters will be so busy marking each other they might let some upstart fly by, has proven herself one cool customer in tense--and high-stakes--finishes. Even better? She says she's "angry." And you wouldn't like her when she's angry!
Showdown At the No-Way Corral: and, any Schleckian hopes of an Andy-vs.-Alberto ride to the death in Spain this summer are over, as Johan Bruyneel announces--in only his latest round of bad news--that Andy just isn't up for the Vuelta a Espana quite yet, and will be riding in the US instead. Anyone else of the opinion Johan, in all his years of success and wisdom, might've thought twice about horribly screwing poor Jakob Fuglsang at this point? Anyhoo, with Jens being naturally courted by superior squads, Haimar Zubeldia a primo late-career catch for I-told-you-you-should-never-have-left-Euskaltel or even Astana with Nibali, and even Bjarne Riis sniffing 'round to grab back half his old posse, it's just as well Schleck ain't gonna be around to suffer the humiliation anyway. Speedy recovery, Andy--but Contador'd still wipe the floor with you!
Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil: oh, hell, he's just evil--yep, none other than UCI leader "Clean Sport! Except When We Like You!" Pat "Dick" McQuaid, weirdly concerned suddenly 8 years or so on about that silly Armstrong hoo-ha--which, y'know, can happen to a colossal brown-nose in constant pursuit of reflected glory--has now come straight out and said, uh, we've got nothing to do with anti-doping! We've got no authority whatsoever! We're impotent weaklings, I swear it! Well, *that* makes me feel better about the sport--what next, you're gonna say the biological passport is crap? Oh, wait...
Yes, three weeks of crashes, road rashes, and smack-talking bashes are behind us, so without further ado, I bring you the prestigious, much-coveted, and wholly arbitrary 2012 Tour de France Racejunkie Awards!:
WTF of the Race: a three week Grand Tour with 18 million time trial kilometers 62 sprints and a measly two--two, for !@#$'s sake!--mountain top finishes? Congrats, ASO, on the lamest Tour de France course in history--why not just kick the climb-happy GC contenders of the world straight in the !@# and send 'em home before the prologue to save 'em the trouble?
Team Leader of 2012: well, this one's so obvious it needs barely be said: Team Sky captain Chris Fro--uh, Brad Wiggins, that's what I meant, Brad Wiggins!
Slide, Slide, Slippity Slide Award: frantic but dedicated Jim Ochowicz, twice falling back into the ditch as he tried to get an enraged Cadel Evans back on track. Give that man a raise--or a combat bonus!
Best Commercial: okay, anything that shows Jens Voigt doing anything, ever, and Levi Leipheimer as a stoner is certainly bitchin', so huge props to Road ID. But my personal favorite is this little gem from AG2R that ran during the race in France: Allez allez!
Sissy-Boy Slap Fight of the Tour: nothing says "bravery" like a spindly toothpick going off on an eight-year-old girl and the family Newfoundland. Oh, yeah, and her parents. Y'know, I love Philippe Gilbert and he was totally in the right on this, but if his team boss hadn't dragged him off, my money was still on the kid!
Superduperdomestique Prize: yes, fine, Froome was brilliant, but he loses it for his undiplomatic whinging about blowing his own chances for 3 weeks straight. Who didn't, and who really whomped above and beyond yer average gut-gacking ultra-lieutenant? It still makes me slightly weirded out to say this, but Ivan freakin' Basso, ticking ticking ticking with that tranquillo poker-face for Nibali to bag his podium spot. You could do a lot worse than him, Vincenzo--especially the way you've been dissing Liquigas all season!
Class Ride of the Tour: yeah, Wiggo. But no--it's Cadel, who battled through crap legs, 8000 consecutive mechanical disasters, a stomach bug, and a just unbeatable rival squad to defend his maillot jaune with a hard-won seventh overall and a vow to come back next year. Your time will come, Tejay--but that guy is where you learn grit!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Fan): sure, it's no fun being crisped by roadside-moron flare guns, but for sheer carnage, nothing beats the Great Tack Attack of 2012 that screwed Cadel, jacked like 30 other guys, and snapped poor Kiserlovsky's collarbone like a Twix bar. You could've killed someone, you assclowns!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Rider): Okay, Rolland may not have heard the word the first time he took after the tack massacre when Wiggo slowed down the peloton. But after the *second* time he hit the gas and had to be chased down *again*? I call bull!@#$--and congrats on your award, you opportunistic dirtbag!
Bitch Comment of 2012: Mark Cavendish, this one's for you. So Andre "!@#$-Race" Greipel beats you in a sprint, and all you can say about your own ride to NBC Sports is that at least you don't get a perfect lead out every time and still !@#$ it up like he does. Classy!
Man of a Thousand Faces Prize: He groans. He grimaces. He squinches. He twists his mug into a terrifying visage of unspeakable agony that can set small children shrieking for miles around. And that's just when he's on the podium after a stage win. Dignity, thy name's not Thomas Voeckler!
Crash o' the Tour (Just Plain Stupid): okay, whanging a flag into a rider's handlebars--which I have on good authority Tour de France riders often need on their bikes--or letting Clifford the Big Red Dog blunder onto the race course aren't the acts of the brightest bulbs in the fan lamp, but for me, and I say this as a genteel lady who has hosted many a charming tea party, setting up a nice repast complete with table in the middle of the road while the Tour's speeding by takes the cake for brainlessness. What, you thought if you could entice Wiggo off-course with a spot of tea the French'd win GC for once?
Crash o' the Tour (Just Plain Messy): the Metz Massacre. Carnage, carnage I tells ya!
Crash o' the Tour (Balled Up on the Couch Clutching Your Teddy Bear Howling Like a Heartbroken Basset Hound): we love Euskaltel's Samuel Sanchez, his Tour (and Olympic) hopes dashed in a split-second of contact with the tarmac. No offense to a battle well-fought by what's-his-name, but that's the only way the polka-dot jersey wasn't gonna be on Samu's shoulders in Paris!
No-Class Move o'the Race: the fans, booing Brad Wiggins' Aussie teammates for doing their job and helping their man. No, they're not on Greenedge--what the hell were they supposed to do, you graceless jerks, whack his wheels out of true with a hammer and stick a motor into Cadel's top tube?
The Soigneur, In the Team Car, With the Water Bottle Prize: the nefarious "poisoning" of Frank Schleck. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep--that explains it!
And Finally, Yer Jens Voigt Is a God Award: who else? Long after his teammates from, say, 2035 will have collapsed into a Barcalounger with a beer and a tub full o' nachos, Jens will ever be there, still shaking up the Champs Elysees. Bow, bow before the One!
Well, dear reader(s), them's mine, and I'm sure I missed a bucket. Now, onwards to the Olympics--and woo-hoo, the Vuelta!
Bark! Bark for Forgiveness, You Worm!: yap, Wiggo's won the Tour, Froome's gonna kick him in the works just before the time trial starts, yap--the big story today, for my money, is Philippe Gilbert's fantastic and wholly justified verbal attack on the morons who let their huge dog run into the race course, nearly dashing Gilbert's Olympic plans and any redemption whatsoever for what's been a truly spectacularly crap season for Gilbert. And *tell* me these folks aren't hiding behind their little daughter like Ricco' behind his mamma's skirts--wussy *and* stupid, you're lucky he didn't clock you like he planned!
Stay Thirsty, My Friend (No, Really, Stay Thirsty!): so, just as Frank Schleck's B sample poz is confirmed, and he swears he's gonna look exhaustively at every single thing he's eaten and drunk for the last two weeks (and I'm pretty grossed out positing how he's gonna accomplish that at this point), none other than RadioSkank cheerleader /serious stalwart Chris Horner has come out in spirited (and not unreasonable) defense: you don't know what the hell you're grabbing from a fan or scarfing at the dinner table in your darkest bonking moments, so anyone could put anything into your vittles. Since even I can't imagine that the kind of dimwit roadside asshat who's tempted to taint a water bottle in the one-in-a-bazillion-chance that their chosen enemy rider's gonna grab it actually has the brains and tactical skills to pull off such a scheme, it seems to me you vulnerable boys might more realistically just wanna up the pay of your team cook, soigneur, and mechanic, who actually have pretty impressive access, instead. And no more bitching about Contador from the peloton, now that he's innocent! Oh, how I long for the days when someone'd simply say he was *just* done banging his girlfriend, or his grandma's a drug-snorting EPO addict, or his dog's the victim of cruel identity-fraud by a vampire Spanish gyno...
Lies: Speaking of Schlecks, Andy, you almost had me with your passionate--and duly brotherly--claims of Frank's total innocence. And really, who could disbelieve that swoon-worthy face? But when you said he "never"--ever, honest!--doped, I gotta say, you lost yer street cred right there. As a dear reader has earlier pointed out, what the hell was that $5k payment to Dr. Fuentes for back in the day, his annual lady exam? Oh, Frank, sometimes you and Andy are just your own worst enemies....
Rocket Man: finally, not only congrats on his incredibly turbo-charged stage win, but also yer Tweet-o'-the-Week, go to Manx Missile Mark Cavendish, who graciously thanked the "dickhead" who entangled a frantically waving flag in his handlebars, crashing poor Cav (and his bike) to the ground. Damn, are the fans trying to take out *everyone* for the Olympics with broken bones and road-rash?--Tom Boonen won't want to kick all their !@#es that way, play fair now kids!
Okay, I'll say it: I'm gonna totally give Frank Schleck the benefit of the doubt on UCI finding the banned diuretic Xipamide in his urine, because straight up, when those severe menstrual cramps and bloating kick in, a man'll do just about anything to stop the pa--uh, sorry, Frank, I got nothin' for ya! On the plus side, I believe this also mandates an immediate stop to all Schleckian whinging about (1) his form; (2) his Giro; (3) his Tour; and (4) all those meany downhills. Woo-hoo!
Meantime, reactions have been pouring in, not least from a gleeful UCI and a mortified self-defensive RadioSkank, whose official press releases are below:
1. Debate continues over whether Pierre Rolland knew what he was doing when he took off as Wiggo put out the call to slow down for Cadel. The first time--sure, it was a result of the post-massacre chaos. The second? Punk-!@#, honey!
2. Simultaneously, everyone just get the hell off Tejay Van Garderen about Cadel and "the look." He's young, he heard the call, he made a mistake, it's not like he told Cadel to !@#$ off so he could keep his white jersey safe. Enough already!
3. Anyone who throws tacks on a race course when guys can actually get killed in a crash is a total bastard. Remember, the guillotine is a French innovation, dirtbags!
4. In a corollary, it may not be now. It may not be next week. It may not even be til the very last moments of the universe as we know it. But Cadel will find you. And he will kill you.
5. This is totally irrelevant to the Tour, but Tom Boonen crashing with a broken rib just a couple weeks before the Olympics really sucks. He's had such a great comeback season, and I was *sure* he was gonna kick Cav's !@# at the Olympics!
6. Peter Sagan's a smashing rider, but getting that pimped-out "Tourminator" bike like 2 days into the green jersey competition was just obnoxious by the sponsors. Jeez, cool yer jets til the competition has conceded defeat!
7. You're very, very clean. We get it! You're a very, very good sport. We get it! Great as Wiggo is, does he *really* need the relentless self-promoting halo campaign?
8. You've got *one* day to break Froome, Cadel. One. And I hate to say it, but neither you nor BMC can do it alone. Nibali, however, has been offering to help you bushwhack 'im all race. Do it!
9. I'll give it to RadioSkank--to be this much of a train wreck and still be able to head up the team competition's not too shabby. Who'd'a thunk even just a few years ago that Johan bailing on his own team would've been the best thing for it?
10. When Jens Voigt thinks you're a wanker, you might as well just retire from the sport. Nice work, Pierre!
11. I can't tell if the French are winning so much this year because everyone else is clean too, or because they're just dirty again. You?
12. Finally, I'm still really, really pissed about Samu'. !@#dammit!
Mutiny on the Team Bus!: yep, ol' Wiggo's got reason to be worried: stage beast/mountain maid Chris Froome is openly unhappy playing lieutenant to team captain Bradley Wiggins, and wants his own ship should the Tour de France have, y'know, uphills next year. Let the bidding wars begin--and start yer planning for 2013, Brad, this guy knows your strengths and weaknesses pretty well by now!
Road Rage!: first it's some moron setting up a tea party in the race course, then it's some eejits firing flares off at the maillot jaune, and now it's even worse: jack!@#es strewing tacks or nails on the road to screw the riders and change the race. Was it me, or did poor Cadel look like his fist was just lookin' for a face to meet? Good thing for the perp Evans didn't figure out on the spot who tossed those things on the tarmac! While we're at it, good on Wiggins Sky (and I guess even the rest of the initially-reluctant team bosses) for deciding to not take advantage of the situation, because especially if Wiggins is gonna take it anyway, a good minute-odd of the final victory margin in Paris would've been tainted with bad-karma skankdom. Well, by chaos' end, Hincapie was disgusted, Tejay was bewildered, Wiggo was proposing to pack the hooligans off to a soccer (sorry, dear Brits, I know it's really "football") match, and sadly, hardworking Kiserlovski, who's really animated the Tour so far, was out with an ugly collarbone snap. As to the fans, what the !@#$ is wrong with you people--what next, one of those wily net traps that'll sweep up half the peloton 20 feet off the road in a tangle of limbs and derailleurs? Just let these guys try to get home in one piece already!
Cheapskates!: meantime, over at RadioSkank, the implosion continues, as Johan Bruyneel adds insult to Jakob Fuglsang's already nasty screw-over by not only barring him from any more serious races, but also by not bothering to even pay him--or the Schlecks, or even the team's season-salvager Cancellara--for his humiliation. Oh, man up, Johan, don't take out *your* own well-earned problems on innocent riders--at least accept the legacy-killing end to your career with *some* dignity!
And, Yer Roundup Shorts: so Thor Hushovd's still down and out, Frank Schlecks' *still* bitching about Grand Tours having downhills, and the sprinters still can't stop themselves from sissy-boy slapfights in any forum whatsoever. Aw, heck, can't *anyone* give us fans a break this season?
Alp, I Need Somebody/Alp, I Need Anybody: yes, we're through the mighty Alps, and if *I* were Brad Wiggins, the first thing on *my* agenda after tying up the final maillot jaune in Paris would be, who the hell am I gonna hire to take me up the mountains next year after Chris Froome bails on me for a rock-star contract and his own team-leadership glory? Me, I sure hope it's not the spectacular Tejay Van Garderen, whose strength, discretion, loyalty, and relentless optimism for beleaguered team leader Cadel has made him a real pleasure to watch this week. Wise you are, grasshopper, for not listening to everyone telling you to let Cadel suck it while you pedal off for solo glory--your GC turn will come soon enough, it's clear!
Millar Time: y'know, just when I was feeling all genuinely happy for St. David Millar to take a great stage in gracious honor of a rider who suffered a terrible tragedy, and thinkin' he'd put all that ostentatious camera-slut wah-wah over how reformed he is and how sorry he is (he got busted) and yap, yap, yap, he has to go and blow it: yep, there he was, literally *begging* the press like some smug endless-loop self-flagellating martyr to call him an ex-doper. Jaysus, Millar, we get it! You haven't won a race in umpteen years because you're clean and everyone else is dirty! Except today! You're a testament to all that's holy and good! An example of purity and moral grace to all of us lowly flawed miscreant sinner devil-dwellin' scum you're forced to share the earth with! Can I *please* get some support here for "just shut the !@#$ up about it and ride your bike already"? Oh, Jan Ullrich, come back and lie to us in those dulcet German tones then retreat into dignified omerta just once more...
Does This Tour Blow?: no, not the 2 days in the Alps. And watching the French ride well in their own Grand Tour for 2 straight years is not only shocking, but downright fascinating. But come on, if you're gonna stick us with 8000 kilometers of time trialing, 42 consecutive sprint finishes, *and* then make the GC contenders haul !@# up a buncha peaks, then freakin' make them finish there, or at least down a worthy descent that'll separate the skilled from the Schl--uh, less skilled so we get some actual drama on the GC front, not 80k after that of twiddly bull!@#$ every day. I mean, Cadel's got *one* stage in the Pyrenees and this Tour is done--what the hell's he supposed to do, bushwhack Wiggo like a chump during a nature break? No, we don't want to encourage the guys to cheat by whacking 'em senseless with vertical gackfests every minute--but damn, give the final podium *some* drama after the 10th stage, willya?
Finally, Yer Preview: uh-uh, it's another spri---zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....snort.......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...is it over yet?
1. MOVE. THE. !@#$. BACK. FROM. THE. ROAD. YOU. TOUR. DESTROYING. FREAK. Oh, Samu'! Did you *see* poor Sanchez all awash in tears?
2. Just when the French were starting not to suck. Nice work, Remy DiGregorio!
3. Luckily, though, there's no more doping in the peloton. Keep clickin' the heels of those ruby slippers all you want, Pat "Dick" McQuaid, it still ain't gonna make it true!
4. Frank Schleck, quit whining about *everything* and focus. You're tired from the Giro, you're resentful about the Tour, your team boss is a colossal jerkwad--all perfectly understandable reasons to choke. Embrace it. Your weird symbiotic thing with your little brother, though, isn't. Fix it.
5. If Wiggo "the Spider" really kicks it in the high mountains, no matter how pissed off he gets, I'm still gonna be just a liiiiiittttttttle bit creeped out. You?
6. Speaking of which, there barely are any. What the hell is this, the Tour of Oman?
7. Sometimes, someone is just better than you. Even you, and even your "@#$%-race" competitors. Might as well be a gentleman about it. Get it Cav?
8. It's nice to see Cancellara back on form. At least something at RadioSkank doesn't blow this year!
9. Of course that !@#wipe Armstrong had to be a publicity hog. And was I on a massive crack binge at the time, or did you say you didn't care and weren't gonna challenge this crap? Please, Mr. Integrity, be a man of your word!
10. Crap luck for Vande Velde and Ryder, huh? Valverde too and all, but he was already scheduled for his Spectacular Annual Mid-Grand-Tour Meltdown anyway.
11. Jeeeeeeeennnnnnnnsssssss! Ah, blessed is the asphalt you stomp upon...
Here, the final k: As for Joaquim Rodriguez, congratulations on being the first Spaniard ever to take the race, gotta dig your kickin' Brad Wiggins outta the season-ender 1st place rider WorldTour standings, and Italy--you got exactly twelve--twelve!--measly months to get your !@#$ together!
On tap so far: 2-time winner and newly-minted (and eager!) World Champ 
Hope y'all got fingernails, boys, 'cause when your legs and gears fail you you're gonna need 'em to claw up to the finish line! 
Anyway, enter here to win! 
and the frantic post-admission backtrack: 
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