The New Astana Team Kit Is In!

Well, Alberto Contador's, Anyway:

What'd I *tell* you to do, you naive sap? Damn, they don't even have money to pay you, kid--geeeeeeeeeetttttttt oooooouuuuuuuuttttttt!

You Want Freiburg With That?: oh, all crappy right, I've read up on the loathesome Freiburg Report, and all I can say is this: (1) poor little Andreas Kloden was clearly the wholly innocent hapless inadvertent victim of a Machiavellian money-hungry amoral dirtbag-directeur sportif and dough-suckin' rider-endangering scum-sponsor; (2) Kessler and Sinkewitz by contrast of entirely deserve whatever they get; and (3)it's !@#damn lucky none of these backwards ignorant medieval butchers freakin' killed these boys with their recklessness, stupidity and talentless body-mangling, though to be fair, at least they weren't celebrity gynos like Fuentes. Ooookaaaaaay, I am *vaguely* ready to concede that dear Klodi could maybe have done more than shrug say thanks and pull out a magazine to read while he was prepped for an IV and strapped down to a hospital bed for four hours after a long day in the saddle and an hours-long drive to a suspiciously darkened anonymous clinic, but come on, he was a domestique on T-Mobile, like he even had the nest-egg to get his hands on the high-quality !@#$ Jan Ullrich was enjoying?

You've *Got* To Be Kidding Me: so I see the Tour de France organizers, the greatest protectionists of performance-enhancing drug addicts from Rasmussen to Valverde since, well, UCI, have decided that pinup frat boy on wheels Tom Boonen is too indecorous to be permitted in this year's Tour, which means, I suppose, that rather than having one boy snort a few lines on his off-hours for fun, they'll have to content themselves pretending to be shocked at twenty-odd boys signing in at the line with actual visible medical equipment hanging off their !@#es. Am I the only one *not* taking enough drugs here that I think the Tour organizers are a bunch of ludicrous point-missing hypocrites?

Can We Please Shut the Hell Up About Golden Boy Already?: yes, Basso looks not only very pretty but strong, tho' a part of me can't help be just a weeeee bit bummed that Pellizotti's lacking the legs to kneecap his team co-captain on the sly. And I gotta say, whatsisface-who-stole-Roberto Heras'-Vuelta is lookin' pretty good for a heinous lowlife cheat-thief. But to me, despite the fact that in cyclist years he's almost officially clinically dead, clearly, Simoni's just faking you all out. Though he's right to point out that the stages are far lamer this year thanks to the race organizers disgustingly organizing the entire corsa rosa around that petty prima donna cash-cow media whore Lance, and I'm distinctly annoyed at Danilo "I Seem A Little *Too* Strong Lately, Don'tcha Think?" Di Luca for pronouncing himself "disappointed" in our hero, as Simoni optimistically notes, "it's not gonna get decided til the last day in Rome." Forza Gibo--and bite me, you Basso-bedazzled unbelievers!

Up, Up With People!

Well, the Climbers Anyway: yes, tifosi, having finally figured out how to get this beautiful race on TV, and while I'm still mourning the sucktastic luck of Christian Van de Velde, I can say with pleasure that we already hit the mountains tomorrow, and looking at the stage profile, and considering my own mild personal preferences, I gotta say, I hope Simoni kicks Basso's "attempted-doper" !@#. And if he doesn't? Well, perhaps Ivan'll just be saving himself for the Alps and GC, expecting Gilberto & co. to prematurely exhaust their ancient bods in the Dolomites, but on the flip side, if St. Ivan of Varese does take the stage, I can at least look forward to the distinct possibility that the lately-saccharine Simoni'll finally lose his cool and go, as was his whiny wont, for the verbal jugular. But for my money, what would be even more entertaining long-term: if Basso shows any weakness at any time in the race, because dollars to Dolomites, Franco Pellizotti, who as one may recall went completely shrieking bat!@#$ when Liquigas hired the Comely One, will absolutely hard-core bushwhack him. Anyway, forza, forza Gibo; race commentators, please do not yap the words "Lance Armstrong" more than 800 times a minute any longer lest I officially pull a Linda-Blair-in-the-Exorcist and go all kinds of head-spinning projectile--well, I won't go into further detail, but anyway, it sure wouldn't be ladylike; and no offense, but stick with the Classics Cunego!

I Feel Piti/Oh So Piti: meantime, the ink was barely dry on the Italian narcs' 2 year ban of poor Alejandro "Piti" Valverde before (1) Valverde started yellin'; (2) the tifosi started celebrating; (3) Caisse d'Epargne started suin' and (4)Tour de France organizer Christian Prudhomme finally got his excuse to kick that dirty, dirty boy out of his race once and for all. Me, I'm starting to think that between the Italians having been dragged kicking and screaming into serious antidoping efforts only because they were pissed Valverde got off while Basso got nailed, the Spaniards hell-bent on protecting their national hero at any cost, and the French happy to see any foreigner go down to distract the masses from their own inability to win their Tour for the last decade, none of these clowns are in a position to complain about anybody. Anyhoo, good luck at CAS, Alejandro--as Floyd Landis or damn near anyone else could tell you, you're gonna need it!


Finally, a Giro d'Italia Coverage Haiku:
Aching emptiness
Yapping ignoramuses
Come back, Phil & Paul!

It's The 100th Giro d'Italia, Baby!

All right folks, I've already tormented both my faithful readers with Giro previews in prior years, so I'll spare you that but first, I'd like to warmly welcome any Giro d'Italia/Grand Tour newcomers--because even if you *are* only watching it because Lance Armstrong is riding it despite the fact that he is the least important and certainly most annoying aspect of this year's race, I love you anyway, and I know you'll come to adore the three weeks of hand-to-hand combat, spectacular climbs, thrilling sprints, fanatic-driven spectacle, and inevitable doping scandals that are the Giro as much as we do. So let's round it up, kids!:

The Team Time Trial: I'm not gonna lie to you, I had Liquigas pegged for this one, not because I didn't think Garmin Astana or possibly High Road couldn't beat them on the merits, but because I was damn near certain the Italians would've run visible IV lines directly from the team car to the rider's rear ends right in front of the cameras to keep some foreigner from taking the 1st maglia rosa in the 100th Giro d'Italia. So apparently they didn't, but I must ask: am I the only shocked by how well freakin' *LPR* did today? Not that I'm suggesting anything untowards here--after all, Danilo's Barbiesque post-race testosterone levels'll probably do that later in this year's race quite nicely on their own--I'm just sayin'.

The Quick and the Dead: okay, it's on to a day or two of sprint stages, and while with Bennati, Head-Butt, Hushovd and pretty well everyone except Petacchi and Cav out of the race the range of possibilities seems rather narrow at best, for my money the fun begins immediately thereafter in the Dolomites, where Gilberto Simoni will be blowing right by his home stomping grounds and hence desperate--no matter how Mr. Rogers our resident smack-talking peloton Mr. T has become of late--to slap around Ivan Basso one last time before he retires. Forza, forza Gibo!--I mean, you guys already lost a bucket of time this morning, so you might as well redeem yourselves in the mountains, right?

Paris Hilton On Wheels: like anything else matters but the Giro, but anyhoo, you've all heard by now that babelicious Belgian party-slut Tom Boonen has sadly tested poz for coke again, and now, sensing serious trouble apparently, he's ditching the rakish charm that's saved his !@# so far, expressing gratitude and regret to the family friends and team he's disappointed, saying he blacked out from drinking too much, and claiming he needs, and is now sincerely seeking, help. Y'know, only he can tell if it's just a club-happy frat-boy sympathy ploy, mindbending reckless career-trashing stupidity, or a genuine problem requiring professional aid, but either way, I hope Boonen, who is really quite thrilling to watch, comes back soon. Clean, this time, get it?

Holy Moly, Ivan Basso Really *Does* Walk On Water!: finally, from the opening festivities in Venice, I give you this proof of St. Ivan of Varese's supernatural talent (now stick with it, through the yappin'):

The 2009 Giro d' How the !@#$ Am I Supposed to Watch This Thing !@#Dammit!?!; and, an Update

Aaaaaaiiiiggggghhhhhh!: As if cycling.tv hadn't pissed me off enough already, I not only get a nice e-mail from them explaining that they're too cheap and crappy to get any rights to the Giro this year--and I don't know what the hell you people think we're paying you for, but as one might reasonably surmise from the name of your site, it's to *broadcast freakin' races*--but I next learn that, though the bullriding-addicted inbreds at Vs. can't be bothered with the Giro either, we're saved! saved! because "Universal" Sports will broadcast live in the US with not only no commentary but also no replay coverage. Now, I can do without the live commentary--my ears are still ringing lo these many months later, after all, from the excruciating aural assault that was The Trautwig--but no replay coverage? What the hell are we supposed to do if we *work* for a living, you thoughtless nits--get a !@#$ing note from the network? ("Dear Your Honor: please excuse RJ from her hearing today. She has to watch a bike race.") Well, it's all moot anyway, because "Universal" turns out to be the monster hyperbole of the century, as they don't even *broadcast* in my major metropolitan area. Can one even sense how very irked I am at this moment?!

All right, I'm off to find some solution to this hideous scandal, and if it involves selling off a couple of limbs or some extra relatives on the black market to scam a last-minute ticket to Venice, fine. You *suck*, Universal Vs. Cycling.tv and every other damn outlet on earth!

Update: Thanks to all for the advice on alternatives. Plus, Tom Boonen's positive for cocaine again. I don't know about you, but I sense rehab, folks, whether he actually needs it or not!

The 2010 Tour de What the Hell Are You Freaks Thinking?!

California, Here I Come--Not!: Is there a good reason why the organizers of the Tour of California want to tell every half-decent Italian and Spanish rider on the planet to eat it by scheduling next year's race right smack in the way of the Giro and the Volta a Catalunya? Y'know, I hope you goons aren't pandering to Little Lord Lanceleroy by scheduling it so he can use it to prep for the Tour in the off-chance he decides to crush Alberto Contador like a malaria-stuffed mosquito again next year, 'cause frankly, the old guy is gonna have to kick off (the bike, of course) eventually, and then what the hell was the point? And don't give me that crap about the weather, these boys ride in Belgium for heck's sake over the sleet-soaked cobbles of death so cry me a river if it takes the tropical fruit an extra day to ripen because it's mildly chilly out for one day in California. How dare you defile the Giro, after Paolo Bettini deigned to ride your lousy race?!

Katu-sh%@!: yes, we haven't even started the Giro yet, and if Katusha weren't already total pointless packfiller in this year's race with the absence of Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen from the sprints, Christian Pfannberger has been suspended by the team for a doping poz just one day after sending the team a friendly note saying he was withdrawing from the Giro roster for "personal reasons," apparently because he, personally, is a low-rent, cheating spitwad. Aw, Christian, what were you thinking--*never* be the first guest at the party, if you'd only waited til an Italian came up poz for the Giro before you went on the juice, UCI'd barely've noticed!

Prince of Tides: and, I see Simoni's baby-bushwhacker ex-teammate Damiano Cunego is pegging himself a favorite for the race, which is pretty surprising considering his total karmic inability to come up with the goods since the Piccolo Principe's hype machine went into full power like 4 years ago, though I do hope he does well because his poor, loyal tifosi just seem so heartbroken whenever he proves, yet again, that he is--though noble is the endeavor indeed--a Classics man. Meantime, everyone else is swooning anew over the incomparably dreamy Ivan Basso for the win, and one of the really nice things I'm noticing about Alberto Contador besides his admiration for Ivan is how heartily he extends his good wishes to Armstrong to overcome that pesky collarbone and reign triumphant in...well, May, and that's pretty much it. Aw, don't worry little Contador, I'm sure that with Astana's current financial problems Lance won't even have a team to ride for in July! Oh, wait...um, maybe Katusha'd consider you for that newly-opened spot? Or, y'know, Caisse d'Epargne might be short a captain if the Italian narcs beat down Valverde..but then there's Luis Leon Sanchez to step in...Well, maybe one of the photographers'll let you ride on the back of their race moto--I mean, it's not quite the same as riding the actual race but you'll get a nice view of the eventual winner, right?

Welcome Back, 'Korouv: in other Astana news, I see Kazakh rock-star/erratic wingnut Alexander Vinokorouv is looking forward to completely destroying the perfect 2009 Vuelta with the foul acid-bath of his corrosive (if lively) returning presence, with the added bonus that he's gonna go for gold in next fall's Worlds. Gee, grab a trunkload of IVs, a couple of doctors of dubious credentials and swill-dwelling ethics, get ol' pal Kashechkin on his cell-phone, and Samuel Sanchez has got himself an actual rival this year!

Law Is A Many-Splendored Thing: finally, congrats and a passionate "in bocca al lupo, baby!" to the aforementioned Alejandro Valverde, who has decided that he's gonna sue the Italian narcs in the wild and astonishingly unlikely hope that he'd actually be better off getting his !@# adjudicated in front of the Spaniards. I mean, it's not like they've protecting him with all the gun-toting fervor of, say, Cadel Evans' formidable 2008 Tour de France posse, is it? Hmm, maybe I better rethink that...

RJ's Doping Dos and Don'ts

All right, pro riders. At the moment, damn near the lot of you make me sick. You've defiled this beautiful sport, made pure sportsmanship the scorned purview of the naive and stupid, and effectively mocked the un- and under-paid, hardworking, honest club and small-team riders who wouldn't think of polluting their bodies or love of riding for a better result even if they had your obscenely inflated salaries and 24/7 access to podium babes. That said, if there's anything that pisses me off more than a liar and a cheat, it's a stupid one. Ergo, dirtbags, in a rare act of mercy, I give you RJ's Doping Dos and Don'ts:

1. DO say you didn't do it *one* time, then shut the hell up for all eternity and refer all questions to your lawyers. Sure, you're lying, but at least we only feel like punching you once.

2. DO make a date with a good spa and, if necessary, a spectacular plastic surgeon. To the pretty go the spoils. Sound extreme? I got three words for you, buddy: Basso, Valverde, Boonen. Now fer heck's sake pout those newly-plumped lips!

3. DO stick with the party drugs. Hell, even that idiot Schumi got off easy for amphetamines. Yum--coke!

4. DO confess to old offenses. Exhibit A: Erik Zabel. Come on, who doesn't love Zabel?

5. DO stay on UCI's good side by crusading against everyone else doping to conceal the fact that without it you no longer get the same results. Works for David Millar, right?

6. DO, despite a lifetime of self-absorption, now crave the charity circuit. Oooh--waifs!

7. DON'T believe UCI when they say you'll be rewarded for helping them, ever. So, how's Jorg Jaksche doing these days?

8. DON'T claim that someone slipped you a mickey at the club or in your water bottle. Even if it's true--and it's not--you're asinine. If you're really that paranoid, pay your grossly exploited soigneur an extra 50 bucks a night out of your Ferrari budget to guard your drink and stop insulting us with that bull!@#$.

9. DON'T hide behind your wife, girlfriend, or mother. It makes you look like a wuss, and frankly, if you do it, you ARE a wuss. Riccardo Ricco', read and learn!

10. DON'T whap on so many testosterone patches, o esteemed women's peloton, that you suddenly sound like James Earl Jones, develop a suspiciously Ben Affleck jawline, or actually grow a working, visible penis. Folks do notice.

11. DON'T hide your stash in the home of your family or friends. You're a wank to implicate them. And this, children, is why God created safe deposit boxes.

12. DON'T ever, ever, ever use your innocent dog's name in vain by making it a code name on your blood bags or in any other fashion. Because you're gonna go to hell. And you'll deserve it.

Well, dope fiends, most of you will still continue to cheat like the opportunistic amoral podium-hos that you are, and a select, unlucky few of you may even get caught doing it. But at least this way I'll still respect you in the morning!

!@#dammit, Rebellin, You !@#$wad!

Aiiigggghhhhh!: okay, two cyclists are poz for drugs from the Olympics, and if my hopes already hadn't been crushed enough by this filthy disgusting cesspool of a sport by Iban and Roberto, from which I am distinctly still recovering and was just yesterday thinking how Heras' situation was all Denis Menchov's fault, now it's !@##$ing allegedly Classics god/aging-well Davide Rebellin down the tubes. Frankly, I don't care who the hell Scumbag No. 2 is, although if Valverde finally gets busted I suppose it'd be a glorious irony and if it's Samuel Sanchez perhaps that will send me quite over the edge, but I am extremely irked if for no other reason that someone who was buried in the peloton for the entirety of its prime doping years ought at least to have figured out how to do this !@#$ without screwing it up. What's far worse, this is just in time to completely jack over we-still-love-and-I-don't-give-a-crap-if-he-pimps-his-own-grandma-for-banned-substances-twenty-times-a-freakin'-day Gilberto Simoni for the Giro d'Italia. You moron, couldn't you have just stuck with the coke and X at the disco like everyone else?!

Gila Monster: of course, the big headline at the fawning princes of denial over at Gazzetta dello Sport is that, despite prohibitions against Pro Tour teams at such events, Armstrong is riding the Tour of the Gila, which, as long as we're exempting Armstrong from any rules whatsoever in order to kiss maximum cash-cow !@# we might as well just do with regard to everything else, including doping tests, the SATs, traffic laws, the criminal code, and the law of gravity while we're at it. I mean, I'm happy to see Levi and Horner ride, but man, can we act like there are *any* other riders left on Earth? Y'know, I'd like to suggest that the rules be similarly waived for, say, Floyd Landis so he can ride in Europe this season, but somehow I'm suspecting that suggestion wouldn't get quite the same reception....

I Wonder/I Wah-Wah-Wah-Wah-Wonder: why Liquigas, despite the formidable performance of St. Ivan of Varese in last week's Giro del Trentino, is still trumpeting Basso and golden-locked babe-muffin Franco Pellizotti as "co-captains" in the Giro? Just bluffing? Fear that a clean Basso of 2009 isn't quite the certainly-equally-clean Basso of 2006? Pellizotti threatening to sue their pants off for breach of contract? No, perhaps the two of 'em were given joint leadership to mollify 'em like tantruming tots when they were squabbling over preening time at the mirror in the team bus...

CSC What Happens When You Hose Wee Little Sastre?: yep, saving the Schlecks for the Grand Boucle, Bjarne's announced Saxo Bank's Giro squad, and though there's no GC contender in sight there is, thank goodness, Jens to randomly slap the field silly on the attack at will, JJ Haedo for the sprints, and Cancellara to hopefully herd the team to a time trial win. I know, I'll be rooting for the Italians in every other stage, cut me some slack--forza Jens!

You *Suck*, Cycling.tv!

Aaaaaaiiiigggghhhh! (Spoiler): you *blow*, cycling.tv! Here I am, enjoying my "live" coverage of the fabulous Liege-Bastogne-Liege, happily watching baby Schleck smile for the cameras as he's within 2k of the line with an unbeatable lead and indignantly wondering if I am the only person in the world who for once wanted to grab a fistful of doped-up syringes and collectively jam them in the !@#es of the lame disorganized numbnutted chase group to at least get them acting like it would be interesting to win or hell even halfway try to contest the race, when with 1k to go the picture entirely freezes up into a still photograph and I have to hear the race organizers describe in minute detail how little Schleck has all the time in the world to zip up his jersey give a victory salute come triumphantly across the line and, not incidentally, like half a freakin' hour to climb into the team bus for a nice massage and get back to the hotel for a nap before the picture unfreezes just in time to watch the rest of the boys straggle in after I've already heard what order they're in. What the hell, Cycling.tv?! We are in the absolute dead zone of cycling coverage here in the US, we're clearly ready to sell off excess body parts to raise money for the privilege of paying out the hoo-ha to get it, !@#dammit pay some chump with a videocamera charging on a stallion alongside the group as a backup if you !@#$ing well have to and don't lose us within like 20 yards of the finish line!

Thank you. And kindly don't even *think* of allowing this stupidity to happen during the Giro.

Regards,

Racejunkie

Tough Luck There, Alberto!

The French Back Off: yep, the pissy whiners at AFLD have finally decided to forgo any disciplinary action against Lance Armstrong for taking a post-ride shower and siccing Johan Bruyneel on their hapless urine-sample-collecting goon, citing, after intensive investigation, that "we look like a pack of !@#holes." Oh, poor little Contador--so close and yet so far--sure you don't want to offer to, say, start 'protecting' Lance's water-bottles from anyone (else) looking to take the King of All Creation down ahead of what would have been your Tour?

The Seventh Circle of Hell: indeed, that would be the latest address of we love Andreas Kloden, nut-kneeing the competition in the time trial Giro del Trentino (yes, I saw Simoni was 4th to Pampeago behind Basso's 2nd; he's just saving his legs for May, go to hell!) only to inform the press that Johan--I mean "Klodi"--'s decided to bag the Giro entirely in favor of the incredible honor and good fortune of being a totally subservient subhuman pace monkey to the overly-entitled supernova-of-an-ego that is Lance Armstrong at the Tour de France. Man, Klodi, bad enough that after repeat Tour podiums you were reduced to being Alberto's !@#$% (I could handle, if still be somewhat irked at, your being Levi's); how much lower can you go without actually being ordered to carry Lance up freakin' Alpe d'Huez tied on to your back? Now don't go getting any ideas, Johan...

Update: Yes, I read all about "T-Mobile" and "Klodi." I'm sure it's all a gigantic typo and Der Spiegel meant "Discovery" and "Armstrong." La-la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you-la-la-la....

Don't Mess With Bill (Lance, Whatever): Let's see. The Giro d'Italia race organizers are really excited that Lance is gonna ride their centenary Giro, even though he clearly doesn't give a rat's rump about the race, because he's gonna bring in more money and publicity than God. And Lance just happens to despise Italian national champ/anti-Lance activist Filippo Simeoni, who rides for Ceramica Flaminia, who the race organizers just barred from the Giro. And now, despite the outraged howls of Simeoni and Ceramica as to how a pack of--ack!--Spaniards at Xacobeo Galicia could be more deserving of riding the race than they, RCS is refusing to discuss their reasoning. Um, not to accuse RCS of cowboy-coddling or nothin', but I can't help but surmise that, since Basso, DiLuca, Petacchi, and the CERA-suckin' Ricco's alma mater Fuji are all being welcomed to the race, the problem sure as heck ain't Simeoni's doping history. Or am I just being paranoid here?

Now These Boys Have Their Priorities Straight: finally, for your delectation, here's a spankin' new bike-friendly ad from the fine folks at Stella Artois, for whom I am not a paid shill, for the record, though I am certainly open to soul-selling bribery:

Put Up Or Shut Up, Already!

UCI's Yippin' Again: yep, our intermittently doping-averse friends at UCI are almost on the warpath yet once more, warning us for the umpteenth time that they're really, really, really gone name some dirty, dirty dopers busted by their vaunted Biological Passport program, this time as soon as they have a nice cup of tea and read the morning newspaper, head out to the park for a romp with the dog, stop by mum's house for a chat and some of her famous chocolate-chip cookies, pick up the dry-cleaning, take out the garbage, finally get around to cleaning out the gutters over the garage and--oops!--time for dinner so I guess this'll have to wait for tomorrow now anyway. Damn, UCI, you already gave the boys more than enough time to amp up their pre-season blood values by announcing the program half a year before you implemented the thing--if you've managed to pull off even a quasi-sustainable poz out of this farce despite such stupidity, then either !@#damn name 'em or !@#damn shut up til you can actually justify one already!

B-b-b-bad To the Bone: and, controversy continues over the Theo Bos/Daryl Impey sprint incident at the Tour of Turkey, and while you can judge for yourself here,, for my money, when even notoriously cheap-shot-prone Robbie "Head Butt" McEwen thinks you've pulled a wank move, you're one testosterone-OD away from a Mike Tyson impromptu in-fight earlobectomy. Y'know, watching the replay, it is sorta like those helpful tifosi giving a gentle push to a struggling climber up a muscle-draining Dolomite pass, if you're also trying to shove 'em off the mountainside I suppose...

18 Days and Counting: meanwhile, it's less'n three weeks now til the 100th Giro d'Italia hits the road, and the Liquigas boys are out in force going over the team time trial course, leading to rapturous well-wishes by the tifosi and, in case any of you should remotely doubt St. Ivan of Varese's return to purity, even more irreproachable photos of him cavorting humbly with wide-eyed bambini on his website. Just look at 'im--who could doubt such a wholesome creature? So lay off him, you soulless, cynical vultures!

Coming Around Again: finally, I note with pleasure that for those of you still heartbroken that doper-haven Rock Racing is about to tank, Danilo Hondo is ready to take up the charge in his own native stomping grounds, already contemplating putting together a new squad of his own, not only with him to helm the professional medical needs of, I mean the professional development of, a pack of innocent newbies, but, he hopes, with we-still-miss-him-and-like-you-don't-either Jan Ullrich at his back. Oh, as if you won't enjoy watching 'em too, you lurid voyeurs!

What Else?

All right, we all know what happened: Tyler Hamilton came up poz on a banned substance, and retired. And the reactions have been all over the map, from "screw him, he's a lying !@#$%$#@ *again*" to "leave him alone, the poor guy's ill" to the tifosi's relief and pride Cipollini bailed out of that freak show to a burned-out "just go *away* already." Me? After agonizing over why I feel so ambivalent, I think we're dealing with basically three aspects of Tyler (or his career) here:

1. Tyler the Badass: love him or hate him, you gotta admit, even in a sport filled with perversely ecstastic masochists who live for pain--and I concede that, as someone whose greatest physical struggle typically involves manhandling a stubborn cork out of a wine bottle, I do find it mystifying--Tyler stands out. Climbing up some of the most fearsome mountains in the game while pounding on a broken collarbone with every twitch of your body, no matter how much crap you're taking to (1) get you there or (2) kill the agony itself, is nothing if not spectacular. On this one, he was unforgettable, and nothing else he ever did changes it.

2. Tyler the Lying Sack of !@#$: Whatever pathetic need to believe in this sport and its heroes that led me to deface one of his expensive charity's hats with a desperate blazing-red "Free Tyler!" was totally blasted out of the water when he claimed, among other ridiculous excuses, his blood values were off the charts because he ate his own twin. Ya doped--deny it and shut the hell up, or admit it and shut the hell up, but don't have the total lack of grace and the contempt for everyone around you to spew ludicrous bull!@@# like that. In fact, Captain Implausible, it's the reason that an awful lot of good and sympathetic folks now have the sneaking suspicion, or outright claim, that your latest wah-ing is just another in a long line of disgusting scam-artistry. And frankly, using your depression to excuse never owning up to what happened and to quash any entirely fair and reasonable questions about your actual motives now is a punk-!@#, cowardly move. Zero, zero, zero sympathy here.

3. Tyler the Patient: he's got an illness, it's still got a stigma, his facing it and, even more, going public with it takes strength. And part of what's so sad about this whimpering end to Tyler's career is that the antidepressants he was taking that apparently weren't working aren't even on the UCI's banned list. But as someone who lost her dear mom to cancer, I have to say that if he is *remotely* using for one iota of a microsecond her struggle and his reaction to it as a means to justify or garner sympathy for something as base, inconsequential, and stupid as a doping poz--and I will assume, because he's a human being, that he isn't and wouldn't--he oughta zip it right there, unequivocally, for good, and never speak to the press or public again. Meantime, I hope he finds whatever he needs to get and to stay well, because the last thing this sport needs is another Vandenbrouckian or Pantaniesque tragic downward spiral. And perhaps someday, he'll come to terms with owning up.

Oh, and Michael Ball, you couldn't've helped him. He had to find his own way there. But what you can do to help everyone incidentally, is stop hiring every !@#$%in' unrepentant dope fiend on the planet, dressing 'em up in terror-inspiring acid-green spandex, and calling 'em a cycling team.

All right folks, that's all the thinkin' I can do on a weekend without making my head hurt. Tomorrow, it's back to the trenches!

A Pound of Flecha

The Thrilla in...Well, Paris: so that was a roarin' Roubaix, with Hincapie and Devolder knocked out by the Worst Timed Mechanicals Ever, an enraged Leif Hoste--always the slightly-pitiable Dean Martin to Boonen's too-suave Frank Sinatra--sidelined by a careening Juan Antonio Flecha, a surprisingly strong we love Thor Hushovd done in by a slight misjudgment just as he'd surged ahead of Tom, and our Belgian babe magnet just powering away for the win as a booed-beered-and-spit-soaked Pozzato lumbers into second. The fallout? Pozzato cussing out the (pretty low-rent, I grant you) lougie-wielding fans, Boonen copping to indifferent form, Hushovd bemoaning his carelessness, Armstrong tweeting that he thought that watching a bunch of lame-!@# male debutantes at the Masters golf tournament was more interesting than the race, and freakin' everybody lamming into Flecha for (1) wheel-slurpin' laziness and (2) flat-out stupidity. Add to that, the poor fans seriously whomped by a moronothon race moto and the usual gauze-n-blood-covered body count, and you've got yourself a Classic! Question: so is Hincapie, having lost the big one once more at the fossilized age of 35, gonna call it quits, or is he gonna try to live the dream for one more year?

Prijs Release Me/Let Me Go: meantime, in today's action, Robbie McEwen is whining that someone else made him crash and burn *again*, Boonen's foot is disturbingly sore, and the Italians are already crowing that Petacchi's gonna beat the crap out of all the other big boys at the Giro. In related Giro news, dreamy-eyed ex--um, nothin'! he didn't do nothin! Ivan Basso sez he's on smashing form, leaving the tifosi in paroxysms of all-caps-and-exclamation-point-laden ecstasy over his inevitable grasp of the final maglia rosa in May. Hell, more likely him than Cunego, right?

Pimp My Website: yep, Tour hopeful Cadel Evans' new site is up, and to his credit, it's buckets jazzier'n his old one, with the added bonus that you can leave him cheerful notes of encouragement as to his form and Silence-Lotto's excruciating inability to give him the backup firepower he'll need in July. Even better, elsewhere on the web Pippo Pozzato'll actually respond to you if you drop him a note, so if you're Belgian, still can't let go of the Flanders wheel-suck debacle, but were unfortunately too well-raised to actually go up and spit on 'im, you can simply insult him in writing and likely receive an interesting response. But perhaps he could use a little love after this week!

You Ain't The Only One, Honey: finally, if I were ex-Liberty Seguros (alleged!) lab rat Alberto Contador, I'd've thunk twice last week about crowing over how blown away I am by my own shockingly instantaneous improvement in the time trial of late, if only because every time someone totally physically unsuited to the discipline suddenly goes into hyperspeed in it--like his old teammate we-still-love-him-because-he-was-a-perfect-climber-so-bite-me-you-merciless-goons Roberto Heras--he inevitably ends up in the headlines with an IV in disconcertingly close proximity to every single vein in his body. Begging for a twice-daily visit from the narcs, are we?--you better be grateful AFLD likes you better'n Lance, kid!

It's Not Easy Being Green; and, A Call To Action

...Or A Guy Dense Enough To Name His Blood Bags After His Dog, Either: yep, despite the objections of the rabidly anti-doping Spanish authorities, Alejandro "The Green Bullet" Valverde's hearing in Italy is set for May 11, where our still-unscathed hero is gonna have to try to delay any ban from riding on Italian soil til at least after the Tour de France, which, of course, should the ban be in place, would DQ him from riding for GC in the Tour because one stage crosses briefly over into Italy. Given how ticked off they are over Basso's cruel 3-year exclusion, good luck with that one Alejandro! Oh, well, you could always pull a Ricco' and keep yourself busy teaching spinning classes--at least then you won't have to face the press after blowing the Grand Boucle *again*!

It's My Body and I'll Cry If I Want To: so Lance, predictably, has gone on the offensive over the French accusations of grievous etiquette violations, claiming of course he couldn't give a blood or urine sample til after he'd had time for a nice hot shower and his manservant Johan spent half an hour checking the narc's credentials anyway. Okay, Lance, it was an inconvenience, and I sympathize with the hideous damage to your beautiful coiffure, but am I the only one who remembers poor shocked Kevin Van Impe being accosted for a doping control then threatened with sanctions right after he'd learned his infant son had died? Yeah, Lance, *that* it ain't. So suck it up, quit whining (as should the French, while we're at it), and move on already--and oughtn't you at least pretend to keep an eye on the surging Contador?

World's Dumbest Criminals: and, congrats to alleged master thief Lee Crider and general master doofus Dung Le, busted for, respectively, stealin'-and-sellin' and possessing Lance and two other Astana boys' incredibly inconspicuous specially-pimped bikes from a team truck at the Tour of California. Um, I don't remotely want to encourage this sort of knavery, but neither of you two rocket scientists ever heard the handy phrase "repaint it first"?

As If!: meanwhile, I see time trial genius (oops, almost) Stefan Schumacher, banned for 2 years after an exceedingly impressive 2008 Tour de France, has appealed his case to the CAS, which, particularly since he's protesting his actual innocence, sez it unfortunately won't be able to hand down its predetermined screwover til the near-end of the season. !@#dammit, Schumi--quit yapping about this meaningless "justice" crapola--just grab yourself a forlorn-lookin' baby to kiss and start chasing down the paparazzi with it already!

Yes, We Can!: finally, I've just learned the European wine industry is in serious trouble, and folks, as lovers of international cycling, it's frankly our duty to fix it. Therefore, in the interests of saving our beloved sport, and because I just plain like alcohol, I propose a new drinking game: (1) every time the Italians wank about Valverde, toss back Chianti Classico. (2) every time the Spaniards complain about the Italians wanking about Valverde, it's a glass of Tempranillo. (3) every time the French whine about--jeez, what don't they whine about come to think of it, but let's stick with Armstrong anyway--snarf up a nice Bordeaux. I guarantee, with these options, we will have this industry back up and rolling within days. Now get out that corkscrew, and allez, allez!

Foiled Again!

Nasty Boy: yes, the triumphant French narcs over at AFLD have nailed Lance Armstrong at last: they've sent a scathing report about his--you guessed it!--behavior during his recent hair-sample gathering to the guardians of etiquette at UCI and WADA, which means, of course, they've failed to get him for actual doping *again*. A violation of politesse by this uncouth barbarian cowboy-pig--quelle horreur! Um, not to tell the French how to prioritize, but isn't there, say, one or two other podium-shot riders we can all think of, perhaps even in the same team kit, who they might more profitably turn their attention to ahead of July?

I Feel a Hot Wind/On My Shoulder/Must Be the Breath of Stijn Devolder: wow, did race fave Pippo Pozzato hose himself suckin' on Tom Boonen so tightly, and while those two trade whines over their colossal mutual woof, I must concede that, while I was actually rooting for we love Thor Hushovd because I'm still stinging from big Maggy Backstedt's casual remark that he oughta be Heinrich Haussler's lead-out--and even a bit for Tom just because hardly anyone picked him either--Devolder's whomping two-fer of a breakaway-shattering solo run absolutely kicked !@#. Oh well...at least Pozzato looks very "Make Me a Supermodel" on his slinky new website!

Killer Queen: meantime, the Queen of Classics, Paris-Roubaix, is almost here, and in my usual paean to losing causes I'll say flat out I desperately want Hincapie to take it, if only because anyone who has the craptastic luck to have his steerer tube shear off his bike while in great position for victory and the stellar reflexes not to impale himself on the thing like he's committing hara-kiri has really, in my view, already earned the thing. Heck, the world owes him *some* justice for killing himself at Lance's service for so many years with only one lousy Tour de France stage win as his thanks in return!

Take On Me: finally, as the Italians continue to pursue Alejandro Valverde in vengeance for Ivan Basso being justly busted for Op Puerto, I see the Spaniards, who in the last years've masterfully avoided taking any action against anyone among a whole peloton's worth of drugged-up home-grown skankballs, are suddenly aggressively declaring jurisdiction over Alejandro, no doubt so they can help make sure those old needle marks are well-covered by makeup by the time he's forced to testify about a truckload of blood bags that not only belong to someone else's dog entirely but will also almost certainly mysteriously disappear sometime this week and render the entire inquiry moot before he even has time to lose this year's Tour in his own right, *again.* See, Italy, they're all for equal punishment for equal crimes--if you're Italian or German, that is!

Wow Italia!

On the Attack: so with Giorgia Bronzini smoking the trackies, Pozzato finally reeling in the wins, and even LPR taking a team time trial this week, the real surprise is how good Damiano Cunego, whose record of choking in three-week stage races since his inaugural win as a baby is matched only by his fanatic tifosi's spectacular denial of same, is looking. With Garzelli and Simoni aging, DiLuca being hosed out of Classics--and thus valuable training--left and right despite LPR's apparent compliance with the useless biological passport, Basso improving but not enough yet to confirm he's gonna be who he was two years ago, is it possible this all-talk-limited-action Giro aspirant could really take the whole show in May? Holy moly, we might really have an actual competition here!

Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?: meantime, the ever-doormat that is Andreas Kloden is feeling confident about Astana's killer squad for the Tour, and also saying he has no plans whatsoever to retire any time soon, as the poor doomed sod has a contract with Astana through--gnurk!--2010. Oh Klodi, you've tasted multiple Grand Tour podiums, you could no doubt do more, you're far too good to be some wanky little brat's and past-his-prime giganto-ego's pacesetting !@#$%--how many times must I plead with you people, GEEEETTTTTT OUUUUUUUUTTTTTT!

The First Annual Let's Celebrate Diversity Day: yep, lest anyone think it's only the Spaniards who have an all-star doping doc in the person of Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes, former T-Mobile mastermind Rudy Pevenage is here to enlighten: France, Belgium, Italy and Switzerland have their unsung medical heroes, too, except no-one's had the stones to rat them out. The French, doping--no! Oh, wait...no wonder the Spaniards feel picked on!

Jailhouse Blues: and, I see Bernhard Kohl's manager, arrested earlier in the day for pimping doping producs to athletes including the above, has already confessed to blood-transfusing him, which is presumably the subject of Kohl's press conference set for this evening. Luckily, he seems to have been the supplier for athletes other than cyclists as well, which gives some hope that someone, somewhere, in the Austrian peloton remains clean. Anyone willing to hazard any names--or are we all too used to being disappointed by now?

The Law of Unintended Consequences: finally, as the world eagerly scans every gross photo of Armstrong's gory surgical dressings, if I didn't already love gazzetta dello sport enough for its relentless coddling of all riders Italian, here's another reason to love it even more: perfectly juxtaposed with the video-feed headline "Contador on Armstrong's Injury" is a still shot of our princeling weighing in--and he's smiling broadly. Perfetto, Gazzetta--you may now resume complaining about Alejandro Valverde!

Oh, and we love Jens!

Sowing the Seeds of Love

You're My Best Friend: as the love-fest continues between the recuperating Lance "I Like You, I Just Think You're Stupid" Armstrong and Alberto "Get Well Soon So You Can Ride the...Giro" Contador, I must say I find it equally heartening that the same good feeling flows from Contador to we love Levi Leipheimer, for whom Alberto is generously delighted to domestique, so long as the old bat doesn't get all uppity over a paltry handful of Grand Tour podiums and a wunk of stage wins and unquestioningly takes his place beneath Contador's nut-kicking bike cleats in July. Aw, someone learned their lesson on "sharing" in nursery school!

The whole problem, of course, could be easily solved by Lance's following through on his reported interest in buying up the Tour de France, which'd not only have the so-sweet satisfaction of humiliating the French even more'n their losing the last 20 Tours to a pack of low-life McDonald's-sucking foreigners, but would also, one imagines, give a certain amount of influence over who snags an invite to the Grand Boucle in the coming years. You want it Alberto?--wag your !@@ and bark like a dog for it! I said BARK, Fido!

BalaBiteMe: meantime, Alejandro "The Green Bullet" Valverde, who joined the Vuelta a Castilla y Leon in a last-second snit he was starting to get overshadowed by Lance and Alberto, I mean, in a thoughtfully-calculated modification to his originally-planned training program, had two great rides at the Vuelta, reminding the foaming-nationalist Italian tifosi how incredibly pissed they still are that the Green Bastard's been winning races the last two years while fellow Op Puerto culprit (and not even really a culprit! just an *attempted* culprit!) St. Ivan of Varese has been cruelly and unjustly banned from the bike. Don't worry, Alejandro, I'm sure they'll get over it in time for your grandchildren to race in Italy without the fans hunting 'em down like wild boars...'til then, enjoy the sunny weather in Spain, or take yer chances!

Back in Black: finally, it's a tentative welcome back to disgraced-yet-beloved (oh, give me a !@#damn break, like you don't miss him!)perpetual-trainwreck Jan Ullrich, whose ol' mentor in blood-value adjustment, Rudy Pevenage, reports may join the management team at Rock Racing, which, incidentally, is looking for an even more unbearably egomaniacal showman of a sponsor than Michael Ball, so long as he's got the dough to ease the pain. Come back, Jan--wouldn't it at least give you great publicity ahead of your promised tell-all?

I'm Sorry, Was That My Bike Pump I Accidentally Shoved Into Your Spokes?

Yes, as every clueless noncycling news outlet immediately started shrieking like they were reporting a catastrophic spontaneous explosion of the entire Earth, Lance has indeed fractured his collarbone, and while it was allegedly the crappy Spanish roads that took Armstrong out, not any nefarious underhanded bushwhacking by his baby savant teammate Contador, for my money--aside from the Italians getting to breathe a ginormous sigh of relief that they needn't collectively juice themselves beyond all human recognition just to guarantee one of their own takes the 100th edition of their national race this May--the big story is that with his like-he-ever-gave-it-a-rat's-!@#-about-it-anyway Giro jacked, it seems a virtual statistical certainty that Armstrong is now gonna take, and Contador is completely and officially screwed out of, the team leadership at the Tour. Scope out the Plateau de Beille? Practice your (freakishly improved) time-trialling? The hell with that, Alberto--just practice stuffing multiple water bottles down your jersey and zippin' 'em on up to your master from the team car instead--and give me your bike, you peasant, I've just gotten an ill-timed flat!

Of course, there's always the possibility that Lance will bail on his Tour--and thus his entire comeback--in the next day or so, which, however utterly lame an ending to his perpetually whored return, he'll certainly do if he feels remotely like he won't be the blinding star shining on top of the final podium in Paris for win number 8. In this event, (1) Vs., if you even *think* of displacing Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwen, Bob Roll or even, by god, the vomitoriously atrocious Al Trautwig as commentator in favor of this arrogant unbearable wank at the Tour for one single second, I swear I'm gonna start a massive global publicity-blitz campaign demanding an immediate return to full-time bass-fishing programming, and (2) despite his likely new-found optimism, Contador might as well quit the Tour now and hit the beach anyhow, as every no-neck ESPN talking-head troglodyte is gonna yap 5,000,000 times in July even when Contador freakin' wins the Tour that he'd obviously never have done it if Armstrong were there.

And I won't even point out, because I'm not a wholly callous smirking troll, how perfectly ironic it is that Armstrong was the only rider really taken out in this multi-cyclist accident just days after he blasted Contador for being an inexperienced error-prone twit. Now, sincere wishes to Lance for a speedy recovery, let's leave the poor guy to get some much-needed rest, and--Alberto! Put down that champagne! Turn off that damn techo music and quit dancing around! You've got a race to ride tomorrow!

Oh, and here's the replay:

The 2009 Tour de Lance

Nobody Does It Better: just when you thought the defenseless Alberto Contador couldn't get any more dope-slapped by Astana for the egregious sins of winning two Grand Tours Lance never bothered to even race and snagging a couple of stage wins at Paris-Nice to boot, 2009 Tour de France team leader Lance Armstrong, unsurprisingly, smacks him again, this time by disdaining Contador as too "nervous," and with such a strong team and a great manager, "why get nervous?" I don't know, Lance, because the strongest rider in the world right now (however you think he got that way) is being treated like a 20-euro-a-week chamois-washer by his own freakin' squad? What's more, his wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am love affair with the Giro is distinctly over it seems, as Armstrong plans to be only at "90%" for it and save his real legs for another race--guess which one!--instead. Y'know, particularly given that Contador's stupid double-chest-thump-and-gunshot routine is starting to make me want to thump someone myself, and I mean hard, stop making me feel sorry for this kid!

Keep Up the Good Work, Ricco'!: and, congrats to obnoxious Simoni inferior/Tour de France CERA-sucking scum-cheat Riccardo Ricco', whose two-year ban was just reduced to a sweet 20 months, and will therefore be relieved of his spin-class duties and back in the peloton just in time to defile the 2010 Giro d'Italia. Woo-hoo! Of course, his Saunier Duval teammates, who barely managed to morph themselves out of total unemployment by saving sponsors Fuji-Servetto, have happily received the news that thanks to their beloved ex-squadmate they're completely jacked out of this year's Tour de France. Anyone else thinking Ricco' oughta be careful not to get *too* close to the edge of a mountainside next time he has the pleasure of riding with his old teammates again?

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This: in other Tour de France news, I see Floyd Landis is dreaming of a return at the 2010 Tour, and while I can't imagine the race organizers would let him even get off the plane before they accidentally broke both his knees with a well-aimed crowbar to prevent it, no matter what you think about the validity of the conviction resulting from his ludicrous monkey trial, you gotta admit, it wouldn't be any worse than half the other riders and teams ASO lets into the race year after year. Come back, trustbutverify, come back--who else has tracked him so tenderly!

E.R.: finally, as the dismally unfortunate peloton gets off to about the highest early-season body count I've seen yet, best wishes for a speedy recovery to Quick Step newbie Kurt Hovelijnck, in the hospital with a fractured skull and hopefully, soon, on the mend. Holy moly, is *anyone* going to be left at the end of this summer?

Johan Bruyneel is a Tool

Got Class?: okay, Contador bonked badly. Very badly. But he's still very young, and he still took two, and quite near three, stages in a rather well-regarded race. But even putting aside Lance Armstrong's cool comments as unsurprising from a guy who's too nearsighted to see beyond the immediate glare of his own enormous ego, Johan Bruyneel snarking that "What else is there to say than he didn't race intelligently? He only had to look after Sanchez," was a punk-!@#, low-rent move. Y'know, I don't even care if it's correct--he's *your* freakin' rider, and if you thought he was such an irredeemable moron, why the hell didn't you cut him loose for one of the other 8000 teams that'd've pimped their own grandmas to get him when your golden god returned? And can we get, as Anonymous points out, into the fantastically craptastic performance of Astana, leaving Contador utterly isolated when he needed them most--I mean, !@#$in' *Quick Step* outpacing them in the mountains? That's just lame. And sorry, but Gallopin's blaming the loss on the lack of Levi and Chris Horner (while a nice compliment to them) doesn't change the fact that Armstrong's little acolytes Brajkovic and Popo oughtn't to have, well, mostly sucked. Maybe you're right Anonymous, beyond even my wildest paranoid conspiracy theorist dreams--after all, it sure couldn't be looking much better for Lance at the moment, could it?

Nice Guys: otherwise, though, it was a rippin' Paris-Nice, and I gotta say, besides giving cycling.tv massive points for having big Maggy Backstedt call the race, everyone who's been treating former fellow ONCE/Liberty Seguros nestling Luis Leon Sanchez like Contador's less coordinated slightly embarrassing baby brother better take a look at his growing palmares and the fact that Caisse d'Epargne seems to be quite conscientiously grooming him for the long haul (and I won't even suggest why it's a good idea for them to have a backup for Alejandro Valverde). And while I'm still mystified why the refs didn't penalize Sylvain Chavanel for his egregious team-car drafting on his way back from the Worst Timed Mechanical of the Seasom--tho' it was nice they didn't--what I cheered for most (besides we-still-love-so-bite-me Frank Schleck's smashing performance) was undoubtedly Christian Van de Velde's accidental whomping win on a breakaway. I love late bloomers!

From Sea to Shining Sea: meantime, over at Tirreno, I see Andreas Kloden got the last win Johan'll ever let him take in his entire career, nailing the time trial and setting up a nasty battle for GC, only slightly overshadowed by his too-telling assessment of his role in July where he didn't even mention poor Contador. Okay, I'd been somewhat ignoring the race as it focused on the flats--but is anyone else impressed by how Tyler Farrar smoked Cav, Boonen, Petacchi, and McEwen at the line? Not to be a coarse raging nationalist, particularly since I'm usually rooting for the Italians, but one more American win like this and I'm gonna have to stick antlers on my helmet like one of our tasteless fans at the Tour o' California and start running alongside the racers screaming in a thong. Woo-hoo Tyler!

Gilberto Guevara Rides Again: finally, as Basso continues to insist on his Twitter feed that he's on perfect form, Gilberto Simoni celebrates his recent win in Mexico beautifully by not only doing some charity work for the local bambini and quoting the great, drug-addled Italian pop star Vasco Rossi on his site, but also managing to compare himself to Che Guevara, which considering the way some other folks are erroneously judging their chances for the Giro perhaps isn't so ludicrous after all. Viva la revolucion, Gibo!

Lookin' Good, Liquigas!

Starting the Season in Style: as wussbag doper-enabler Pat "Dick" McQuaid at UCI, after righteously announcing the imminent bust of a big passel of sport-destroying scum-cheats, decides to put off actually nailing anyone anytime soon for it *again* (and, being kind, objective, and pretty lawsuit-shy, I won't suggest this has anything to do with concerns some of his more, well, preferred riders might be in trouble), Liquigas, lately blessed with heavy anti-doping artillery/studmuffinly pinup king Ivan Basso to pound the path to virtue, has already produced the first major drug bust of the season: wee little neo-pro/Duran Duran throwback Gianni Da Ros. Curiously, neither Team Liquigas' nor winged crusader Ivan's website mentions the incident in their news sections, but they do profess excitement for the team's chances at Tirreno-Adriatico. Oops, I see that Liquigas and the Italian cycling fed have both already leapt into action and suspended the boy. My, the "new generation"'s getting cleaner by the day, ain't it?

Johan's Choice: so with Contador having stomped the field in a shocker of a flat opening time trial at Paris-Nice (despite a miserable day and colossal time-suck yesterday), the obvious dilemma arises: if Lance can't pick up his game, and Contador keeps riding like he has been this season, Johan's going to look like a major Lance-pandering unjust-jerkface !@#-of-the-century if he doesn't give Alberto the unquestioned team leadership he's so clearly earned come July. Johan, I know Lance is your beloved and your mentee, the one you've nurtured, who in return has given you seven Tours and more dough, power, and prestige than even the most brilliant team director could ever hope to achieve. Heck, I even admire it, despite its wholly self-serving aspects. But if you don't give this babe-in-arms the full-court press he deserves, in favor of Lance who is not yet what he was and likely never will be again (particularly when he's made it spectacularly clear he's only fallen in love with the Giro out of concern he mightn't win an 8th Tour), you are doing a serious disservice not only to Contador, but to cycling itself. And I say this, of course, as one who firmly believes the child was doping along with everyone else in his infancy at Liberty Seguros, whose current purity I cannot help but cringingly doubt, and who is still deeply pissed at how repeat podium finishers Leipheimer and Kloden have been jacked out of not only the Tour but now the Giro as well, reduced to 3rd rate domestiques, and have given you (publicly at least) nothing but humility, acceptance, and hard work in return. *You* bought the goods, Johan, use 'em--tough for you if Lance came back, especially when you threatened to kneecap poor Contador for breach of contract when he completely justifiably objected to your perfidy after your empty promises of total backing. Let merit, and not your little cult-o'-Armstrong, really decide the outcome!