Races! Prizes! Crazy-$%^ Team Leaders! It's Yer Tirreno-Adriatico in Preview! Plus, Pippo Shows the Love

Yes, it's time for the glorious Race of the Two Seas--and Contador, with Froomey out with a back injury, and defending champ Vincenzo Nibali sittin' it out, this one's on *you*!

In: Giro/Tour GC contenders Quintana, Cadel, Contador, Uran, Purito Rodriguez, Richie "Boy, Did I Just Piss Off Paris-Nice" Porte. Not In: Alejandro Valverde, who's already creepin' the hell outta everybody with a record-breaking 86 victories so far this nascent season. Thank god!

In: Fabian Cancellara vs. world speed champ Tony Martin and Brad "I Never Wanted the Tour in the First Place" Wiggins for the time trial. Unless, say, some freak comes outta nowhere to take it--Stefan Schumacher, is that you?

In: Cav's teeth and Kittel's hair face off for the sprinters. Oh, and Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel. Me, I'm bankin' on--damn, do I wanna be chomped to death, or choked from mousse fumes?

The Prize: If you're Alberto Contador, Oleg Tinkov doesn't beat you to death with his seat post. If you're anyone else, you get this *really* cool trident thing, which is even better than the Paris-Roubaix cobblestone, the Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne donkey, or the Tour de France xenon-gas inhaler-canister. Just don't tick off the guy who wins it!

Unrelated Pippo Pozzato Lovefest: finally, yes, it's completely irrelevant to this discussion, but huge points to rakish peloton stud-pup Pippo Pozzato, not only for impossibly making the already fabulous Lampre-Merida team kit even more dazzling, but especially for twitting a late-nite pic and heartfelt "grazie!" to those unsung heroes of cycling, the mechanics, who, even more more impossibly, keep the riders' bikes lookin' even prettier than Pippo is. Forza, ragazzi--hey, *you* want a job where Andy Schleck can still be bitchin' about a chain that dropped like half a decade later, punk?

Get the Hell Outta There, Alberto! Wiggo Plays Nice! Lance Plays Dirty! and, It's the Strade Bianche, Baby!

Ole' Ole', Ole' Oleg!: Okay, Alberto, you greedy little prima donna, you've got wingnut team boss Oleg Tinkov's cool approval for now: he ain't makin' any calls about your performance in the Tour de France, he *is* optimistic for yer chances at Tirreno-Adriatico. Take what you can get at this point, honey! Unfortunately, despite the outraged denials of a certain rider's agent, and Luca Paolini's descriptive emoji twit-dismissal of recent rumor-mongering, Tinkov seems a lot hotter on 4 million euro prospect Peter Sagan, which means if he *is* gonna pony up to break all kindsa contractual hoo-ha, you can effectively call your team supremacy--hell, relevance--at Tinkoff goodbye. If you can't pound Froomey at the Tour Alberto, you better get out while the getting's good--and perhaps be ready to get out after Tirreno!

Wiggo Plays Nice: well, nice-ish, anyway, as admits to some post-Tour discombobulation and vows to "help" Chris Froome all he can this year. Uh, I don't know if you remember, Froomey, but if Brad is going by *your* definition of "help" during *his* winning year, I think you're pretty well !@#$ed. Unless attacking your own team leader, openly deriding him in the press, and generally acting like a total impatient backstabbing wanker are "helpful"--well, don't say you weren't warned!

Ugh, Lance, *Again*: yep, even besides the usual charges of disgusting cheating 'n' extreme toolishness which have surrounded our hero of late, there's even more scandal a-risin' with the latest wave of Lance Armstrong books, with good-guy Wheelmen author/intrepid journalist Reed Albergotti reportedly saying that Lance or his minions contacted his bosses at the Wall Street Journal to try to get his !@# fired, apparently over some bothersome "truth" that got in the way of Lance's image and, even worse, his own dazzling self-worship. !@#$, Armstrong, where's your class--you coulda just gone to the WSJ offices and personally cornered 'im outside the toilet like you did with ol' Tyler Hamilton!

It's the Strade Bianche, Woo-hoo!: and finally, there's lots of actual racing going on this weekend, with the beautiful Strade Bianche and the beginning of unsung super-domestique-but-leader-in-his-own-right Richie Porte's defense of Paris Nice. What to see on the white roads in Italy: not freakin' much, thanks to the damn (yet hallowed) dust, but it'll be a bangin' race, with we love BMC's (omigod! BMC???) Samuel Sanchez, Cadel, Sagan, Wiggo, Cav, Valverde, Cancellara, and defending champ Moreno Moser all on hand. Me, I'm actually just stoked to Samu' back in action again, especially since I'm traumatized enough as it is by wishful thinking every time I see Wiggle-Honda's Euskaltelian orange-and-black team kit. Good luck gents--and Peter, you can start proving yourself and your salary demands to Tinkov now!

Frozen Eyeballs! Chain-Ring Chest-Rippage! Yep, It's Classics Season All Right

Omloop-de-loop: first, a big bucket o' well-earned beer to Brit Ian Stannard (tho' it rather broke my heart that Greg Van Avermaet didn't win) for his (and Britain's!) first Omloop Het Volk, and congratulations to the rest of the survivors, including Thor Hushovd, who first suckered some of us (ahem) with sordid rumors of a broken arm (though I was thinkin' collarbone when I first saw him) then fortunately turned to have been not dented quite enough to threaten the rest of his Classics, Tom Boonen, who doffed his rain-gear just in time to get uncharacteristically bamfoozled by downpour 'n' cold, and some poor bastid who apparently suffered a "frozen eyeball." Ow, !@#$! For the women: Giant's Amy Pieters, beating out Lizzie Armistead and previous repeat winner Emma Johannson, and a whole lot less blood 'n' gore from the lot of 'em. Well, count your blessings most of you--you don't have to fear the race for a whole 'nother year!

To Every Thing, Kuurne, Kuurne, Kuurne: and, a narrow and thrilling triumph of experience over exuberant youth over at Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne, with a redemptive if fruitless ride for yesterday's-crash-out Luca Paolini, and a gnarly if ultimately not crushing chomp to the chest with a chain-ring and some hospital-room stitches for a still-perfectly-coiffed Taylor Phinney, as big Tom Boonen bagged a record third Kuurne with a perfectly-timed bike throw and a Miley Cyrus tongue-thrust over Belkin whippersnapper Moreno Hofland, who Tommeke sure better assume is gonna plan for that same trick next year, even if Boonen *is* still gonna kick his !@# again anyway. Plus, you get booze and a donkey for winning it! Woo-hoo Tom--and no offense to his great Classics rival Fabian Cancellara, but eat it, buddy, this is only the beginning this season!

Breakin' the Law/Breakin' the Law: finally, speaking of cobbles, apparently UCI is intent on enforcing Rule No. Screw You You Weaselly Wussies, which bars riders from--as they often do--hopping off the cobbles or any other frightening surface to a softer, steadier, 'n' generally less bone-snappin' adjacent path. Well, there goes half the field at Flanders--boys, buttress your collarbones, you ain't getting off that easy this year!

Omloop! Kuurne! The Belgian Races Begin! 'N' What to Look For

Yeah, break out the beer 'n' frites, babes, 'cause now that the peloton's broken in its legs a bit, it's time for the start of the bad-!@# Belgian cobbled Classics season, where the hard men face off, the GC contenders cower like whimpering wussbags, and the rest o' the pack just tries to escape the race intact. Woo-hoo! So what's up this weekend? This:

Omloop Het Nieuwsblad: Men's: Luca Paolini's defending it, Thor Hushovd needs it, Tom Boonen wants it, and the Muur-Kapelmuur's gonna make 'em all pay for it. The course 'n' other news flashes:here. And this, a truly bangin' recap of 2013:
Women's: a 127k o' bone-rattling sufferfest. 2013 was Tiffany Cromwell, but 2012 champ Loes Gunnewijk is there too--on the same team with repeat winner Emma Johannson!--and word is Wiggle-Honda is out for blood and podium. Just get the hell outta their way and you'll all be juuuuuuuust fine! Last year's:

Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne: the twitchy legs! the likelihood of carnage! the bitchin' name! oh right, and did we mention last year was cancelled due to freakin' snow? Yep, from Edvald Boassen-Haagen-Dazs to Nick Nuyens Zdenek Stybar Sep Vanmarcke and, damn, pretty much anyone on Lotto-Belisol, it's a lively--and hopefully not frostbitten--race this go-round, with a likely fast bunch finish and a whole lotta recriminations from those caught out afterwards. The weather forecast: better'n last year! Still, stay upright, hope for no mechanicals, and for heck's sake, directeur sportifs, if it turns nippy out there, put some nice hot cocoa in these boys' water bottles so they don't just freeze to death!

Sink(ewitz) or Swim: Ban Avoidance 'n' Minimization Tips for Pros

Hey, You Sink My Battleship (Well, Career): yes, former T-Mobile rider Patrik Sinkewitz, who'd landed a pretty sweet comeback gig with Meridiana-Kamen and just rode to a strong second in the Trofeo Laigueglia to boot, has been slammed with a career-killing 8-year ban by CAS for being a serial cheating dirt-weasel. Why, when so many other admitted repeat offenders have gotten off much less painfully? *Rules*, Patrik--you ignored the *rules.* And while it's beyond me why I should wanna help *any* of you miscreant doping scumbags, I'm still gonna give you yer Ban Avoidance And Minimization Tips for Pro Cyclists:

1. Network. Don't dope (or get caught, anyway) unless you're doing it for such a colossal sport-screwing !@#hole that every narc on earth'd give you a pass so long as you help hand 'em the big guy you've sworn eternal subservience to for years. There's a reason why brown-nosers get ahead!

2. The Devil's in the Details. Which is what you give 'em, pal--no "I never saw anyone else do it," or "I acted on my own" bull!@#$--they want details, and they *don't* want 'em about some half-!@#ssed first-year soigneur drug-courier. Caveat: if it's someone who's been publicly supported by the current sporting or anti-doping head, give 'em someone else!

3. Go to Charm School. Cultivate (a) an adorably eccentric habit or (b) excessive humility. Collect action figures? Amuse your fans with yer ever-changing facial hair? Ride pretty well but don't make a big yap out of it to journalists? If your answer is "no", no legion of devoted fans, self-named gran fondo, hugely lucrative clothing line, or highly respected development squad for you!

4. Pick Your Battles: you want to take Mont Ventoux over a pack of genius-climber cat-fighting GC contenders? Fine, anyone can have a good day. But don't take the next two mountain stages too, you nimrod!

5. Cool Yer Jets: And while you're taking Ventoux, don't, for heck's sake, take it by ten minutes when you've spent the vast majority of your career as water-bottle-carrying pack fodder. Slow, steady, and a few hundred gasping grimacing meters' advantage wins the race--*and* deflects the critics!

6. Choose Yer Specialty: remember when Stefan Schumacher suddenly started kicking Fabian Cancellara's !@# in Tour de France time trials? Yeah, the anti-doping authorities noticed it too. For !@#$'s sake, pick something you're already plausibly that good at!

7. Get Smart. People can forgive a doper; what they *can't* forgive is an eejit. Do you really think the narcs--and the all-important public--would've been half so hard on Danilo "Low-T" DiLuca or Riccardo "Refrigerator" Ricco' if they hadn't been such egregious ostentatious morons?

Alright, you ungrateful skanks, hear me now and believe me later--or we'll all just see you in court!

In Which Contador Lowers the Bar, Valverde Continues to Creep Us Out, and VeloNews Cheers Up All the Guys Who Can't Dope Anymore

Well, I Might Annoy You, Anyway: yep, he's come a long way from those pre-ban days when with a bat of those pretty eyelashes he could conquer a Grand Tour when he'd barely even clipped into his pedals and smoke the time trials he now all but concedes are unwinnable, but Alberto Contador hasn't quite given up yet, sort of: even though Froomey's pretty well unbeatable for the Tour de France, our boy vows he's at least gonna bug the hell outta him while he's getting there. Now *that's* the ol' fighting spirit, Alberto! Aw, come on, tell me this is one of your long-ago canny stealth moves where you sigh your legs are feeling "okay" then you leave the whole field crying in the valley while you're already up Mount Ventoux....

The Green Bullet Returns!: and, in a disconcerting nod to our final news bite below, former naughty-boy Alejandro Valverde is already skeeving us out this season, grabbing two stages, including the opening time trial, in the Ruta del Sol and threatening, as always, to post even more disturbingly successful results in the bigger, later races of 2014. I'm sure it's just that bangin' new diet you've been on, Alejandro! Or your change in training methods. Or that aero new Movistar kit. Or--well, I better stop while I'm ahead, I guess!

Like Still Being High Years After You Embarrassed Yourself Gacking On That Joint in High School, But More Lucrative: Dead sorry you stopped doping in 2006, like everyone else totally coincidentally did? Still pissed you're now forced to compete clean against the chumps you were beating the chamois off before? Well rest easy, (ex) scumbag, because Velonews has learned that the benefits of doping last looooong after that handy masking agent has left you with the apparent testosterone levels of a My Little Pony doll! Oh, come *back* dear darling Vino, come *back*--according to this, it's not like your performance will have dropped since you left the peloton anyway!

It's Cycling's Greatest Romances (Pretty Darn Recent Edition)!

Oh, sure, Valentine's Day is long over, but you know what isn't? That's right, haters--the deep and abiding love within members of the peloton, ties drawn tight by long, lonely hours of training, the brother-or-sisterhood of shared exhaustion after a day's hard pursuit of a common goal, the exhausting, clandestine midnight road-trips to a magical, faraway clin--y'know, love of pure sport, I say! Anyway, for the secret chick-flick watcher that dwells deep within each one of you--and you know, however shamefully, o studly bike jockey, it's in there--I bring you some of Cycling's Greatest Loves:

1. Alberto Contador and Johan Bruyneel: He was the puppy-eyed Next Lance, a peerless climber with an impressive time-trial and the apparently seamless ability to turn them both into Grand Tour gold. The other he was the heartbroken hit-maker searching for his next little gleaming comet. And oh, was it beautiful for the like three months it lasted!

2. Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong: What happens when the star-struck Next Lance meets the fading resentful Current Lance? In the immortal words of Bette Davis, "fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night!" Yep, that was one delightfully ugly Tour de France all right...

3. Alberto Contador and Oleg Tinkov: Dang, this kid gets around! So y'know when you've saved up for a really nice romantic dinner with your sweetie and one member of the couple two tables over is having an epic screaming public meltdown while the other one just sort of tries to calm things down by melting cringing into the tablecloth? Yeah, that. But they're getting along famously now--'til that damn Oleg started throwing new crush Sagan in Alberto's face the last couple of weeks, anyway!

4. Mark Cavendish and Roberto Ferrari: oh, sure, he's dallied with Andre and and Bernie and Marcel and Peter--but nothing's quite set off the sparks like the instant attraction between Mark Cavendish and Roberto Ferrari at the 2012 Giro. Yeah, Ferrari's bike was attracted right across the entire road into poor Cav's, that is! "

5. Rui Costa and Carlos Barredo: yes, tots, it's been relentlessly drilled into you since nursery school--be nice, and share. And what's nicer than sharing an expensive pro-level wheelset with a needy competitor's brain case? Carlos Barredo (whanger) and reigning World Champion Rui Costa (whangee), this one's for you!

6. And, Last But Not Least, Chris Froome and Brad Wiggins: Tracy and Hepburn, Bogie and Bacall, Kardashian and West--history is replete with examples of enduring love between formidable (or embarrassingly dimwitted) equals. Which is what protected Tour de France rider/eventual winner Brad Wiggins thought, anyway, 'til wingman Chris Froome attacked his own darling leader during the race whined about his own obvious superiority to the press and openly declared he'd'a won if he hadn't had to shepherd Brad around like a smart dog with a dumb sheep. Classy!

Well, there's certainly buckets more, but them's mine for now, and the rest of you, keep the lovers' quarrels under wraps next time--on the other hand, maybe don't!

My Fantasy Mark Cavendish Press Conference

Good morning, arseholes. I've called you here today because you won't quit bitching that that arrogant pile of hair and styling mousse Marcel Kittel is the new sprint king of the peloton and I'm some sorry left-over has-been. First, I'd like to say, !@#$ off! Now, I'll take questions from the audience.

Q. Mark, your teammate Tony Martin hasn't been seen in public since he choked your lead-out at the Tour of Dubai last week. Where is he?

A. (Digs out piece of black spandex from teeth, spits it out onto table): Haven't got the faintest idea, mate.

Q. You are one of the winningest sprinters in all of cycling history. How do you handle the pressure of that impressive legacy at such a young age?

A. Are you saying I don't?

Q. No, it was a compliment. I mean--

A. 'Cause you can go to bloody hell if you think you have half the balls to get on a bike and try to ride against me yourself you !@#$%ing !@#$%. In fact, why don't we--

Q. Uh, let's talk about your experience at Team Sky. Despite the differences you had with management, did it help you grow as a rider?

A. It helped me grow when I called Brad Wiggins a !@#$ing !@#$% and told Brailsford to !@#$ himself if he couldn't appreciate everything I did for him.

Q. How's your experience been so far at OPQS?

A. Great. I've got my right-hand lead-out man back, I've got the full support of the squad, this is gonna be a fantastic year. In fact, I owe it all to them. When I win.

Q. You've actually been really gracious and almost charming in the wake of last week's unfortunate outcomes, even tweeting self-deprecatingly to Marcel Kittel and being up for playing some video games. Is this a sign of the professional regard you have for him?

A. Of course. He's a great rider, a great bloke, I was hoping to spend some friendly time with him. Especially if I could grab his video game controller and wham it into his--(handler leans over, whispers in ear)

Q. Mark, if you have a weakness--

A. (Leaps up) Are you saying I do?

Q. Um, one of your lesser enormous strengths, as with many other phenomenal sprinters such as yourself, is your climbing ability. Do you see that as a particular problem in the race for the green jersey against Peter Sagan at the Tour de France this season?

A. That snotty little show-off piece of !@#$ couldn't sprint his way out of a paper bag, so what if he can climb, I'll show him a !@#$ing green jersey winner that puffed up overpaid--

Q. You've been known to go off in a rage and blame everybody but yourself when you lose a sprint. How do you respond to that criticism?

A: (Lunging across table, restrained by team reps): I'll mother!@#$ing kill you you ignorant piece of !@#$! If I mother!@#$ing lose a sprint it's because I got boxed in by some incompetent !@#$ing moron or my stupid !@#ing train leaped too soon or some mother!@#$ing idiot changed his line with no warning and cut me off like a !@#damn psycho! I'll roll right over you you !@#$ing bastard! I'll chew your piece of !@#$ car to !@@##$ing pieces, I'll ram this microphone down your !@#$ing throat! I'll--(dragged off by security still screaming)

What Can You Get For One Peter Sagan? Let's See!

So after ex-road god/former squadra azzurra commissario tecnico/new Alonso bigshot Paolo Bettini scoffed at the idea of 2015's hot new squad shelling out 3.2 million euro a year (that's about 4.3 mil to us Americans) on the grounds you could buy like three other top-flight riders for the price, I couldn't help but wonder, what *else* can you get in exchange for the kid? Well:

1 Lamborghini Veneno (!@#$, was this what Tom Boonen was wrapping around a frickin' tree? good thing Peter's still got 300k left over to fix it)

16 Ferrari 458 Spiders

353 Chevy Sparks

2.15 Alejandro Valverdes

323 Cannondale SuperSix Evo Black Incs

25,294 GMC Denali 700cc Men's Road Bikes (at Wal-Mart)

107.5 years of doping supplies and treatment (2006 prices)

157 Sets of All the Stuff in the Song "Twelve Days of Christmas"

270,440 Team Cannondale Elite Corsa Water Bottles

(This one's for you, Chris Horner!) 930,736 Big Macs;

And, for you Sagan swooners out there (oh, and you *know* you want one): 179,541 Peter Sagan "Tourminator" T-Shirts

Well folks, you tell me if he's worth it--and either way, Peter, with all that dough you got, get shoppin'!

Woo-Hoo BMC--Samu's Got a Sweet New Ride! And, It's 1/21th of a Tour de France for the Women!

Like I Didn't Love You Enough for Signing Thor Hushovd: now you've got my eternal loyalty, as BMC steps up (per, no doubt, my January 22 obsequious beg-fest and of course the rest of the internet's lobbying), takes advantage of the spot left by the fired Alessandro Ballan, and--despite the fact that it's expressly a support role, which, thank you very much, I expect him to fully settle out on the road--signed we love desperately jobless and incredibly talented 2008 Olympic champ we still horridly miss Euskaltel's Samuel Sanchez. Well anyway, them gold accents looks awful nice with red and black, Samu'--and get ready for August after you superdomestique in May or July, because Lampre can keep cheeseburgering Horner all they want, but I still see a Grand Tour captaincy in your future come August!

They Are the Champs-ions, My Friends: and, allez allez to the women's peloton, who finally get 1/21th of the Tour de France they deserve with a earlier-day sprint to the boys' celebratory victory lap on the Champs-Elysees, which Giorgia Bronzini will win and which should be, say, next year dammit, filled out with the rest of the damn race. Still, it's a start--and Marianne Vos, since you're already hanging up your 'cross bike for the season after demolishing the field yesterday, I say you just sneak on one of the early-DNFing gentlemen's team kits slip in to some unsuspecting team and ride the whole damn men's Tour anyway!

Samuel Sanchez Sez He's Gonna Retire! Someone Hire 'Im! Aiiiggghhhhhhhhh!

You Suck Oleg Tinkov!: all right, I've offered repeatedly to chip in to buy dear Samu' a new gig (sure, I've got like five bucks, but still it's a start), and have been met with absolute ennui, so now that a despondent Samuel Sanchez is giving it 10 or 12 days to find a new team before he hangs up his wheels for good--because he doesn't seem inclined to, say, have to take a year off the bike then see if he still score a space with Alonso--I'm making a general plea to everyone in the universe: someone hire Samuel Sanchez, dammit! Anyone! I'll sell my Euskaltel hat to raise cash! I'll hold a bake sale--and you folks *really* do not want to have to eat my baking! I mean, jeez, ProTour, even if your roster's filled with superstars and pack fodder you can at least find him a job as a really, really, really fast coffee-getter, right? And to everyone who contributed to we're still crushed by darling Euskaltel's downfall, which has left a whole 'nother group of very fine riders without jobs--screw you you !@##$ing !@^%$wads! Here, look at Samu cooking down the Galibier in 2011:

Uh-oh, *Someone's* in the Dog-House: in news about folks who already *have* contracts, all of whom except Jens I irrationally resent right at this moment, beloved big lug Thor Hushovd's conceded he's gotta pull in some serious results at BMC or else he's gonna have a beastly time staying with them or anyone else--I still believe in you Thor!--and Philippe Gilbert's outright saying that if he chokes this season after his difficult World-Champ year he's gonna bail outta the peloton entirely even if he's otherwise got options. I admire you as an athlete for wanting to retire when you've still got something in the tank--but I still think you'll cause everyone a lot of pain this year at the Ardennes!

Please Don't Eat the Daisies: and, UCI's finally conceded defeat on the issue of clenbuterol, warning riders of the risk of genuinely accidental guiltless positives from beef in China and Mexico, which, unfortunately, still leaves poor Alberto Contador down a Tour de France. So, we letting Mick Rogers off the hook now or what?

Team "If We Can't Beat You, We'll Beat You Down"; and, Quit Pickin' On Nairo You Damn Sponsors!

Like a School-room In Summertime--No Class: well, I wasn't planning on an awards show for the Tour de San Luis, but I guess at least one is due for Thugs o' the Race--after one of their boys already sucker-punched the harmless Kenny Dehaes during a sprint, now Team Buenos Aires Provincia's whacked (purely idiotically, but still) poor Tyler Farrar with their team car, leaving Tyler, already screwed for the whole season out of a lead-out by Garmin's new focus on GC, with a pile o' abrasions and some bruised or possibly even busted ribs. Jaysus, guys, you're supposed to win by *out-riding* the competition, not *eliminating* it! What's next, sneakin' in while the mechanics are asleep and slashing the tires? Better not give 'em any ideas, I guess...

San Luis Luis/Whoah-Oh/We Gotta Go!: meantime, as Nairo beats everyone else up the mountain by approximately 6 days 4 hours and 37 minutes, then puts in a bangin' time trial and locks up the GC, our baby superstar is also feeling just a bit beseiged by everyone fighting over whether he's gonna race the Giro or the Tour, which, aside from the relative merits of the arguments and the distinctly unnecessary psychological pressure it must be putting on the boy, at least has the minor benefit of surely driving Grand-Tour-lusting teammate Alejandro Valverde absolutely insane. So leave little Nairo alone everyone--do you *want* him to crack like a walnut before he even decides which leader's jersey he's gonna target? Here, he wraps up the whole show on stage 4:

A Man Down Under: and, despite a very encouraging performance by the Giro-targeting Cadel Evans, congrats to Orica-Greenedge's unbeatable Simon Gerrans for winning his third Tour Down Under, which will henceforth, according to a press release from the riders' association, be known as the "Screw Riding Around In All This Heat For Nothin' Guys, Let's All Go Get a Cold Beer While Simon Takes It Anyway Tour." Way to go Simon--next stop, whoever bothers to race against you at the Sun Tour!

Danilo Di Luca Feels the Love; Froome Feels the Burn; and Hey BMC, Hire Samu'!

If "Scumbag," "!@#hole," and "Bastard" Are Terms of Endearment, That Is: yep, the peloton's sure taken kindly to Danilo Di Luca coming clean about doping in the sport, with Andrew Talansky in the early lead for Tweet-o'-the-Year for sayin' he feels "genuine hatred" for him and he's a "worthless lying scumbag" who is clearly "delusional," damned-by-implication defending Giro champ Vincenzo Nibali kindly suggesting he's perhaps "a bit brain-damaged," and his few defenders--Dr. Eufemiano Fuentes and assorted miscreants who think it's a good thing to break omerta again apparently among them--getting blocked, unfollowed, dope-smacked, turbo-noogied and generally humiliated in the ihateyourgutsosphere. Who *is* gettin' the love outta this fiasco? That's right, 2008 CERA disgrace Riccardo Ricco', whose ever-loyal fans, as the Cobra's own proud retweets indicate, figure if what Danilo is saying is halfway true, Ricco' should be able to come back and join his equally dirty peers in the races right this very minute. Me, I think anyone who damn near kills himself with a bag o' blood left to sour in the fridge next to the week-old pizza leftovers oughta be banned for life just for stupidity, but if they're gonna ease up on that whole no-doping thing, well so be it. Just check the expiration dates on that !@#$ before you use it this season, moron!

It's a Glamour "Don't"!: oh sure, those Sky 'n' Trek mesh skinsuits were hot'n'sexy (well, actually just plain creepy) in theory, but in practice, they're a slather-you-in-hot-sauce-n'-throw-you-on-the-barbecue disaster, as reigning Tour de France king/fashion faux-pas lab-rat Chris Froome apparently had a baaaaaaaad experience with the scorching sun at the Tour de San Luis today. Now fix this mess before you take we love Cancellara out--and like Andy Schleck's not a crybaby enough *already*, now you wanna turn the poor kid into a piece o' toast?

Horner My !@#: and fine, Lampre's still all game to have Horner sign on, but have you fair-weather freaks forgotten about dear Euskaltel's we love Samuel Sanchez? Well, I haven't, and here's my solution--if Oleg Tinkov didn't love Alberto Contador enough to take 'im on, I see BMC's recently got a big hole in its roster and budget now that it's fired poor ozone-doper Alessandro Ballan. Wah, wah, you got Cadel for the Giro and Tejay for the Tour, but who better to shine for you at the beautiful Vuelta than Samu? And it's not like Lampre don't already have too many cooks in the kitchen, either--c'mon, BMC, take out that checkbook and Give Samu a Ride!

"Tattoo Tom" Comes Along: finally, nice to see Tom Boonen threatening some 2012-era form already at the Tour de San Luis today, and, according to the swooning local press, he's got some bangin' new ink to boot. Watch out, Pippo--dashing new bike-short tats or no, Tommeke's catching up with you!

Now *That's* a Gnarly Doping Control; the Season Takes Off; and, Carnage Report!

If You Have an Erection Lasting Longer Than Four Hours, Tell Your Team Doctor He !@#$ed You Up: so, thought you'd mercifully heard the last of serial eejit/banned for life ex-cyclist Danilo DiLuca? Nope, he's back honey, and--with the exception of having enough politesse, or at least self-preservation, not to name names--ready to squawk about doping in the peloton. First up: 90% of the peloton is doping, as are all the top 10 finishers in the Giro d'Italia, so quit pickin' on him you meanies! Second, as an EPO aficionado--and an inept one at that--he's completely calling bull!@#$ on the idea that you can ingest that stuff unintentionally, particularly (and he does make sense here) if the best way to take it is to stick a needle in your !@#. As for other designer drugs? Well, Viagra, as a vasodilator, is apparently useful when it's cold out, but *he* sure as hell wouldn't take it--I mean, the guy has standards! Uh, am I the only one feeling exceedingly sorry for the poor bastard asked to check for evidence of Viagra ingestion at the post-race doping control? I swear, they can't pay those guys enough...

And We're Off!: Before we get to actual results, let's all howl at the top of our lungs how a peloton without our dear orange-and-black Euskaltel completely sucks eggs, shall we? There! But still, the season's finally kicked off, and while Saxo boss Oleg Tinkov can pity impoverished Garmin impresario Jonathan Vaughters all he wants, he sure oughta envy his results: approximately ten minutes into the season, Vaughters protege Phil Gaimon has already bagged his first win with the big boys in the Tour de San Luis. Well done, whippersnapper! And has anyone yet explained how Simon Gerrans--brilliant a rider as he is--actually kicked Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel to the curb in a sprint at the Tour Down Under? Here, the San Luis recap, with a great beat to boot: Welcome back peloton--it's been a loooooooong off-season!

Carnage Report!: sadly, with the start of the season comes also the start of the destruction, with poor Tommy "the Grimace" Voeckler crashed out before he even leaves team camp with a crap re-break of his just-healed collarbone, philosophical Movistar good-guy Giovanni Visconti mourning the lonely 5-week road back from a snapped tibia, and both valued Cav lead-out Ale-jet Petacchi and inevitable-future-Tour-winner Nairo Quintana both whacked with stomach ailments at San Luis. Hey, I thought you only got a "stomach ailment" when you were about to test poz for something! Well, better to hear it's just some lousy bug, if it has to be anything, I guess...anyway, get well soon boys, and Alessandro, with Cav's beloved Renshaw back in his train, you sure don't want him getting too used to your absence!

So That's How He's Getting Rid of Contador; and, Oleg, Giver of Alms

Color Me Badd: yep, the same week that Team SaxoTinkoff busts out its bright new team kit, goes on an all-out PR offensive that YES ALBERTO IS TOO THE SAME UNBEATABLE CHAMPION HE WAS BEFORE HIS TDF WAS STRIPPED, and publishes an all's-well kissy-fest between Bjarne Riis and his--uh, his team's--new owner, nutwhack oligarch Oleg Tinkov unveils his secret back-up plan: if he doesn't think that little twerp Alberto'll get 'im results, he'll have the team boycott the Tour de France if the race organizers don't pony up big dough to keep 'im in it! Also, he's sorry Garmin boss Jonathan Vaughters is a broke-!@# sponsor-bitch, and has kindly offered him gruel for life. Aw, who said the 1% don't share?

Giro Dreams of Nairo: meantime, way to blow about the Tour GC by stickin' in one lousy section of pave', as 2013 baby podium revelations Nairo Quintana wisely aims to hone his craft at the cobble-less Giro instead, which, unfortunately for Movistar, leaves it to luckless Alejandro Valverde to (1) pick up some freak tropical infection that only attacks the leg muscles (2) drop his chain two yards from the summit of the queen stage or (3) personally spontaneously combust into a shower of smoke and ashes come July. Well, at least y'all still got Nairo for the Vuelta, too!

Nipple Wars: in other news, congrats to Fabian Cancellara's Team Trek for joining Froomey's Sky in the see-through skinsuit craze, which not only means a bonanza for the lucky European sunscreen industry, but also means that sheer mesh catsuits are gonna replace speedos and neon banana-hammocks as the screaming camera-whore fan's running-wear of choice next to the pissed-off stars on the Alpe d'Huez. Not to be outdone, cover-boy Pippo Pozzato has defiantly announced that instead of wearing *any* team kit in 2014, he's simply gonna tattoo the image of some bike shorts and a saddle right on his !@# and ride the season that way. Let the fashion wars begin!

A Humble Offer: finally, I see Movement for Credible Cycling has got out its latest weapon in the neverending war on doping that hasn't happened anyway since 2006: peloton, show your pride with these spiffy new sky-blue I'm Clean! bracelets! Yeah, well, I *personally* offer--I swear--100 euros to the first active ProTour cyclist who wears a black "I'm a !@#Damn Dirty Doper" bracelet at a race this season. C'mon, you know who you are--hell, the bans you've served (or are gonna), you could probably use the money anyway!

Pretty In Pink: Horner Finds a Home?

He Wore Blue....Spandex: so after weeks of speculation, a harsh diss against Christina Watches for hell at least half giving him a lifetime, Vuelta champ Chris Horner, whose most recent likely gig looked like the freakin' unemployment line, has apparently snagged a serious ProTour gig with...stylin' princelings Cunego and Pozzato at Lampre? Me, I'm thinking it's a little like throwing in a snortling stumpy drooling bulldog amidst a pampered pack of diamond-collared high-strung poodles, but then, maybe he'll shake 'em all out of their obsession with flash and bring some actual bang to the squad. Anyway, Rui Costa, remember *you're* World Champion so don't take any crap, Chris, good luck, if this isn't some colossal wise-!@# January Fool's joke, *now* can somebody please Samuel Sanchez because this is clearly *complete* bull!@#$ if he remains hosed--and damn Horner, I know Baden Cooke's working for you for free, but you owe him some *serious* schwag if he signs you this job!

It's the 2014 Vuelta a Espana, Beeyotches (Unless You're Chris Horner, That Is)!

Whoa nellie, viciously-underappreciated Grand Tour fans, the fabulous Vuelta a Espana route is out, and it's a humdinger! Out: 4 of the 12 mountaintop finishes at last year's brutally entertaining route, for a mere sprinter-friendly total o' 8, the Euskaltel-lovin' (oh! I still can't stand it!) Pyrenees, !@#$-me-I'm-the-reigning-Vuelta-champ-and-I-can't-even-score-an-invite-to-the-presentation-much-less-a-team-for-the-damn-party Chris Horner. In: I-better-at-least-save-my-rep-with-this-one-if-I-choke-on-the-Tour Contador, I-will-break-your-domestiques'-kneecaps-to-grab-this-sucker-if-I-can't-win-the-Giro Purito Rodriguez, 1 team time trial, 2 individual team trials, 5 medium/rolling stages, 5 freakin' sprint finishes (and what the Tour de France hell is that about?) and, despite its less extravagant sadism than before, really a quite leg-nipping final 10 days that oughtn't decide the final podium 'til even wee Contador is crying in his muesli. And damn, a pile a' heretical *sprints* just when dear Euskaltel even got a credible fast-man on its squad last year! Anyway, we still love you Vuelta--and riders, quit usin' it as a late-season consolation prize for your blowin' the Tour!

Back to Business (School): meantime, the symbiotic brothers Schleck are back in action, with Frank, who actually can ride alone (albeit with a little, well, help), inexplicably stuck changing diapers for Andy *again* so the baby brother can crawl away, and, just to show they're done with their season-long casual-Friday-attitude bull!@#$, Trek's put 'em in somber banker businessy pinstripes, with a witty white shoulder for a little wacky cyclist pizzaz. That oughta make up for Andy's inability to descend--maybe someone in the pack'll mistake him for the tarmac and inadvertently give 'im a little push. Oh, it's enough to make one long for the hot-pink Telekom days--at least we've got the riotous Yellow-Fluo to be able to pick *some* guys out in the peloton! And in the interests of ladylike delicacy, I'll spare you today's lurid twit-fest o' revealing Astana'n'Thor Hushovd photos, at least unless y'all ask--after all, isn't that what Pippo Pozzato is for?

Leave Phil Liggett Alone (Again), !@&dammit!

Fine, Phil Liggett said today he thinks the young peloton is clean, and of course, now everyone's piling on him for it and for his years of denial about everyone else. Let's get this straight--!@#$ off! Lookit. Phil is the sweet innocent kid whose sadistic smug bastard of a big brother just told him there's no Santa Claus. (Okay, like ten years ago, but still.) He has heard the words, he has seen the proof, he has seen the fake beard and cheap red suit in his parents' closet, and nonetheless he believes. He is marshalling every bit of evidence in his favor. There are presents under the tree. The milk and cookies left for him have objectively been nibbled at. He has personally sat on his lap at the mall. There are whole Christmas specials about the man. You can send him letters, even e-mail him. NORAD tracks him by satellite every year for Chrissakes--the government wouldn't lie! And whether you like Phil or not, we still need him. He is credulous--yes, he is a flat-out naif. But all arguments (and not all unfair or unreasonable) to the contrary, he is not the, or even really a, problem with this sport. He reminds us, with every breathless broadcast, with every unquestioning cheer, with every visceral memory of a particular local wine and particular local cheese in a particular local bar that calls up a particular stage that he talks about, that the fantastic, however unlikely--and however brief if it is likely--can still occur. That years of relentless dedication can lead to one perfect suspended moment, that eight people with completely different interests and skills and egos and desires can yet unite for a few short hours in a single goal, that physical effort and achievement--so far from those of us who can't bike out of our own driveways without gasping for a water bottle and power bar--can be its own kind of art, that one stupid random millimeter can snap a life's work to pieces in an instant, that the fleeting fragile beauty of this sport, however flawed and worldly and conflicted and dirty and downright mean it can be, is nonetheless something worth cherishing. Otherwise, why do any of us care about any of this? Every dream needs its dreamers--don't blame him, even now, for not being the cleanup crew. We still love you Phil!

Froomey In the Sky Mesh Skinsuit: Dang, I Shoulda Made His New Year's Resolution "Cover Up"

Yes, the intrepid team kit designers are out to confuse again for a new season, so how to spot yer fave rider in the pack (or lead group)? Here's your roundup:

Sky: If you see skin, you see Sky. Thank god for privacy panels!

Ag2R: brown may be the color of chocolate, but on Ag2R, it's the color of bugly. Bad enough they don't win, you gotta punish 'em by putting them in this?

Lampre: less sparkly 'n' more reserved blue, but still some sparkly pink. Come back, original garish princess Lampre!

It's Still Liquigas Dammit/Cannondale: no official word yet, but reportedly, ever-shy Peter Sagan again blasts the floodlights. CAN YOU SEE ME? CAN YOU SEE ME? CAN YOU SEE ME?

Omega Pharma Quick Step: what, it's not just enough that Cav's the one at the front? Oh, right, that Kittel guy!

Astana: not as much sunny yellow or (even worse) no giant pic of Vino's face on the front, but they'll still kick your !@# anyway. We love you Vino!

Garmin: Aw, it's got a panda on it. Vaughters, you coy cynical manipulator!

Trek Factory Racing: officially unveiled January 10, but from all indicators, black black black black black. Geez, we get you're in mourning hiring Andy Schleck and all, but can you at least not demoralize 'im right off the bat?

Euskaltel-Euskadi: what else? Orange and--waaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

All right, you got your party outfits on, and Bronzini's already bagged her first race--the rest of you, get *moving*!

It's Your Cyclist Video Roundup Part Un--Musical Edition!

Look, except for 'cross, which I am grossly unqualified to comment on except to note that Tim Johnson is a hometown god, ain't nobody racing at the moment, so let's start the New Year off with a bang with a Cyclist Video Roundup, Musical Edition! Here:











Happy 2014 to All--now get on your boogie shoes!