Aw, *Man*: All right, I'll pony up: I think there's no freakin' way Alexander Vinokourov is riding clean, unless, perhaps, you consider him on a sliding scale relative to, say, Valverde. Allegedly! But when a guy who I love specifically because he's been known to head-butt rivals at the line, go absolutely snarling wingnut at the press and routinely smack down other riders as scumweasels says Vino's paid his dues, apologized humbly, and deserves to be back and lauded for his win unmolested by continued accusations, I concede, such gentlemanly behavior does give me pause. Except the part about the humble apology. Unless "!@#% you!" means "mea culpa" in Kazakh?
Oh, Water Beeyotch....Here, Water Beeyotch!: okay, before I get a ton of crap from a bunch of holier-than-thou tree-huggers, (1) I *have* hugged trees, so lay off and (2) green good, I heart Mother Earth, yap. But what the hell is this stupid lawsuit against a wunk of teams and some harmless schmo from Landbowkredit for polluting the environment by tossing water bottles off the road? First, if this truly *is* a disastrous scourge, how hard is it for you martyrs to just pick the damn things up yourselves, if the many roadside fanatics who actually beat each other senseless trying to claim one from their favorite rider as a prize don't get 'em first? Second, do you freaks know what this means? It means Klodi's gonna have to sling a 50-pound Hefty bag over his shoulder and haul it up the !@#damn Alps to the finish line every day at the Tour de France like some spit-covered garbage-toting Santa Claus! Oh, Klodi...
Or, we could just save the environment by having the team-car staff chug along in donkey carts. Hell, if the peloton *really* gets off the juice, the team cars'll even be able to keep up!
Give Levi a Grand Tour Shot Already!: meantime, over at the Gila Tour, look who's winnin'!:Woo-hoo Levi!
Want Freis With That?: over on the Planet of Dubious Accomplishments, I suppose some accepting-the-inevitable bonus points go to BMC dope-fiend Thomas Frei, who, wracked with guilt immediately upon getting busted by his A-sample, admits to micro-dosing EPO and being thwarted only because he failed to properly flush the evidence out of his system, which begs the question, if dutifully hitting the Gatorade is all it takes to successfully beat the tests, how many of these clowns active right now this season *do* have the attention spans to set their watches and grab their sippy cups? Whew, good thing UCI's been yellin' how the cyclists have completely cleaned themselves up nowadays--50-odd doping pozes into the season I was actually starting to have my doubts!
Don't Let the Door Hit You in the !@# On the Way Out!: last but not least, as Cav continues his Boonenesque downward spiral--without the fun of piles of blow, random club hookups, or playing F1 driver on the autobahn in his sportscar--current nemesis/beloved teammate Andre "!@#$-Race Winner" Greipel has announced his intent to find a team that'll let him ride some real races, specifically the Tour de France, next year, and given the squad's frankly nose-pickin' ennui in response, that team sure ain't gonna be HTC. Oh well, Andre, you tried--at least this way you can settle things with Cav at the finish line next year!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
I Call Bull!@#$, Astana!
You're Freakin' Me Out, Vinokourov: okay, let's get my shameful hypocrisy out of the way first: I often rather love Vinokourov because although he's an unrepentant doping pig, he's at least honest (well, open) enough (despite today's uncharacteristic denials)to wholly embrace it on the grounds that so still are most of his serious competitors, so anyone who's whining about it can look themselves in the mirror while they're jamming a syringe in their !@# and screw. Plus--and unfortunately, no doubt because he's still (allegedly!) a doping pig--there's a certain Ullrichian imminent-catastrophe quality to his racing that is, to say the least, lively to watch. That said, is it too much to ask that (1) he not be so counterproductively ostentatious about (allegedly!) it that he doesn't leave Contador with a third-rate pile of Kazakh packfiller to domestique him at the Tour and (2) at least *one* cyclist gets to win *something* who's clean? In fact, if that punk Valverde weren't also up there at Liege today to obliterate any chance whatsoever of fair play and leave those of us who prefer clean sport to look so much farther down the ranks for a genuine podium, and if Jens Voigt didn't entirely distract me by being smashing to watch for most of the race yet again, I'd be a whole lot more !@#$ed off. Anyone else thinking that if Vino doesn't get busted in the next 13 days we might as well just tattoo the final maglia rosa on his chest before the Giro d'Italia even starts?
Don't Do It, Gibo!: meanwhile, after Simoni had an entirely understandable so go to hell shaky start to his season at the Giro di Trentino, I am flipping out at the possibility that, rather than lose on his beloved Zoncolan, he's going to hang up his jersey instead of dope-sma--I mean, sticking around to help bestest pal Damiano Cunego at least pull off a stage win. Come back, Gilberto--even when you're acting nice, you're still a much more fun interview than anyone else in the Italian peloton! Which brings us to another question: what the !@#$ happened to Pellizotti in Trentino--I mean, I know he's aiming at the Tour and all, but is he really going to let that Teen Beat darling Basso stomp all over him in front of fans and press who already discount him for the entire month of May? Pull it together Franco!
Sister Sister: speaking of Basso, I surprisingly see no mention on his twitter feed about his dear sister's impending trial for trafficking in sports-doping products, presumably because he had the discretion to seek out the good stuff from other sourc--that is, because they are now estranged over their entirely different philosophies with regard to good sportsmanship. Does it strike anyone else as curious that, a few unfortunate and minor-player exceptions aside, it's the wives and girlfriends that are always going down for this rather the jerks who actually take their stuff to win? Kill the messenger, whydontcha--I suppose it's a lot less embarrassing than having to clear the ranks of half the cyclists!
Fuyu Is Right: Team RadioSkank, of course, is still reeling from the colossal misstep of Clenbuterol-snarfing Fuyu Li, who ought to know at a minimum that he's not supposed to test positive until, like everyone else who ever (super)domestiqued for Lance, he's already left the One's precious fold. Like utterly-whipped repeat podium finisher Andreas Kloden *needs* to lose the one guy he could actually pull rank on to send back for water bottles? Arrrgghhh!
Like a Fine Wine, But She Can Beat You *Down*, Honey: finally, just an encouraging nod to the French, who have at least one rider they can count on not to suck year after year after year: yep, it's permanent French champ/new autobio author Jeannie Longo, reportedly considering what to do after her cycling days are over but who luckily has at least another generation to finalize her plans. Allez allez Jeannie--and for heck's sake, can't somebody take her to the Tour de France start line with the boys?
Don't Do It, Gibo!: meanwhile, after Simoni had an entirely understandable so go to hell shaky start to his season at the Giro di Trentino, I am flipping out at the possibility that, rather than lose on his beloved Zoncolan, he's going to hang up his jersey instead of dope-sma--I mean, sticking around to help bestest pal Damiano Cunego at least pull off a stage win. Come back, Gilberto--even when you're acting nice, you're still a much more fun interview than anyone else in the Italian peloton! Which brings us to another question: what the !@#$ happened to Pellizotti in Trentino--I mean, I know he's aiming at the Tour and all, but is he really going to let that Teen Beat darling Basso stomp all over him in front of fans and press who already discount him for the entire month of May? Pull it together Franco!
Sister Sister: speaking of Basso, I surprisingly see no mention on his twitter feed about his dear sister's impending trial for trafficking in sports-doping products, presumably because he had the discretion to seek out the good stuff from other sourc--that is, because they are now estranged over their entirely different philosophies with regard to good sportsmanship. Does it strike anyone else as curious that, a few unfortunate and minor-player exceptions aside, it's the wives and girlfriends that are always going down for this rather the jerks who actually take their stuff to win? Kill the messenger, whydontcha--I suppose it's a lot less embarrassing than having to clear the ranks of half the cyclists!
Fuyu Is Right: Team RadioSkank, of course, is still reeling from the colossal misstep of Clenbuterol-snarfing Fuyu Li, who ought to know at a minimum that he's not supposed to test positive until, like everyone else who ever (super)domestiqued for Lance, he's already left the One's precious fold. Like utterly-whipped repeat podium finisher Andreas Kloden *needs* to lose the one guy he could actually pull rank on to send back for water bottles? Arrrgghhh!
Like a Fine Wine, But She Can Beat You *Down*, Honey: finally, just an encouraging nod to the French, who have at least one rider they can count on not to suck year after year after year: yep, it's permanent French champ/new autobio author Jeannie Longo, reportedly considering what to do after her cycling days are over but who luckily has at least another generation to finalize her plans. Allez allez Jeannie--and for heck's sake, can't somebody take her to the Tour de France start line with the boys?
Monday, April 19, 2010
Alberto Contador Is Scr*wed! (Again)
Bad Move, Vinokorouv!: okay, so the Gibo (Giro, whatever) di Trentino is off, and who wins the introductory time trial with enough seconds left over to stop at Lago di Garda to admire the view, take a drink, have a nice snack, and take a photograph for a couple of tourists? That's right, exquisitely amoral erratic wingnut Alexander "I Heart Syringes" Vinokorouv. Now, I'm not suggesting there's anything *wrong* with this exactly--it is indeed a very, very, very fine result--but what I am saying is, what the !@#$ are you thinking, Vino?!?! Do you *want* Astana to get its !@# kicked out of the Tour? Do you *want* Contador's domestiques to be pincushioned into springing a thousand leaks from the unannounced 2 am doping controls every night for the next 10 weeks? Do you *want* those raging crybaby impotents at UCI turning their wrath on you and your squad because they're still pissed off they can't get Valverde? Well, *you're* the one who took advantage of Contador's less brainiac tendencies to keep him in his damn contract at steroid-stuffed brass-knuckled-goon gunpoint, so don't !@#damn go and !@#$ it up! Sigh. Tomorrow, Alexander, I think you are coming down with a severe case of stomach flu and laying low until the artificial rocket up your !@$ burns itself ou--I mean, until you have fully recovered from your unfortunate and unexpected ailment. Idiot!
Union of the Snake: elsewhere on the Trentino roster, of course, in addition to Gilberto Simoni (bow, beeyotch!), angel-winged press-flirt Ivan Basso and Franco "Why Does Everyone Keep Fawning Over Ivan When I'm King of the Mountains at the Tour?" Pellizotti, is Riccardo "Head for the Hills!" Ricco', replete with a spiffy new cobra-head bike
and, of course, distinctly annoyed that for some utterly unfathomable reason he screwed his whole team out of an invite to the Tour de France, which he's ridden so miraculously well in the past. I gotta say, if I were him, I'd call bull!@#$ on this one as well. I mean, have you seen who *else* gets to ride the freakin' Tour this year?
The Chicken Comes Home to Roost: meanwhile, in a nod to a dear and highly respected reader who specifically requested that I *not* post a sleazy Danilo DiLuca-esque portrait of Tour de France winner Michael Rasmussen, I therefore post a quite un-Cosmo pic of our beloved Chicken, now out of competition due to "mono" and who, as he looks towards the faraway Vuelta for results, in *my* humble opinion ought to stop whatever the hell he's been (allegedly!) taking in his IV drip and start mainlining McDonald's Happy Meals instead.
Never let it be said that we here at racejunkie don't respond to your concerns!
Sins of the Fleche: finally, it's off the remainder of the Ardennes Classics, baby, as Contador gets to ride possibly his last race of the season thanks to his dimwit boss, Cadel pegs Amstel Gold champ Philippe Gilbert for the win, and the Schlecks, Cunego and Valverde look for vengeance after a crash-bonk-and-ash-cloud-marred start to the week. The profile: ouch, especially over the Mur de Huy. All right, I get they're saving themselves for Liege, but allez allez Schlecks--after your crap start to the season, you need some confidence ahead of July!
Union of the Snake: elsewhere on the Trentino roster, of course, in addition to Gilberto Simoni (bow, beeyotch!), angel-winged press-flirt Ivan Basso and Franco "Why Does Everyone Keep Fawning Over Ivan When I'm King of the Mountains at the Tour?" Pellizotti, is Riccardo "Head for the Hills!" Ricco', replete with a spiffy new cobra-head bike
and, of course, distinctly annoyed that for some utterly unfathomable reason he screwed his whole team out of an invite to the Tour de France, which he's ridden so miraculously well in the past. I gotta say, if I were him, I'd call bull!@#$ on this one as well. I mean, have you seen who *else* gets to ride the freakin' Tour this year? The Chicken Comes Home to Roost: meanwhile, in a nod to a dear and highly respected reader who specifically requested that I *not* post a sleazy Danilo DiLuca-esque portrait of Tour de France winner Michael Rasmussen, I therefore post a quite un-Cosmo pic of our beloved Chicken, now out of competition due to "mono" and who, as he looks towards the faraway Vuelta for results, in *my* humble opinion ought to stop whatever the hell he's been (allegedly!) taking in his IV drip and start mainlining McDonald's Happy Meals instead.
Never let it be said that we here at racejunkie don't respond to your concerns! Sins of the Fleche: finally, it's off the remainder of the Ardennes Classics, baby, as Contador gets to ride possibly his last race of the season thanks to his dimwit boss, Cadel pegs Amstel Gold champ Philippe Gilbert for the win, and the Schlecks, Cunego and Valverde look for vengeance after a crash-bonk-and-ash-cloud-marred start to the week. The profile: ouch, especially over the Mur de Huy. All right, I get they're saving themselves for Liege, but allez allez Schlecks--after your crap start to the season, you need some confidence ahead of July!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Adventures in Doping Excuses
And Atmospherics, Too!: Yes, doping's evil, no, I don't support it. And, I don't normally worry about weather conditions, unless to enjoy a miserable freezing sleeting Classic from the comfort of my couch and a nice hot toddy. But one can't help but notice--if one's morals lean towards the, well, flexible--the fantastic opportunity this giant Icelandic volcanic ash cloud presents to the peloton this weekend, particularly that freakishly high percentage of superstars who are surprisingly afflicted with life- and career-threatening asthma only within 1 kilometer of the finish line. I mean, if pure mountain air or a flat stretch of bucolic meadow is damn near gonna kill ya--and, coincidentally, require the immediate ingestion of a huge amount of oxygen-flow-improving asthma meds--imagine how much of that !@#$ you boys can justify taking *this* weekend when you're breathing in ginormous amounts of the exact same crap that smothered the entire city of Pompeii! Better, this sounds a hell of a lot more plausible than even the beautiful Bjorn Leukemans "Love Machine" defense a few years back. Opportunity knocks, skeezeballs--just don't say I told ya so!
Il Grande Giro is Right, Baby!: yes, after months of exhortation, and a bit of a sidetrack into developing scandal, our glittery fairy-princesses at Lampre have finally signed we love peerless peloton smack-talker/2-time Giro king/general avenger of injustice Gilberto Simoni to ride the Giro d' Italia one last time. Now, for *my* money what's interesting is whether a still-young, clean (and no, pretty-pretty as Ivan is, and despite the enormity of my lingering geek-crush on his crack legal team, I'm not *entirely* sold on that "attempted doping" bull!@#$) Basso can continue to pound, in the high passes at least, a damn-old Simoni. Sorry Ivan, but just out of nostalgia that Gibo grievously impugned your manhood then had to hastily retract allegations that you tried to bribe him off a stage win at your last big match-up, I've got to go with Simoni on this one. Next up: the Giro del Trentino, where he'll open a can of whup-!@# on such perpetual inferiors as Riccardo "Wuss-Baby" Ricco', (excellent Classics rider, who to be even fairer is still coming off a stomach ailment) Damiano Cunego, and even endlessly diverting wingnut Vinokorouv. Forza Gibooooooooooooooooooooo!
Goldmember: finally, as we look for baby Schleck to make the peloton shriek in pain at Amstel Gold this weekend with the aid of big bro/new dad Frank, let's first note that Euskaltel made Alberto Contador cry like a two-year-old at Vuelta a Castilla y Leon today, and then let's take a look at the Amstel course profile:
Allez allez Andy!
Il Grande Giro is Right, Baby!: yes, after months of exhortation, and a bit of a sidetrack into developing scandal, our glittery fairy-princesses at Lampre have finally signed we love peerless peloton smack-talker/2-time Giro king/general avenger of injustice Gilberto Simoni to ride the Giro d' Italia one last time. Now, for *my* money what's interesting is whether a still-young, clean (and no, pretty-pretty as Ivan is, and despite the enormity of my lingering geek-crush on his crack legal team, I'm not *entirely* sold on that "attempted doping" bull!@#$) Basso can continue to pound, in the high passes at least, a damn-old Simoni. Sorry Ivan, but just out of nostalgia that Gibo grievously impugned your manhood then had to hastily retract allegations that you tried to bribe him off a stage win at your last big match-up, I've got to go with Simoni on this one. Next up: the Giro del Trentino, where he'll open a can of whup-!@# on such perpetual inferiors as Riccardo "Wuss-Baby" Ricco', (excellent Classics rider, who to be even fairer is still coming off a stomach ailment) Damiano Cunego, and even endlessly diverting wingnut Vinokorouv. Forza Gibooooooooooooooooooooo!
Goldmember: finally, as we look for baby Schleck to make the peloton shriek in pain at Amstel Gold this weekend with the aid of big bro/new dad Frank, let's first note that Euskaltel made Alberto Contador cry like a two-year-old at Vuelta a Castilla y Leon today, and then let's take a look at the Amstel course profile:
Allez allez Andy!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Your Philosophical Question o' the Day
Could Fabian Cancellara Win the Tour de France?: No. Next!
Dancing With the Podium Babes: yes, for those of you getting bored of drunken frat-boy vomit-fests, starving desperate corporate-drone dilettantes eating rats in jungles, and skeezy hyper-gelled spray-tan-addicts caressing their own biceps in the mirror, there's a great new reality show in town that's actually relevant to cycling: Be a Giro d'Italia Podium Babe! Dutch arm-candy will be tested on subjects including Italian culture and language, and, let's be honest, pulchritude. No word on when the "Be a Women's-Giro d'Italia Podium Man-Babe!" show is starting, but I'm confident it's soon. Hell, gives Di Luca and all those other unemployed doping-ban male cyclists a way to stay involved in the sport!
Cav Strikes Back: so in the wake of his calling BFF teammate Andre Greipel a "!@#$-race" winning, no-talent loser, and his boss' subsequent mild admonition that he expects teh boys to play nice when they're told to, *and* the inexcusable failure of some female non-cycling journalist to fawn over him, sprint king Mark Cavendish has gone postal yet again over how tough he has it, whining that he was screwed out of (repeat winner Thor Hushovd's, so suck it!) green jersey in one of the "two worst calls" in all sporting history, Brad Wiggins has no right to criticize his egomania 'cause Wiggo's a no-talent loser too, Greipel is *still* a loser, and people are mean, mean, mean to him! Yes, Cav, as a civil rights lawyer I see this *every* *single* *day*--boy, you are *oppressed*! One of the (justly) most celebrated athletes in the world, a huge cash-cow of a contract at an age when most of your contemporaries are living in their parents' basements or grubbing away desperately at some unbearable crap-paying cube job, adulation, fame, the power to go off on anyone at any time virtually without repercussions--and on top of that indignity, SOME PEOPLE DON'T COMPLIMENT YOU EVERY SECOND! Oh, the injustice of it all....
The Why the Hell Isn't This Getting More Press Coverage Freak-Out o' the Week: wah, it's gonna take Bjarne ten more minutes to find a sponsor willing to tolerate their logo being flashed first at every finish line by Fabian Cancellara, wah--what the !@#$ is this about we love Euskaltel-Euskadi having sponsorship troubles? Aiiiggghhhh! Samuel Sanchez, say it ain't so--I can't *stand* to see another great Basque climber defect to RadioSkank!
Breaking News in Italian Cycling: no, not some penny-ante inquest about widespread doping at Lampre that threatens to drag it down the toilet, you fools--the *important* issue, natch, is whether Pozzato's radical-yet-paradoxically-old-school black tricolore kit at last weekend's Paris-Roubaix is sartorially appropriate. Luckily, our dashing Pippo will be relieved to hear, style of course has won out over strict technical propriety, and he remains indeed on both the best-dressed and future race start lists. Whew, glad we got *that* earthshaker resolved!
Golden Boys: last but not least, there is in fact actual racing going on, and as we wish allergy-whacked Alberto Contador a healthy and successfully Vuelta a Castilla y Leon (if only to watch him irk Lance Armstrong), even more bitchin' is that we can see we love dear little Carlos Sastre back in action at the Ardennes Classics this weekend as he preps to take out the two remaining Italian GC contenders not already banned out of contention at the fabulous Giro. Allez allez Carlos--nice to have you back!
Dancing With the Podium Babes: yes, for those of you getting bored of drunken frat-boy vomit-fests, starving desperate corporate-drone dilettantes eating rats in jungles, and skeezy hyper-gelled spray-tan-addicts caressing their own biceps in the mirror, there's a great new reality show in town that's actually relevant to cycling: Be a Giro d'Italia Podium Babe! Dutch arm-candy will be tested on subjects including Italian culture and language, and, let's be honest, pulchritude. No word on when the "Be a Women's-Giro d'Italia Podium Man-Babe!" show is starting, but I'm confident it's soon. Hell, gives Di Luca and all those other unemployed doping-ban male cyclists a way to stay involved in the sport!
Cav Strikes Back: so in the wake of his calling BFF teammate Andre Greipel a "!@#$-race" winning, no-talent loser, and his boss' subsequent mild admonition that he expects teh boys to play nice when they're told to, *and* the inexcusable failure of some female non-cycling journalist to fawn over him, sprint king Mark Cavendish has gone postal yet again over how tough he has it, whining that he was screwed out of (repeat winner Thor Hushovd's, so suck it!) green jersey in one of the "two worst calls" in all sporting history, Brad Wiggins has no right to criticize his egomania 'cause Wiggo's a no-talent loser too, Greipel is *still* a loser, and people are mean, mean, mean to him! Yes, Cav, as a civil rights lawyer I see this *every* *single* *day*--boy, you are *oppressed*! One of the (justly) most celebrated athletes in the world, a huge cash-cow of a contract at an age when most of your contemporaries are living in their parents' basements or grubbing away desperately at some unbearable crap-paying cube job, adulation, fame, the power to go off on anyone at any time virtually without repercussions--and on top of that indignity, SOME PEOPLE DON'T COMPLIMENT YOU EVERY SECOND! Oh, the injustice of it all....
The Why the Hell Isn't This Getting More Press Coverage Freak-Out o' the Week: wah, it's gonna take Bjarne ten more minutes to find a sponsor willing to tolerate their logo being flashed first at every finish line by Fabian Cancellara, wah--what the !@#$ is this about we love Euskaltel-Euskadi having sponsorship troubles? Aiiiggghhhh! Samuel Sanchez, say it ain't so--I can't *stand* to see another great Basque climber defect to RadioSkank!
Breaking News in Italian Cycling: no, not some penny-ante inquest about widespread doping at Lampre that threatens to drag it down the toilet, you fools--the *important* issue, natch, is whether Pozzato's radical-yet-paradoxically-old-school black tricolore kit at last weekend's Paris-Roubaix is sartorially appropriate. Luckily, our dashing Pippo will be relieved to hear, style of course has won out over strict technical propriety, and he remains indeed on both the best-dressed and future race start lists. Whew, glad we got *that* earthshaker resolved!
Golden Boys: last but not least, there is in fact actual racing going on, and as we wish allergy-whacked Alberto Contador a healthy and successfully Vuelta a Castilla y Leon (if only to watch him irk Lance Armstrong), even more bitchin' is that we can see we love dear little Carlos Sastre back in action at the Ardennes Classics this weekend as he preps to take out the two remaining Italian GC contenders not already banned out of contention at the fabulous Giro. Allez allez Carlos--nice to have you back!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Tom Boonen's Quote o' the Race
Boonen, on his stupid compatriots blowing the win at Paris-Roubaix by refusing to chase: "There was no co-operation. If you ride with three guys then you close that gap, even on Cancellara; it's not just that this year he has jet engines installed up on his arse." So sweet. Even if Flecha *did* screw you, we still love you, Tom!
A Gentle Plea To Our Victors: look, Cancellara earned it, and deserved it. Even if Thor I'm sure *could* have kicked his !@# with just a few days more recovery time. But much as (American) football has banned those prancing-pony post-touchdown spikes, tennis has cracked down on the primal screaming, and hockey--well, hockey's too busy beating their opponents bloody to put the stop to the occasional adrenalin-driven stick-raise, so must I call for an end, however exuberant and spontaneous, and even by so fine a gent as Cancellara, to the monstrously obnoxious Cav-esque double chest-point:
Honey, we *know* it's you!
The Orange Revolution: elsewhere, it was the Klasika Primavera, baby, and, along with such former champs as Heras (shut up!), Sastre, Valverde and Cunego, look who won today!:.JPG)
And in a dandy touch, big Schleck was in the house. Watch out for July, Valverde--if your ban don't get you, Samuel Sanchez will!
A Gentle Plea To Our Victors: look, Cancellara earned it, and deserved it. Even if Thor I'm sure *could* have kicked his !@# with just a few days more recovery time. But much as (American) football has banned those prancing-pony post-touchdown spikes, tennis has cracked down on the primal screaming, and hockey--well, hockey's too busy beating their opponents bloody to put the stop to the occasional adrenalin-driven stick-raise, so must I call for an end, however exuberant and spontaneous, and even by so fine a gent as Cancellara, to the monstrously obnoxious Cav-esque double chest-point:
Honey, we *know* it's you!The Orange Revolution: elsewhere, it was the Klasika Primavera, baby, and, along with such former champs as Heras (shut up!), Sastre, Valverde and Cunego, look who won today!:
And in a dandy touch, big Schleck was in the house. Watch out for July, Valverde--if your ban don't get you, Samuel Sanchez will!
!@#$-All, Quick Step!
What. A. Crushing. Disappointment. Boonen breathes--and yes, flakes--for ten seconds, and it's over because, Stijn, he's got no !@#damn support. Still time for the podium, Thor!
Friday, April 09, 2010
Lookin' Good for the Hell of the North, Boys!
Especially 'Cause There's One Big Threat Less of You Now: yep, things are lookin' even better and better for the smashing Paris-Roubaix this weekend, particularly our big-fave studpuppies-o'-pain Boonen and Hincapie (no, I'm not mentioning Cancellara, !@#dammit, I still feel sorry for Tommeke), as 2008 World Champ Alessandro Ballan is suspended by current squad BMC for his (alleged) involvement in the spankin'-new Lampre doping scandal. Me, I think this is an egregious witchhunt--I mean, everyone knows cycling's cleaned up its act since that 2006 Operacion Puerto nightmare!
Ow, My Stomach!: in what I'm sure is a total coincidence, meanwhile, Lampre big-shot/Classics man Damiano Cunego has pulled out of the Vuelta a Pais Vasco with a disgusting stomach ailment, which means either (1) he's got a disgusting stomach ailment, or (2) 90% of Lampre is going to quit racing entirely in the immediate future with 'stomach ailments'. Guess which! And, because I'm genteel, and genuinely don't want to be unkind to someone in the uncomfortable throes of wholesale intestinal explosion, I won't even mention the potential amusement value of the fact that Cunego's been known to sport a giant "I'M DOPING FREE" tattoo on his arm:
Aw, *I* believe in you, Piccolo Principe!
Who *Was* That Masked Man?: over in Narc-land, a pack of jailbait Ukrainian sell-outs, I mean whistleblowers, have apparently given up the goods to the French on the latest masking agents for EPO, which means, I suppose, that if anyone else ever turns up with Danilo DiLuca's Giro d'Italia Princess Bride testosterone levels at any future races, the officials won't just buy that he accidentally mistook his girlfriend's birth control pills for Tic-Tacs. Um, is anyone else thinking these guys are lucky the peloton's too busy with the Classics at the moment to schlep all the way to Ukraine to find 'em and give 'em a major beatdown?
Roubaix, Schmoubaix: finally, lest we all get bogged down in some silly cobblestone thingie coming up on Sunday, let's take note of what *really* matters: we love Samuel Sanchez took Euskaltel's first win o' the year right in its home stomping grounds in the Vuelta a Pais Vasco! Here's how his first blow in the fight for the podium at the Tour de France (yeah, that's right, he'll be there baby!) landed:
Ow, My Stomach!: in what I'm sure is a total coincidence, meanwhile, Lampre big-shot/Classics man Damiano Cunego has pulled out of the Vuelta a Pais Vasco with a disgusting stomach ailment, which means either (1) he's got a disgusting stomach ailment, or (2) 90% of Lampre is going to quit racing entirely in the immediate future with 'stomach ailments'. Guess which! And, because I'm genteel, and genuinely don't want to be unkind to someone in the uncomfortable throes of wholesale intestinal explosion, I won't even mention the potential amusement value of the fact that Cunego's been known to sport a giant "I'M DOPING FREE" tattoo on his arm:
Aw, *I* believe in you, Piccolo Principe!Who *Was* That Masked Man?: over in Narc-land, a pack of jailbait Ukrainian sell-outs, I mean whistleblowers, have apparently given up the goods to the French on the latest masking agents for EPO, which means, I suppose, that if anyone else ever turns up with Danilo DiLuca's Giro d'Italia Princess Bride testosterone levels at any future races, the officials won't just buy that he accidentally mistook his girlfriend's birth control pills for Tic-Tacs. Um, is anyone else thinking these guys are lucky the peloton's too busy with the Classics at the moment to schlep all the way to Ukraine to find 'em and give 'em a major beatdown?
Roubaix, Schmoubaix: finally, lest we all get bogged down in some silly cobblestone thingie coming up on Sunday, let's take note of what *really* matters: we love Samuel Sanchez took Euskaltel's first win o' the year right in its home stomping grounds in the Vuelta a Pais Vasco! Here's how his first blow in the fight for the podium at the Tour de France (yeah, that's right, he'll be there baby!) landed:
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Lessons In Love...
...From Doping Investigators: so yap, there's another giant doping scandal involving 54 skankmasters in Italy, yap, Lampre's a giant easter-egg-colored pack of drug-snarfers, yap, but more interesting, in my view, is that the rat in this case is a woman and hospital employee close to alleged head pusher Guido Nigrelli, who, according to gazzetta dello sport, acted out of twin motives of "passion" and "economics." Which leads us, class, to *two* important life lessons: (1) never piss off your woman, and (2) never, ever stiff an employee. After all, just think of the poor sweet cheating scumlords whose palmares will be destroyed by such careless folly!
The Man With the Golden Arm: man, can Alejandro "Bloodbag" Valverde's life *get* any more charmed? Not only is he allowed to ride everywhere unrestricted except (and for the hilarity factor on this one, see above) Italy, and not only did he genuinely win the stage today at the Vuelta a Pais Vasco, but he even "won" the opener there yesterday when we love Oscar Freire was !@#$ed and relegated in the sprint. First, judge for yerself. Second, Oscar could bodily whack Valverde off his bike with a giant medieval battering ram and I'd still pick Freire, so the actual merits are moot. Gee, if *I* install a permanent IV port in *my* !@# and hire top-flight legal and publicity goon squads, will someone pay *me* a gazillion euros a year to be a doping cheating dirtwad?
Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing: meantime, over at Columbia-HTC, the boys are getting along just great, as Andre Greipel discreetly suggests that he'd've been a better pick than an off-his-form Mark Cavendish for Milano-Sanremo, and an excruciatingly polite Cav rather begs to differ, opining he's happy to ride on the same squad with such a talentless assclown as Greipel and that there's no way in hell Cav's gonna let that loser ride on his Tour de France squad. C'mon, Andre, take the high road, apologize, kiss, and make up--that is if Cav doesn't chew your face off with those giant teeth of his first!
Tweet o' the Week: yes, this one's a two-fer, as amiable George Hincapie takes on Podium Cafe wisenheimers who tell him he blew Flanders by using completely the wrong wheels for the cobbles, and righter-of-wrongs Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen comes to his chivalrous defense. Damn, George is like 8 feet tall and Robbie could beat the crap out of even all of Cadel's enormous entourage with both arms tied behind his back--good thing no-one reads *this* drivel!
Too Much Is Never Enough: finally, I see Lance has decided to bow out of the Ardennes classics, but lest any of you Armstrong fans are freaked you won't be getting a play-by-play update on how many times he picks his toes today, never fear: as our bike experts at the AP were quick to post, oh my god he's riding the Circuit de la Sarthe this week! Too bad we'll never find out the name of the rider who actually *wins* the thing, at least from the American press anyway....
The Man With the Golden Arm: man, can Alejandro "Bloodbag" Valverde's life *get* any more charmed? Not only is he allowed to ride everywhere unrestricted except (and for the hilarity factor on this one, see above) Italy, and not only did he genuinely win the stage today at the Vuelta a Pais Vasco, but he even "won" the opener there yesterday when we love Oscar Freire was !@#$ed and relegated in the sprint. First, judge for yerself. Second, Oscar could bodily whack Valverde off his bike with a giant medieval battering ram and I'd still pick Freire, so the actual merits are moot. Gee, if *I* install a permanent IV port in *my* !@# and hire top-flight legal and publicity goon squads, will someone pay *me* a gazillion euros a year to be a doping cheating dirtwad?
Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing: meantime, over at Columbia-HTC, the boys are getting along just great, as Andre Greipel discreetly suggests that he'd've been a better pick than an off-his-form Mark Cavendish for Milano-Sanremo, and an excruciatingly polite Cav rather begs to differ, opining he's happy to ride on the same squad with such a talentless assclown as Greipel and that there's no way in hell Cav's gonna let that loser ride on his Tour de France squad. C'mon, Andre, take the high road, apologize, kiss, and make up--that is if Cav doesn't chew your face off with those giant teeth of his first!
Tweet o' the Week: yes, this one's a two-fer, as amiable George Hincapie takes on Podium Cafe wisenheimers who tell him he blew Flanders by using completely the wrong wheels for the cobbles, and righter-of-wrongs Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen comes to his chivalrous defense. Damn, George is like 8 feet tall and Robbie could beat the crap out of even all of Cadel's enormous entourage with both arms tied behind his back--good thing no-one reads *this* drivel!
Too Much Is Never Enough: finally, I see Lance has decided to bow out of the Ardennes classics, but lest any of you Armstrong fans are freaked you won't be getting a play-by-play update on how many times he picks his toes today, never fear: as our bike experts at the AP were quick to post, oh my god he's riding the Circuit de la Sarthe this week! Too bad we'll never find out the name of the rider who actually *wins* the thing, at least from the American press anyway....
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Ronde and Ronde/What Goes A-Ronde, Comes A-Ronde
Swiss Army Knife: all right, I had no interest in counting Cancellara as a (oh, fair enough, the) favorite after he snipped at poor ol' Stijn Devolder, but he whomped our dear Tommeke fair'n'square so even I can't much begrudge that. But boy, you can't say the same for Matti Breschel, who, in the midst of trying to jack team leadership and huge wads of money from some other, post-Bjarne team, has now lit into his mechanics for giving him Stuey O'Grady's ride during a bike change. Shut up, Breschel--you should be *honored* to ride O'Grady's steed whether it fit you or not! Over at the women's Ronde, the weather was nastier and the race was a heck of a lot closer:
Nice score for Belgium by Grace Verbeke at least!
Alessandro, Alessandro, Alessandro: oh, Petacchi. First you have that idiot poz for huffing a liter of salbuterol, albeit after a sprint which is clearly the stupidest !@#$in' thing I've ever heard of. *Then* you bust your hand punching a team bus, Cav Boonen and even that jailbait little Bennati start kicking your !@# in every sprint, you get investigated for tax evasion in Monaco like everyone else in the peloton, the whole thing starts slipping away from your near-geriatric legs, and just when I was about to pull a Tom Boonen Image Rehabilitation Project on you, you get your form back, start not sucking entirely on the hills, *and* start grabbing stages in the Giro like it's 2004. So now your friendship with Bernucci, who apparently had enough drugs in his house to stock Team--um, forget it--for a week, gets you back in hot water? Fortunately, not only does Bernucci swear they belonged to his wife--and I'm sure she had good reason for taking 'em--nothing was found in your pad. Y'know, if it weren't for the fact that I'd then have to despise you for being a coward like Ricco', I'd say run away, Ale-Jet, run away! Man, I *hate* feeling sorry for sprinters--here we go, at least you can always be a supermodel like DiLuca if you have to!
Basque to the Future: finally, in loving memory of Iban Mayo's completely bull!@#$ trashed career (like it's any of your dang beeswax I'm still in denial?), it's the Vuelta a Pais Vasco all week, baby, and it's time for the still-winless Euskaltel (damn, guys, you're starting to look like a French squad, pick it up!) and the fabulous Samuel Sanchez to start instilling fear into the climbers of the peloton. Also bitchin'--both big and baby Schleck'll be there. Sure, it'll be nice to see if Andy's finally recovered, but aupa Samu--and watch out for him in the Tour, Armstrong!
Nice score for Belgium by Grace Verbeke at least!
Alessandro, Alessandro, Alessandro: oh, Petacchi. First you have that idiot poz for huffing a liter of salbuterol, albeit after a sprint which is clearly the stupidest !@#$in' thing I've ever heard of. *Then* you bust your hand punching a team bus, Cav Boonen and even that jailbait little Bennati start kicking your !@# in every sprint, you get investigated for tax evasion in Monaco like everyone else in the peloton, the whole thing starts slipping away from your near-geriatric legs, and just when I was about to pull a Tom Boonen Image Rehabilitation Project on you, you get your form back, start not sucking entirely on the hills, *and* start grabbing stages in the Giro like it's 2004. So now your friendship with Bernucci, who apparently had enough drugs in his house to stock Team--um, forget it--for a week, gets you back in hot water? Fortunately, not only does Bernucci swear they belonged to his wife--and I'm sure she had good reason for taking 'em--nothing was found in your pad. Y'know, if it weren't for the fact that I'd then have to despise you for being a coward like Ricco', I'd say run away, Ale-Jet, run away! Man, I *hate* feeling sorry for sprinters--here we go, at least you can always be a supermodel like DiLuca if you have to!
Basque to the Future: finally, in loving memory of Iban Mayo's completely bull!@#$ trashed career (like it's any of your dang beeswax I'm still in denial?), it's the Vuelta a Pais Vasco all week, baby, and it's time for the still-winless Euskaltel (damn, guys, you're starting to look like a French squad, pick it up!) and the fabulous Samuel Sanchez to start instilling fear into the climbers of the peloton. Also bitchin'--both big and baby Schleck'll be there. Sure, it'll be nice to see if Andy's finally recovered, but aupa Samu--and watch out for him in the Tour, Armstrong!
Saturday, April 03, 2010
What the Hell *Is* a Pave', Anyway? And, The Parasite on the Podium
Classics Questions from Dear Newbies: so on the very eve of the Tour of Flanders, as I beat it into occasionally-unwilling initiates that the Final Four of something called "basketball" is lame and cycling is the king of all sporting endeavors, a few questions have arisen from those unfamiliar with aught but the Tour de France:
1) What the !@#$ Is a Pave'?: Pave' is pain, baby. Bone-rattling, tire-pinching, frame-twisting, flesh-rippin' pain. If it's dry, it's cornea-mangling stone-dust assault. If it's wet, it's a slick path to more broken bones than Lance Armstrong's got beeyotches. Basically, it's an irregular squarish or rectangularish rock that masquerades as a road surface but is in actuality a gateway to cold grey granite death. See you in Hades, sucker!
2) What's the Route?: !@#$-all if I can tell, but Flemish sure *reads* scary. Ah, here's a better map!
3) Who Am I Rooting For?: if you're me, anyone who's guaranteed to lose, but these are races for the hard men, baby--some twinkie prima-donna climber or rigid wraith time-trialist is meat before they hit the start line, if they're even stupid enough to sign up in the first place. The Belgians have a super-sweet edge because these sick freaks voluntarily ride this crap terrain all year. Even fresh out of celebrity rehab, it's all about big Tom Boonen, and it would've been all about his twice-winning defending-champ teammate Stijn Devolder if his own damn boss hadn't viciously and counterproductively emasculated him this week to anyone who would listen, which this week means every cycling journalist, fan, and rider on earth. Poor Stijn! Look for Leif Hoste, whose excuse this year is a too-close relationship of late with the men's room, to give his traditional glum post-race analysis-o'-failure. Sentimental losing picks: George Hincapie, who has the Worst Mechanical Luck Ever Every Single Freakin' Race He's In; we love Thor Hushovd, who's takin' the green jersey at the Tour de France again this year so the big-shot Classics can just stuff it; dogged Aussie Stuey O'Grady, whose entire skeleton has been replaced by a series of pins, plates and screws due to crashes and is now a certified indestructible cyborg; Philippe Gilbert, who I keep rooting for to win in every race since he's like one of two French cyclists not to bite the last few years but then I always remember he's actually Belgian. And look, he's riding a nifty pave'-print bike tomorrow!
4) So What *Is* the Forecast for Tomorrow?: Belgian beach weather: rain, wind, and hail, baby! Some of these guys have been known to dive for cover like they're under an artillery barrage, so watch the fun as the fans scatter!
5) What's the Prize?: you ain't *dead*, honey, what more do you want? Oh, and you're revered as a god by the Belgians for all time. Bonus!
The Cobra Strikes: finally, in completely unrelated news, congrats to gutless worm Riccardo Ricco' on his first win back from his doping ban, and, of course, to his ex-companion/baby mama/cyclocross champ Vania Rossi, whose own B-sample actually came back negative(or, in either the desperate or genuinely incriminating words of the narcs, "below the minimum" necessary for a confirming positive test). As expected, the narcs vowed to keep on pursuing Vania anyway in an Iban-Mayo-esque bloodlust inability to accept they'd blown it, in this case on the grounds that CERA degrades mighty quick in urine (so look forward to an excess of needle-sticks this season, peloton!), and Ricco', always a class act, deigned to vaguely have heard of her sometime after he hid crying behind her team kit like a simp during his own dope bust but before she herself turned up on the hit list and Ricco went scattering to the hills like a cockroach. Good luck Vania--between all these schmucks, you're gonna need it!
1) What the !@#$ Is a Pave'?: Pave' is pain, baby. Bone-rattling, tire-pinching, frame-twisting, flesh-rippin' pain. If it's dry, it's cornea-mangling stone-dust assault. If it's wet, it's a slick path to more broken bones than Lance Armstrong's got beeyotches. Basically, it's an irregular squarish or rectangularish rock that masquerades as a road surface but is in actuality a gateway to cold grey granite death. See you in Hades, sucker!
2) What's the Route?: !@#$-all if I can tell, but Flemish sure *reads* scary. Ah, here's a better map!
3) Who Am I Rooting For?: if you're me, anyone who's guaranteed to lose, but these are races for the hard men, baby--some twinkie prima-donna climber or rigid wraith time-trialist is meat before they hit the start line, if they're even stupid enough to sign up in the first place. The Belgians have a super-sweet edge because these sick freaks voluntarily ride this crap terrain all year. Even fresh out of celebrity rehab, it's all about big Tom Boonen, and it would've been all about his twice-winning defending-champ teammate Stijn Devolder if his own damn boss hadn't viciously and counterproductively emasculated him this week to anyone who would listen, which this week means every cycling journalist, fan, and rider on earth. Poor Stijn! Look for Leif Hoste, whose excuse this year is a too-close relationship of late with the men's room, to give his traditional glum post-race analysis-o'-failure. Sentimental losing picks: George Hincapie, who has the Worst Mechanical Luck Ever Every Single Freakin' Race He's In; we love Thor Hushovd, who's takin' the green jersey at the Tour de France again this year so the big-shot Classics can just stuff it; dogged Aussie Stuey O'Grady, whose entire skeleton has been replaced by a series of pins, plates and screws due to crashes and is now a certified indestructible cyborg; Philippe Gilbert, who I keep rooting for to win in every race since he's like one of two French cyclists not to bite the last few years but then I always remember he's actually Belgian. And look, he's riding a nifty pave'-print bike tomorrow!
4) So What *Is* the Forecast for Tomorrow?: Belgian beach weather: rain, wind, and hail, baby! Some of these guys have been known to dive for cover like they're under an artillery barrage, so watch the fun as the fans scatter!
5) What's the Prize?: you ain't *dead*, honey, what more do you want? Oh, and you're revered as a god by the Belgians for all time. Bonus!
The Cobra Strikes: finally, in completely unrelated news, congrats to gutless worm Riccardo Ricco' on his first win back from his doping ban, and, of course, to his ex-companion/baby mama/cyclocross champ Vania Rossi, whose own B-sample actually came back negative(or, in either the desperate or genuinely incriminating words of the narcs, "below the minimum" necessary for a confirming positive test). As expected, the narcs vowed to keep on pursuing Vania anyway in an Iban-Mayo-esque bloodlust inability to accept they'd blown it, in this case on the grounds that CERA degrades mighty quick in urine (so look forward to an excess of needle-sticks this season, peloton!), and Ricco', always a class act, deigned to vaguely have heard of her sometime after he hid crying behind her team kit like a simp during his own dope bust but before she herself turned up on the hit list and Ricco went scattering to the hills like a cockroach. Good luck Vania--between all these schmucks, you're gonna need it!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
I Mean, This *Is* April Fools', Right?
Knights of the Round Table (And Their Sucker Soigneurs): remember all those stories about medieval English kings where some poor doomed bastard had to taste the food first to ensure that the lord high honcho didn't keel over poisoned from some wily assassination plot, only to himself die writhing in agony at his sovereign's sainted feet? Well, I'm still waiting for someone far less gullible than I to call bull!@#$ on this one, but is it me, or has Lance Armstrong finally veered off into certifiable coke-stuffed Columbian drug-lord territory by having enough A-Team goons, sniffer dogs, hermetically-sealed anti-tamper water bottles and double-secret-safeguards around him to grubstake the massive paranoia quotient of some reclusive tropical-forest megalomaniac cult leader ahead of not even the America-hatin' Tour de France but the freakin' harmless Tour of Flanders for !@#$'s sake? Hear those Rottweilers barking?--don't even *try* anything, Contador you twerp!
Smells Like Team Spirit: speaking of the Tour of Flanders, it's only a few short days away, and not only are prime contenders dropping from the start list like Spaniards from...oh, why get my !@# sued?, but Quick Step guru Patrick Lefevere is going on the offensive to malign his own multiple-champ Stijn Devolder as a pathetic weakling, Devolder's wasting valuable energy (1) protesting his maidenly virtue and (2) trying to keep his rather handsome contract into next year, and even the preternaturally amiable Fabian Cancellara is dope-smacking the boy for not being enough of a doormat for Tom Boonen in the race. Y'know, I want Boonen to win as much as much as anyone, but surely this dandy performance deserves more than a *total* beatdown from Lefevere?:
I'm In With The In Crowd/I Go Where The In-Crowd Goes: meanwhile, as you've no doubt heard, the Tour de France team list is out, and I gotta agree with the reject DSes who are going all psycho over it, it is *complete* crap that 2009 mountain stage winner Brice Feillu (now of Vacansoleil) is out. I mean, not to be disrespectful or nothin', but not only is he one of the few French riders not to decisively blow in the last several years, which in itself makes him and by extension his squad an exceedingly valuable commodity, but *Cofidis* gets in over these guys? What the heck kind of justice is that?
And Baby Makes Three: so with Cav's announcement that he's not going to ride the Giro--because, to be fair, like most young sprinters he outright sucks in the high passes--and Boonen already in, by my genius math that's *two* Europeans outside RadioSkank to make it the Tour of California, and, as neither are GC threats, so far as I can tell Levi Leipheimer can stay home on the couch drinking lite beer and scratching himself and still take home, as he always does anyway, the prize. Sigh. Oh, Levi, I'd have *loved* to see in your rightful place on a Grand Tour podium again this year--too bad Samuel Sanchez is already scheduled to kick everyone's !@# if he rides the Vuelta!
A Friendly Plea to Our Pretty Pretty Pink Pals at Lampre: last but not least, a mild request for a bunch of Barbie lookalikes: you've got your ProTour license, NOW HIRE GILBERTO SIMONI FOR ONE LAST GIRO !##DAMMIT! Admit it, guys--it's not like Cunego's gonna take it anyway, is he? Aaaaiiiigggghhhhh! Aaaaiiiiggghhhh!
Smells Like Team Spirit: speaking of the Tour of Flanders, it's only a few short days away, and not only are prime contenders dropping from the start list like Spaniards from...oh, why get my !@# sued?, but Quick Step guru Patrick Lefevere is going on the offensive to malign his own multiple-champ Stijn Devolder as a pathetic weakling, Devolder's wasting valuable energy (1) protesting his maidenly virtue and (2) trying to keep his rather handsome contract into next year, and even the preternaturally amiable Fabian Cancellara is dope-smacking the boy for not being enough of a doormat for Tom Boonen in the race. Y'know, I want Boonen to win as much as much as anyone, but surely this dandy performance deserves more than a *total* beatdown from Lefevere?:
I'm In With The In Crowd/I Go Where The In-Crowd Goes: meanwhile, as you've no doubt heard, the Tour de France team list is out, and I gotta agree with the reject DSes who are going all psycho over it, it is *complete* crap that 2009 mountain stage winner Brice Feillu (now of Vacansoleil) is out. I mean, not to be disrespectful or nothin', but not only is he one of the few French riders not to decisively blow in the last several years, which in itself makes him and by extension his squad an exceedingly valuable commodity, but *Cofidis* gets in over these guys? What the heck kind of justice is that?
And Baby Makes Three: so with Cav's announcement that he's not going to ride the Giro--because, to be fair, like most young sprinters he outright sucks in the high passes--and Boonen already in, by my genius math that's *two* Europeans outside RadioSkank to make it the Tour of California, and, as neither are GC threats, so far as I can tell Levi Leipheimer can stay home on the couch drinking lite beer and scratching himself and still take home, as he always does anyway, the prize. Sigh. Oh, Levi, I'd have *loved* to see in your rightful place on a Grand Tour podium again this year--too bad Samuel Sanchez is already scheduled to kick everyone's !@# if he rides the Vuelta!
A Friendly Plea to Our Pretty Pretty Pink Pals at Lampre: last but not least, a mild request for a bunch of Barbie lookalikes: you've got your ProTour license, NOW HIRE GILBERTO SIMONI FOR ONE LAST GIRO !##DAMMIT! Admit it, guys--it's not like Cunego's gonna take it anyway, is he? Aaaaiiiigggghhhhh! Aaaaiiiiggghhhh!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Punk-!@# Yap o' the Week
Me, Me, Me, Me, ME!!!!: now, I don't what the hell race *you* all were watching at Criterium International this weekend, but me, I saw heck-strong young RadioShack pro Tiago Machado take a really spectacular 2nd on the stage to boy-is-it-nice-to-see-the-French-all-not-suck-for-once Pierrick Fedrigo the day before the child also clawed his way to third on the overall, too. But if you were team leader/legend emeritus/noble nurturer of awe-inspiring future talent Lance Armstrong, in your 5-minute post-race press-orgasmatron with the fawning media so intent on capturing the brilliance and inevitable immortality of your every precious word that a mere mumble from you could make or break somebody for all human history, after a race you had no intention of being a contender in anyway, what *you* apparently saw worth noting that day was an in-depth exploration of your gastrointestinal problems, a thoughtful exposition of the weather, a detailed lecture on catching germs from little kids, and--in a truly Oscar-winning performance of total egomania--that "a couple of our boys were up front today." Generous! Man, just thank Levi Leipheimer for hauling your !@# up the Alps next July by kicking him straight in the nuts, whydontcha?
Millar Time: meanwhile, it was actually quite lovely to see the irksome ostentatious faux-wah-wah-king St. David Millar finally take a win, an interesting contrast given his post-doping tendency to blame the fact that he's basically stopped winning a damn thing because clearly everyone else but him is still on the juice (and giant bonus points to ever-diplomat we love Phil Liggett for delicately not pointing out the reason for the boy's loooooooooooong fallow period since then.) Not that I'm suggesting that the fact that he finally *is* winning means anything, particularly because Great Britain has notoriously plaintiff-friendly libel laws. I'm just sayin'. I mean I'm not saying nothin', nothin' you hear me!
An Encouraging Shout-Out to Tom Boonen: okay, he didn't win E3 Prijs, thanks to Flecha suckin' off him like a leech and Cancellara's perfectly timed attack. But he also hasn't been on a drug-fueled booze-blacked-out Ferrari-wreckin' bender this season, either, and he's really on fine form ahead of the big cobbles, so I think it's important he knows how very, very proud we are of him. You go, Tom--it's only a matter of time you big lug!
Millar Time: meanwhile, it was actually quite lovely to see the irksome ostentatious faux-wah-wah-king St. David Millar finally take a win, an interesting contrast given his post-doping tendency to blame the fact that he's basically stopped winning a damn thing because clearly everyone else but him is still on the juice (and giant bonus points to ever-diplomat we love Phil Liggett for delicately not pointing out the reason for the boy's loooooooooooong fallow period since then.) Not that I'm suggesting that the fact that he finally *is* winning means anything, particularly because Great Britain has notoriously plaintiff-friendly libel laws. I'm just sayin'. I mean I'm not saying nothin', nothin' you hear me!
An Encouraging Shout-Out to Tom Boonen: okay, he didn't win E3 Prijs, thanks to Flecha suckin' off him like a leech and Cancellara's perfectly timed attack. But he also hasn't been on a drug-fueled booze-blacked-out Ferrari-wreckin' bender this season, either, and he's really on fine form ahead of the big cobbles, so I think it's important he knows how very, very proud we are of him. You go, Tom--it's only a matter of time you big lug!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
California, Here I Come!
Dream of Californication: so as Tom Boonen gets ready to blast the cobbled Classics, he's already looking ahead to sunnier climes: yep, everyone's favorite studmuffinly comeback-gladiator is gonna take on the Amgen EPO tour of California along with great American we love Levi Leipheimer. Well, that's *one* good European rider for the ToC--any other takers?
No Schlecks in the Champagne Room: over in Holy Crap What is Happening to Poor Baby Schleck This Season? News, our curiously unsung 2010 maillot jaune threat is reassuring his freaked-out tifosi that despite his stomach problems he's on the mend and ready to hit the road at full force. For those of you who just can't wait to see him ride, check out this almost disturbing homage to Frank'n'Andy by his Italian fan club: Forza Andy--and watch out Contador in July!
My Little Runaway/A-Run-Run-Run-Run-A-Runaway: meantime, what's we still love lord of the climbs Joseba Beloki been up to besides his new DS gig with a smashing Basque youngster squad? Like you even care, which you will if you know what's good for you, but yes, like Whatsisface-With-The-Yellow-Bracelets before him, he's training to run the venerable New York Marathon this fall. Note to TV watchers: the wee woman in the crowd dressed in orange holding an "Americans for Euskaltel" sign and screaming "Aupa Joseba!" would be me. Go Joseba!
Jeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnsssssssss!: okay, I'm *still* crushed he's not gonna defend his perma-title at Criterium Internationale, but who won the stage today at the bitchin' Volta a Catalunya? That's right, it's Jens Voigt, baby!:
The Return of the Weasel: and, Riccardo "Don't Let the Door Hit You in the !@# On the Way Out, Sweetheart" Ricco' is officially back in the peloton, so how'd our climbing prodigy do in the hills at Coppi & Bartali the last couple days? Well, not so bad actually, and he had (or was forced into) the public relations sense to fawn over the help of his loving tifosi and team, but still, he couldn't quite pull off the win. To be fair (shut up! I am too), it's taken even the dreamy and far superior Ivan Basso a whole season to get back up to speed (and I bet Franco Pellizotti at least is hoping it'll take him a whole nother one), so perhaps we oughta give this sincerely apologetic wayward son a chance or two before we simply conclude that it's not that he made a "youthful mistake," it's that now that he's no longer on the juice, he simply sucks. Or not!
I'm Gonna Git You Sucka: finally, if anyone thinks that the Italians hunted down Alejandro Valverde in a vengeful bloodlust over their own riders' failure to escape from Op Puerto, you're damn right, honey, as anti-doping icon/cycling guru Ivano Fanini cheerfully opines that Valverde "got what he deserved" and that the once-implicated Alberto Contador, if he had any guts, would put himself at the Italian executioners' mercy as well. Boy, would I be eager to take him up on that one, Alberto--heck, even he thinks you're innocent, what've you got to lose?
No Schlecks in the Champagne Room: over in Holy Crap What is Happening to Poor Baby Schleck This Season? News, our curiously unsung 2010 maillot jaune threat is reassuring his freaked-out tifosi that despite his stomach problems he's on the mend and ready to hit the road at full force. For those of you who just can't wait to see him ride, check out this almost disturbing homage to Frank'n'Andy by his Italian fan club: Forza Andy--and watch out Contador in July!
My Little Runaway/A-Run-Run-Run-Run-A-Runaway: meantime, what's we still love lord of the climbs Joseba Beloki been up to besides his new DS gig with a smashing Basque youngster squad? Like you even care, which you will if you know what's good for you, but yes, like Whatsisface-With-The-Yellow-Bracelets before him, he's training to run the venerable New York Marathon this fall. Note to TV watchers: the wee woman in the crowd dressed in orange holding an "Americans for Euskaltel" sign and screaming "Aupa Joseba!" would be me. Go Joseba!
Jeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnsssssssss!: okay, I'm *still* crushed he's not gonna defend his perma-title at Criterium Internationale, but who won the stage today at the bitchin' Volta a Catalunya? That's right, it's Jens Voigt, baby!:
The Return of the Weasel: and, Riccardo "Don't Let the Door Hit You in the !@# On the Way Out, Sweetheart" Ricco' is officially back in the peloton, so how'd our climbing prodigy do in the hills at Coppi & Bartali the last couple days? Well, not so bad actually, and he had (or was forced into) the public relations sense to fawn over the help of his loving tifosi and team, but still, he couldn't quite pull off the win. To be fair (shut up! I am too), it's taken even the dreamy and far superior Ivan Basso a whole season to get back up to speed (and I bet Franco Pellizotti at least is hoping it'll take him a whole nother one), so perhaps we oughta give this sincerely apologetic wayward son a chance or two before we simply conclude that it's not that he made a "youthful mistake," it's that now that he's no longer on the juice, he simply sucks. Or not!
I'm Gonna Git You Sucka: finally, if anyone thinks that the Italians hunted down Alejandro Valverde in a vengeful bloodlust over their own riders' failure to escape from Op Puerto, you're damn right, honey, as anti-doping icon/cycling guru Ivano Fanini cheerfully opines that Valverde "got what he deserved" and that the once-implicated Alberto Contador, if he had any guts, would put himself at the Italian executioners' mercy as well. Boy, would I be eager to take him up on that one, Alberto--heck, even he thinks you're innocent, what've you got to lose?
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Please Don't Hurt Me!
Mystery Press Release o' the Week: so Alejandro Valverde, one might surmise, oughta have as his absolute top priority keeping his dirty doping carcass in the peloton at the moment, but what's he doing instead? Inexplicably, issuing desperate press releases swearing, out of nowhere, that he did not so either rat out one of his own teammates to the narcs as being the owner of Operacion Puerto blood bag #18, previously linked to Valverde, when he was being tortured, I mean subject to advanced interrogation techniques, by the investigating authorities in order to save his own butt. Now, I don't know who Valverde could've ratted out that he'd have to be afraid of, but just looking at the 2006 team presentation photos it appears that Vladimir Karpets at least (who I have no reason to suggest ever ever did anything remotely wrong, so please don't hurt me either) is big enough to snap him in two...
Guess Who's (Not) Coming To Dinner?: so Team RadioSkank hasn't been invited to the Giro, and, depending on you believe, either the race organizers are massively offended over the team's high-caliber bail-out for the idiotically-rescheduled Tour of California and still annoyed over Armstrong wanking about last year's (ultimately cut-down) Milano circuit, and Johan Bruyneel tweeting cyclingnews they never even wanted to go to the stupid thing anyway. Me, I'm just as happy not to see Armstrong's giant publicity-whore machine demean this perfect race *again*, but man, can't Johan give Levi and Klodi *some* Grand Tour glories to look forward to, unless you count (as I imagine someone does) their fetching Lance his chamois creme every morning the equivalent of their collective giant bucket of Grand Tour podium finishes goddammit?
Who the Hell is Sacha Modolo?: well, I didn't know, anyway, 'til I saw him come in a rather astonishing 4th in the fabulous Milano-Sanremo yesterday, but here's a link to this young pro's FACEBOOK FUNS CLUB and his very fine, if barely begun, palmares. I assume we'll be seeing a lot more of this kid, at least if he doesn't Ricco' himself out of the running?
Sanremo In Review: speaking of Milano-Sanremo, I might as well should've saved the trouble of grossly mis-calling the race yet again, as intermittent bodily trainwreck/tenacious dexter Oscar Freire not only correctly assessed his chances for the race, but also called out the entire podium as well. Only woof: that no-one'd attack about the end, and big points to Pippo Pozzato and Philippe Gilbert (and didja see Thor right up there with the leading group?) for throwing down the hammer and taking some risks. Better luck next year, Cav and Edvald!
Vai Paolo!: all right, even without his wily presence to shake things up in the peloton, the retired Paolo Bettini's still a god, and with the tragic death of national coach Franco Ballerini the squadra azzurra is still, naturally, rudderless, so let's hope the rumors that Bettini's gonna take control are true. Forza Paolo--and really, could Italian cycling do any better than him?
(Criterium) International Male: finally, we all know it blows that Jens isn't gonna be riding and inevitably winning Criterium Internationale this year, tho' as Lance and Alberto are facing off for the first time since Tour de France 2009, and aren't even particularly considered contenders, it's not like anyone's gonna actually report who wins it anyway. The down'n'dirty? According to Johan Bruyneel, our delicate flower Lance is still recovering from illness, which means (1) Lance is on form, and is gonna clobber him; (2) Lance is on form, and still can't clobber him, so Johan's looking for a gentler excuse than "he's just better than I am now" or (3) Lance isn't on form, and Johan really doesn't want a bunch of crap over it from stupid Americans who expect him to win every time and beeyotchy Euros who always hope he doesn't. Me, you can guess where I'm aiming, but anyhoo, in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I do want to wish--and I'm sure you will as well-- Lance a full and speedy recovery from what's ailing him--after all, when Contador kicks the crap out of you in July and you're truly on top of your game, what could be more satisfying than that?
Guess Who's (Not) Coming To Dinner?: so Team RadioSkank hasn't been invited to the Giro, and, depending on you believe, either the race organizers are massively offended over the team's high-caliber bail-out for the idiotically-rescheduled Tour of California and still annoyed over Armstrong wanking about last year's (ultimately cut-down) Milano circuit, and Johan Bruyneel tweeting cyclingnews they never even wanted to go to the stupid thing anyway. Me, I'm just as happy not to see Armstrong's giant publicity-whore machine demean this perfect race *again*, but man, can't Johan give Levi and Klodi *some* Grand Tour glories to look forward to, unless you count (as I imagine someone does) their fetching Lance his chamois creme every morning the equivalent of their collective giant bucket of Grand Tour podium finishes goddammit?
Who the Hell is Sacha Modolo?: well, I didn't know, anyway, 'til I saw him come in a rather astonishing 4th in the fabulous Milano-Sanremo yesterday, but here's a link to this young pro's FACEBOOK FUNS CLUB and his very fine, if barely begun, palmares. I assume we'll be seeing a lot more of this kid, at least if he doesn't Ricco' himself out of the running?
Sanremo In Review: speaking of Milano-Sanremo, I might as well should've saved the trouble of grossly mis-calling the race yet again, as intermittent bodily trainwreck/tenacious dexter Oscar Freire not only correctly assessed his chances for the race, but also called out the entire podium as well. Only woof: that no-one'd attack about the end, and big points to Pippo Pozzato and Philippe Gilbert (and didja see Thor right up there with the leading group?) for throwing down the hammer and taking some risks. Better luck next year, Cav and Edvald!
Vai Paolo!: all right, even without his wily presence to shake things up in the peloton, the retired Paolo Bettini's still a god, and with the tragic death of national coach Franco Ballerini the squadra azzurra is still, naturally, rudderless, so let's hope the rumors that Bettini's gonna take control are true. Forza Paolo--and really, could Italian cycling do any better than him?
(Criterium) International Male: finally, we all know it blows that Jens isn't gonna be riding and inevitably winning Criterium Internationale this year, tho' as Lance and Alberto are facing off for the first time since Tour de France 2009, and aren't even particularly considered contenders, it's not like anyone's gonna actually report who wins it anyway. The down'n'dirty? According to Johan Bruyneel, our delicate flower Lance is still recovering from illness, which means (1) Lance is on form, and is gonna clobber him; (2) Lance is on form, and still can't clobber him, so Johan's looking for a gentler excuse than "he's just better than I am now" or (3) Lance isn't on form, and Johan really doesn't want a bunch of crap over it from stupid Americans who expect him to win every time and beeyotchy Euros who always hope he doesn't. Me, you can guess where I'm aiming, but anyhoo, in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I do want to wish--and I'm sure you will as well-- Lance a full and speedy recovery from what's ailing him--after all, when Contador kicks the crap out of you in July and you're truly on top of your game, what could be more satisfying than that?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Blood Is Thicker Than Water (Especially With All the !@#$ Valverde Pumps Into It)
Law and Order: so to the delight of UCI--which, having announced as its most recent anti-doping triumph nailing one of Pat McQuaid's grandkids for sneaking that extra Pop-Tart, could use some good news for once--the Court of Arbitration for Sport has upheld Alejandro "Mainline" Valverde's Italian ban for the 2006 Operacion Puerto doping scandal UCI itself was too lame to bag him for, opening the door for a world-wide ban just in time for Alejandro to, according to his website, sic pretty much all of Spain on their hypocrite narco-enabler rumps and, likely, delay his actual worldwide full-stop until sometime after Jens Voigt abandons the peloton for retirement in 2023. No moss growing on that boy, for sure! Me, I actually find Valverde's lately steady, well-measured performances a lot more disconcerting than his 2006-era intermittent brilliance and multiple catastrophic meltdowns, but then, I'm sure that's just the magic of mood-stabilizers over the slickly calibrated daily manipulation of hormone levels, so I'm certain you'll all join me in wishing our Alejandro the very best of luck in the remaining 2 riding days of his career. Luis Leon Sanchez--here's your chance, buddy! 'Til then however, and just in case we really don't see him again, here's an enthusiastic tribute to Alejandro:
Side Effects: meantime, despite how pissed off the Italians are for Ivan Basso hitting the skids while Valverde pedaled away in smug security the last 4 years, am I the only one who's thinking that, if other countries start banning less-than-sparkling foreign riders willy-nilly for stuff with only the most tenuous connection to their own soil, they're gonna start losing all *their* star riders to outside cycling federations' personal vendettas at a truly scorched-earth pace? DiLuca, Petacchi, Basso, Sella, Scarponi, even the great Simoni, unless you accept unquestioningly as I do that he did indeed accidentally snor--I mean eat--those Peruvian candies his grandma sent him--let's face it, there's barely gonna be anyone left in the Italian peloton except Cunego, McEwen and Cavendish, and two of those guys ain't even Italian. Be careful what you wish for--you just may get it after all!
Mint Milano: over in Classics countdowns, the favorites are starting to eye each other quite closely, with McEwen gracefully bowing out as teammate/former champ Pippo Pozzato gets the Katusha nod, Pippo outing himself as a metrosexual and defending the long road to the line as "foreplay", Cav flat-out calling himself a goner on this one, Tommeke modestly assessing his own form and the Italians arguing over whether Lance (1) just there as some crap uncaring publicity stunt and (2)whether any of 'em even ought to care since any idiot knows Petacchi's the only cyclist who matters anyhow. Me, I've been pondering all week over which inevitably-losing underdog I ought to root for, with Petacchi ultimately getting my vote because Boonen's already won his first Italian race this season and he's been largely absent from the studmuffin fanzine headlines anyhow. Allez Ale!
Welcome Back, Wanker: finally, a hearty embrace back for Riccardo Ricco' to racing action, rejoining his compatriots at the fine Coppi e Bartali, one of the few races that weasel's been welcomed into so far this season and notably free of any of the huge list of riders who've indicated they'd rather like to slug him. Ricco', tho', is earnestly following the Official Ghost-Written Pat Apology o' Desperate Money-Grubbing Necessity, complimenting his team, his DSes, his mechanics, and the mother he cowered behind like a smack-talking over-precocious two-year-old when he got busted, and his loyal tifosi (both of 'em) are looking forward to our wee climbing rocket coming back and, drug-free, show the peloton who's who when he drags in on the autobus on the first climb steeper than your local playground speed-bump. Aw, Ricco', I'm sure you'll do just as great riding clean as you did when you were doping--just look at how David Millar has done! Oh, wait....
Side Effects: meantime, despite how pissed off the Italians are for Ivan Basso hitting the skids while Valverde pedaled away in smug security the last 4 years, am I the only one who's thinking that, if other countries start banning less-than-sparkling foreign riders willy-nilly for stuff with only the most tenuous connection to their own soil, they're gonna start losing all *their* star riders to outside cycling federations' personal vendettas at a truly scorched-earth pace? DiLuca, Petacchi, Basso, Sella, Scarponi, even the great Simoni, unless you accept unquestioningly as I do that he did indeed accidentally snor--I mean eat--those Peruvian candies his grandma sent him--let's face it, there's barely gonna be anyone left in the Italian peloton except Cunego, McEwen and Cavendish, and two of those guys ain't even Italian. Be careful what you wish for--you just may get it after all!
Mint Milano: over in Classics countdowns, the favorites are starting to eye each other quite closely, with McEwen gracefully bowing out as teammate/former champ Pippo Pozzato gets the Katusha nod, Pippo outing himself as a metrosexual and defending the long road to the line as "foreplay", Cav flat-out calling himself a goner on this one, Tommeke modestly assessing his own form and the Italians arguing over whether Lance (1) just there as some crap uncaring publicity stunt and (2)whether any of 'em even ought to care since any idiot knows Petacchi's the only cyclist who matters anyhow. Me, I've been pondering all week over which inevitably-losing underdog I ought to root for, with Petacchi ultimately getting my vote because Boonen's already won his first Italian race this season and he's been largely absent from the studmuffin fanzine headlines anyhow. Allez Ale!
Welcome Back, Wanker: finally, a hearty embrace back for Riccardo Ricco' to racing action, rejoining his compatriots at the fine Coppi e Bartali, one of the few races that weasel's been welcomed into so far this season and notably free of any of the huge list of riders who've indicated they'd rather like to slug him. Ricco', tho', is earnestly following the Official Ghost-Written Pat Apology o' Desperate Money-Grubbing Necessity, complimenting his team, his DSes, his mechanics, and the mother he cowered behind like a smack-talking over-precocious two-year-old when he got busted, and his loyal tifosi (both of 'em) are looking forward to our wee climbing rocket coming back and, drug-free, show the peloton who's who when he drags in on the autobus on the first climb steeper than your local playground speed-bump. Aw, Ricco', I'm sure you'll do just as great riding clean as you did when you were doping--just look at how David Millar has done! Oh, wait....
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Contador's Hosed!
Uh-Oh: yep, it was a smashing (and for riders' bodies, oft-smashed) Paris-Nice all right, as Samuel Sanchez narrowly avoids a disastrous last-minute crash at the wheel of Christophe Le Mevel, Alejandro Valverde continues his creepy new ability to ride more than one day in a row without completely imploding physically and emotionally, Luis Leon Sanchez gets ready to take the Tour two years out, Voeckler violently yacks up defeat from the jaws of victory on the final day at the line, and race revelation/extreme Liquigas youngster Peter Sagan, whose previous palmares apparently consists of being the fastest kid on his 6th-grade paper-route, already ups his asking price for next season. But for my money, the most important thing out of Paris-Nice is this: I don't care what the hell Alexander Vinokorouv's gonna mainline from his musette at the feed zone this year, if he doesn't beat or drug Astana into form toute-suite, between Caisse Saxo Bank and yeah I'll damn well suck it up and admit it Radioskank even if Lance could barely pull of a ninth-place in South Africa this weekend, Alberto Contador is absolutely !@#$ed in July. Or am I the only one who noticed that the Kazakh laundry boy was the only guy in blue-and-yellow anywhere near our pistol-popping aging-ingenue after the first 5 km of the day? Too bad for you, twerp--I *told* you last winter to bail out of that hellhole!
DiLuded: and, just when you thought you'd heard the last of Danilo "Strawberry Shortcake" DiLuca, the disgraced catwalk master drops a bomb on Italian TV telling the interviewer he's just signing a huge honkin' Giro-bound contract with Lampre--like I needed another reason besides their jerking around Gilberto Simoni to be annoyed with 'em--only to immediately back off, one presumes under serious threats from pinstriped legal goons, and say that what he really meant was that he might have a new gig dusting the team bus for Vini Farnese. Nice save, Danilo--now back to Dolce & Gabbana for you!
Schlecks and the Sponsor: meantime, former Astana manager Marc Biver--who herded the squad through the glory days of some of the most voluminous doping pozes since Rock Racing got started--has confirmed that he's in talks to start up a Luxembourg-based gig with Frank'n'Andy. Bjarne, has your admission to winning your own yellow jersey in a dope-soaked haze clouded your mind--you can't find *anyone* to cough up the dough to keep everyone on board with your boys' collective reps?
War and Peace: so I'm lookin' at former Giro d'Italia winner/Tour de France aspirant Ivan Basso's Twitter feed, and thinkin' that, while our pretty principe is cheerfully going on about relaxing dinners with friends and the tranquil beauty of snowfall on branches, the real question here is still how long before a fist-fight--okay, more like a sissy-slap-fight, but I digress--between him and well-coiffed rival/teammate Franco Pellizotti, whose most recent source of irritation seems to be "why does that has-been-never-was Ivan keep getting more press coverage than I do no matter how many times I whomp him each season?" Well, *we* still love you, and your blonde highlights, Franco, so if being King of the Mountains and a truly rising Italian star of, y'know, actual cycling isn't enough for you, here's a little appreciation from your pals at racejunkie:
Did I mention you look just like Betty Grable in that photograph?
It's (Almost) Milano-Sanremo, Baby! last but not least, as Op Puerto refugee Michele Scarponi tears up the tarmac near the end of Tirreno-Adriatico--and I'm sure it's just the Wheaties he's been eating every morning--it's just 8 days and counting to Milano-Sanremo, with a Petacchi-Bennati showdown the big news, and poor achy Cavendish a mere afterthought, if that, for the bookies. Y'know, I wouldn't count Cav out yet, if indeed he's well enough to ride--no offense to Ale-Jet or wholly justified Italian national pride, but you really don't think he's a threat even with that head-as-big-as-his-ego out of whack?
DiLuded: and, just when you thought you'd heard the last of Danilo "Strawberry Shortcake" DiLuca, the disgraced catwalk master drops a bomb on Italian TV telling the interviewer he's just signing a huge honkin' Giro-bound contract with Lampre--like I needed another reason besides their jerking around Gilberto Simoni to be annoyed with 'em--only to immediately back off, one presumes under serious threats from pinstriped legal goons, and say that what he really meant was that he might have a new gig dusting the team bus for Vini Farnese. Nice save, Danilo--now back to Dolce & Gabbana for you!
Schlecks and the Sponsor: meantime, former Astana manager Marc Biver--who herded the squad through the glory days of some of the most voluminous doping pozes since Rock Racing got started--has confirmed that he's in talks to start up a Luxembourg-based gig with Frank'n'Andy. Bjarne, has your admission to winning your own yellow jersey in a dope-soaked haze clouded your mind--you can't find *anyone* to cough up the dough to keep everyone on board with your boys' collective reps?
War and Peace: so I'm lookin' at former Giro d'Italia winner/Tour de France aspirant Ivan Basso's Twitter feed, and thinkin' that, while our pretty principe is cheerfully going on about relaxing dinners with friends and the tranquil beauty of snowfall on branches, the real question here is still how long before a fist-fight--okay, more like a sissy-slap-fight, but I digress--between him and well-coiffed rival/teammate Franco Pellizotti, whose most recent source of irritation seems to be "why does that has-been-never-was Ivan keep getting more press coverage than I do no matter how many times I whomp him each season?" Well, *we* still love you, and your blonde highlights, Franco, so if being King of the Mountains and a truly rising Italian star of, y'know, actual cycling isn't enough for you, here's a little appreciation from your pals at racejunkie:
Did I mention you look just like Betty Grable in that photograph?
It's (Almost) Milano-Sanremo, Baby! last but not least, as Op Puerto refugee Michele Scarponi tears up the tarmac near the end of Tirreno-Adriatico--and I'm sure it's just the Wheaties he's been eating every morning--it's just 8 days and counting to Milano-Sanremo, with a Petacchi-Bennati showdown the big news, and poor achy Cavendish a mere afterthought, if that, for the bookies. Y'know, I wouldn't count Cav out yet, if indeed he's well enough to ride--no offense to Ale-Jet or wholly justified Italian national pride, but you really don't think he's a threat even with that head-as-big-as-his-ego out of whack?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas!/
Everywhere You Go: dang, it's not enough that the blizzard conditions are wrangling half the riders into the pavement at Paris-Nice--where at least you *expect* the conditions to be crappy every day--but now even the boys at Tirreno-Adriatico (including Robbie McEwen, who poetically tweeted that he "crashed on my arse") are getting walloped by Mother Nature as the predicted snow turns into miserable slippy sleet instead? Those poor little peloton popsicles--someone, buy those fragile scrawny bodies a hot tub! Hmmm, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to switch the Tour of California to completely destroy any legitimacy or competition by rescheduling it at the same time as the Giro in May after all...
Bruised But Not Beaten: while we're yappin' Paris-Nice, I see Alberto Contador is recovering nicely from a nasty bruise that, thank goodness, wasn't so severe it'll inordinately screw up his Tour de France training, which is great, as Lance Armstrong has, for the second time in as many days, hit the airwaves to reiterate that the Tour is no biggie one way or another and if he doesn't win or even podium, who gives? Um, am I the only one who recalls him (1) stating approximately 85,000 times last season (and pretty damn frequently earlier on this year) that he only came out of retirement to win it in the first place and (2) shrieking like a toddler in full-on meltdown when he didn't? Just makin' sure all that meth hasn't *totally* affected my memory!
Bah(ati), Humbug!: yep, as the Euro peloton continues to welcome the most disgusting miscreants back into its grimy ranks with impressive regularity, 2006 Tour de France champ Floyd Landis joins ex-Rock racer Rahsaan Bahati's new gig, replete with the sort of child-friendly charity photo ops that just last season bought the comely Ivan Basso a big fat ticket to Liquigas. I don't know, Floyd, maybe if you just changed your citizenship to Spain or Italy...what's a little traitorousness to the USA, if it'd score you one last (lucrative) ProTour gig for old times' sake?
Shock and Awe: in UCI news, the billion-dollar bio passport program has now busted its latest high-profile star for doping: that's right, Massimo "Who the !@#$ Is That Guy?" Giunti. Next up, that teenager you always see around your neighborhood riding his BMX bike on the sidewalk while he's texting his buds gets record-breaking narco-sentence for that extra algebra-class Red Bull. Nice to see all your hard work's paying off in locking up the big boys, UCI!
From the Do As I Say, Not As I Do Department: speaking of UCI, as head honcho Pat "Dick" McQuaid--much like the same pain-in-the-!@# ten-year-old who starts meticulously quoting from the rules on the inside of the Monopoly box the second they start thinking they might lose--goes all Inquisition on any sap rider whose sponsor dares to ask the UCI well ahead of time if the new time trial bike they're planning on using gets an A-OK from the playbook fascists, a faithful reader kindly sends me this lively tidbit about our earnest stickler Pat: indeed, while still just a lowly cyclist himself, he deliberately broke the UCI rules and assumed a false name to ride a race in apartheid-era South Africa, thereby being not just a rules-defying naughty-boy and a callous enabler jerkface, but also getting his dirty self kicked out of the Olympics as a result. Sure, *much* worse to have an extra millimeter of carbon fiber on your stem--don't you feel better about being yanked off your bike at the sign-in, Alberto?
We Love Jens Gratuitous Video of the Day: oh, yeah, he's in yellow, baby--and what's more, since he's not defending his 656th consecutive Criterium International crown this year, he sez he's in it to win it:
We love Jens!
Bruised But Not Beaten: while we're yappin' Paris-Nice, I see Alberto Contador is recovering nicely from a nasty bruise that, thank goodness, wasn't so severe it'll inordinately screw up his Tour de France training, which is great, as Lance Armstrong has, for the second time in as many days, hit the airwaves to reiterate that the Tour is no biggie one way or another and if he doesn't win or even podium, who gives? Um, am I the only one who recalls him (1) stating approximately 85,000 times last season (and pretty damn frequently earlier on this year) that he only came out of retirement to win it in the first place and (2) shrieking like a toddler in full-on meltdown when he didn't? Just makin' sure all that meth hasn't *totally* affected my memory!
Bah(ati), Humbug!: yep, as the Euro peloton continues to welcome the most disgusting miscreants back into its grimy ranks with impressive regularity, 2006 Tour de France champ Floyd Landis joins ex-Rock racer Rahsaan Bahati's new gig, replete with the sort of child-friendly charity photo ops that just last season bought the comely Ivan Basso a big fat ticket to Liquigas. I don't know, Floyd, maybe if you just changed your citizenship to Spain or Italy...what's a little traitorousness to the USA, if it'd score you one last (lucrative) ProTour gig for old times' sake?
Shock and Awe: in UCI news, the billion-dollar bio passport program has now busted its latest high-profile star for doping: that's right, Massimo "Who the !@#$ Is That Guy?" Giunti. Next up, that teenager you always see around your neighborhood riding his BMX bike on the sidewalk while he's texting his buds gets record-breaking narco-sentence for that extra algebra-class Red Bull. Nice to see all your hard work's paying off in locking up the big boys, UCI!
From the Do As I Say, Not As I Do Department: speaking of UCI, as head honcho Pat "Dick" McQuaid--much like the same pain-in-the-!@# ten-year-old who starts meticulously quoting from the rules on the inside of the Monopoly box the second they start thinking they might lose--goes all Inquisition on any sap rider whose sponsor dares to ask the UCI well ahead of time if the new time trial bike they're planning on using gets an A-OK from the playbook fascists, a faithful reader kindly sends me this lively tidbit about our earnest stickler Pat: indeed, while still just a lowly cyclist himself, he deliberately broke the UCI rules and assumed a false name to ride a race in apartheid-era South Africa, thereby being not just a rules-defying naughty-boy and a callous enabler jerkface, but also getting his dirty self kicked out of the Olympics as a result. Sure, *much* worse to have an extra millimeter of carbon fiber on your stem--don't you feel better about being yanked off your bike at the sign-in, Alberto?
We Love Jens Gratuitous Video of the Day: oh, yeah, he's in yellow, baby--and what's more, since he's not defending his 656th consecutive Criterium International crown this year, he sez he's in it to win it:
We love Jens!
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Psych-Out or Snake-Out?
Tell Me Lies/Tell Me Sweet Little Lies: okay, I'm not ordinarily one to psychoanalyze Lance Armstrong--unless pointing out that he acted like a whining backstabbing prima donna punk-!@# to Contador last July counts as analysis--but when curious articles start turning up on my legal news sites, even I'm seduced into taking notice, so here's the question: when Lance himself says that cycling is no longer his top priority and boy does he have a lot of other more important stuff going on right now, is he (1) psyching-out Contador by implying he's weak and planning on stealth-crushing him in the Tour instead, or is he (2)snaking-out making excuses in advance if he doesn't beat the child this year either? Recalling Lance's famous punking of Jan Ullrich by faux-bonking in the mountains then tossing him out the back like a drooly tissue, it could well be (1), but for my money, even if it is, it don't mean he ain't got (2) as his back-up plan! Either way, I actually don't see it as simple as Contador being younger'n'stronger'n' Lance (I ain't even gonna argue "smarter," tho' it's true as certain faithful readers have noted that he wasn't *entirely* stupid in the Tour last year) and Lance being a bone-creakin' mummified geezer. The fact is, even with Pereiro, Maxim Iglinsky's throw-down humiliation of the Italians at the Strade Bianche this weekend and psycho Vino's admirable certainty to get his troops in top shape and (unlike some team leaders we can think of) handsomely reward them for their efforts, much as it gacks me to say it RadioSkank is just so exponentially superior in firepower (not to mention more utterly psychologically whipped) that they may well be able to make up for Lance's dessicating body and new-found interest in other endeavors. Aw, rats--if that happens, it's gonna be a miserable craphole July in *my* happy sunshiny world!
I Believe in Miracles/You Schlecksy Thing (You Schlecksy Thing, You): meantime, as Bjarne Riis hits the suck-up circuit begging for a new sponsor, as if he ought to with that roster but then again it's true they don't have we love Carlos Sastre on board any longer so who can blame 'em except for Jens is a god so how they can toss him under the bus is beyond me, rumors are a-swirlin' that Frank'n'Andy are contemplating their own new squad for 2011, with Cancellara already under serious pursuit and, no doubt, a bucket of podiums in store. Frank, however, is coy to the press and dead-quiet on his Twitter feed, merely tossing out a warning to watch out for him at the Tour instead. Go Schlecks--either way, it's not like no-one else is gonna hire you if you bail!
Woo-hoo Jens! (Spoiler Alert): meantime, as Alberto gets ready to avenge his spectacular crack at last season's Paris-Nice, none other than we love Jens Voigt has recovered smashingly from his nasty bone-breaking tumble at the Tour and took an incredible 2nd in the prologue, no doubt a characteristically mellow lead-in to a humongous wad of peloton-pulverizing breakaways and Tour-stage slapdowns later this year. We love Jens!
Tweet o' the Week (alright, 3 weeks ago, who gives?): finally, if Robbie McEwen's frequent dope-smacking press cuss-fests and sporadic intra-sprint violence weren't already enough to make me love him of late, he's sure not holding back on his love affair with coward-weenie Riccardo Ricco', opining he's a "pieceofshit" and imploring him "justdon'tcomeback". Um, considering the Pocket Rocket's known tendencies to dismember his rivals 10 meters from the line, I mightn't get in his face at the pre-race sign-in, Ricco'...if your scumly presence don't get your team disinvited from all the rest of the races this year!
I Believe in Miracles/You Schlecksy Thing (You Schlecksy Thing, You): meantime, as Bjarne Riis hits the suck-up circuit begging for a new sponsor, as if he ought to with that roster but then again it's true they don't have we love Carlos Sastre on board any longer so who can blame 'em except for Jens is a god so how they can toss him under the bus is beyond me, rumors are a-swirlin' that Frank'n'Andy are contemplating their own new squad for 2011, with Cancellara already under serious pursuit and, no doubt, a bucket of podiums in store. Frank, however, is coy to the press and dead-quiet on his Twitter feed, merely tossing out a warning to watch out for him at the Tour instead. Go Schlecks--either way, it's not like no-one else is gonna hire you if you bail!
Woo-hoo Jens! (Spoiler Alert): meantime, as Alberto gets ready to avenge his spectacular crack at last season's Paris-Nice, none other than we love Jens Voigt has recovered smashingly from his nasty bone-breaking tumble at the Tour and took an incredible 2nd in the prologue, no doubt a characteristically mellow lead-in to a humongous wad of peloton-pulverizing breakaways and Tour-stage slapdowns later this year. We love Jens!
Tweet o' the Week (alright, 3 weeks ago, who gives?): finally, if Robbie McEwen's frequent dope-smacking press cuss-fests and sporadic intra-sprint violence weren't already enough to make me love him of late, he's sure not holding back on his love affair with coward-weenie Riccardo Ricco', opining he's a "pieceofshit" and imploring him "justdon'tcomeback". Um, considering the Pocket Rocket's known tendencies to dismember his rivals 10 meters from the line, I mightn't get in his face at the pre-race sign-in, Ricco'...if your scumly presence don't get your team disinvited from all the rest of the races this year!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
It's Time to Hit the Pave', Baby!
"Hit" is Right: yep, it's been a traditionally beautifully balmy couple o' days in Belgium, as Het Omloop Neiuwsbladt and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne start off the smashing Classics season, as the boys whack the rocks like dominoes, beloved strongman Boonen gets thwapped with mechanicals with almost Hincapian regularity, zonked'n'filthy Tommeke, Nuyens, Posthuma and Pozzato head for the showers early, Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen crunches his knee before he can whomp anyone upside the head with his helmet, and poor Stijn Devolder even gets smacked over by a flying garbage can in the monsoon. Anyone want to take bets on how long it'll take Contador to flee screaming rather'n take on the pave' with the big boys? Anyhoo, here's Juan Antonio Flecha attacking the field and humiliating the Belgians in the slop at Het Omloop:
A Gentle Reminder to the Fans: okay, fellow tifosi, we've sliced Thor Hushovd's arm off with a promotional cardboard tchotcke, let our dogs crumple the bikes of Tour de France like drooly tissues, thought the direct path of the surging peloton a lovely place to take a meandering summer stroll, and now we've decided that the best and most thoughtful way to get an action shot of Alessandro Petacchi winning a sprint is to clock him right off his bike and capture his bloody writhing form right in front of us instead: Now, can we try not to actually *kill* anyone at least 'til they've gotten their primary objectives for the season under their belts? Most appreciated, I'm sure!
Grey's Anatomy: in early-season body-count news, Rinaldo Nocentini's already out for the season with a couple of snapped leg-bones, Cunego's still in a full-body cast recovering from his traumatic boo-boos, and, even worse, Mark "Jaws" Cavendish's lost the first sprint of his life after an agonizing infection rots out a good dozen of his 8,000 razor-sharp teeth. Oh well, at least we know Stuey O'Grady and Oscar Freire are impermeable enough to survive even nuclear explosions like cochroaches, much less some toddler toothache or silly severed collarbone...that gives us *two* boys who'll make through 'til the end of the season, at least!
Woo-hoo!: all right, as you've surely heard and don't give a rat's tail-end about by now, the world of cycling has finally heeded my four-year-old plea and given we love Joseba Beloki, last heard sighing dejectedly over his hideous dissing, a new gig as a DS at Basque breeding ground Cafe Baque', where he'll presumably nurture the next generation of perfect tiny climbers. For those of you too new, or inexcusably oblivious, to the sport to remember dear Joseba, here's his monstrous Tour de France leg-snap, accompanied incidentally by the single greatest instance of bike handling in all human history at the hands of--yep, I'm givin' credit where it's due--Lance Armstrong: Now can anyone get we still love Roberto Heras another gig besides tottering around embarrassingly in clown-bike races, for heck's sake!?
Miss Manners He Ain't: meantime, as if the Vania Rossi/Riccardo Ricco' saga could get any more sordid with cowardly hightailing and accusations of baby doping,Ricco' manages to take the noble knightship of "wussmaster" to a whole 'nother level as his outraged big bro-in-law shouts that not only has the officious little geek been using training as an excuse to bail on his own son since the scandal broke ('cause we all know that it don't take Ricco' long to "train" a needle into his !@#), but he also had the remarkably fourth-grade lack of class to ditch poor Vania by a text telling her "I'm no longer in love with you, it's over." Am I the only one surmising there's going to be a good two dozen riders looking to shove this crybaby simp off the nearest mountainside on the grounds that he's not only a thieving cheat but a pathetic excuse for a pimply junior-high dork-boy? Damn, I'd rather watch Armstrong coverage than this stupid !@#$! Okay, maybe not Armstrong. Maybe the perpetually whiny St. David Millar could take up some airtime sobbing for the cameras instead?
Tweet O' The Week: finally, welcome to a new feature here on racejunkie, as this week's prize goes to we love Frank Schleck for this pearl in which he remonstrates Jakob Fuglsang for whining about his !@# and suggests a cure as well . Fascinating, but just perhaps a little *too* intimate to send out to even the less gossipmongering amongst the general public?
A Gentle Reminder to the Fans: okay, fellow tifosi, we've sliced Thor Hushovd's arm off with a promotional cardboard tchotcke, let our dogs crumple the bikes of Tour de France like drooly tissues, thought the direct path of the surging peloton a lovely place to take a meandering summer stroll, and now we've decided that the best and most thoughtful way to get an action shot of Alessandro Petacchi winning a sprint is to clock him right off his bike and capture his bloody writhing form right in front of us instead: Now, can we try not to actually *kill* anyone at least 'til they've gotten their primary objectives for the season under their belts? Most appreciated, I'm sure!
Grey's Anatomy: in early-season body-count news, Rinaldo Nocentini's already out for the season with a couple of snapped leg-bones, Cunego's still in a full-body cast recovering from his traumatic boo-boos, and, even worse, Mark "Jaws" Cavendish's lost the first sprint of his life after an agonizing infection rots out a good dozen of his 8,000 razor-sharp teeth. Oh well, at least we know Stuey O'Grady and Oscar Freire are impermeable enough to survive even nuclear explosions like cochroaches, much less some toddler toothache or silly severed collarbone...that gives us *two* boys who'll make through 'til the end of the season, at least!
Woo-hoo!: all right, as you've surely heard and don't give a rat's tail-end about by now, the world of cycling has finally heeded my four-year-old plea and given we love Joseba Beloki, last heard sighing dejectedly over his hideous dissing, a new gig as a DS at Basque breeding ground Cafe Baque', where he'll presumably nurture the next generation of perfect tiny climbers. For those of you too new, or inexcusably oblivious, to the sport to remember dear Joseba, here's his monstrous Tour de France leg-snap, accompanied incidentally by the single greatest instance of bike handling in all human history at the hands of--yep, I'm givin' credit where it's due--Lance Armstrong: Now can anyone get we still love Roberto Heras another gig besides tottering around embarrassingly in clown-bike races, for heck's sake!?
Miss Manners He Ain't: meantime, as if the Vania Rossi/Riccardo Ricco' saga could get any more sordid with cowardly hightailing and accusations of baby doping,Ricco' manages to take the noble knightship of "wussmaster" to a whole 'nother level as his outraged big bro-in-law shouts that not only has the officious little geek been using training as an excuse to bail on his own son since the scandal broke ('cause we all know that it don't take Ricco' long to "train" a needle into his !@#), but he also had the remarkably fourth-grade lack of class to ditch poor Vania by a text telling her "I'm no longer in love with you, it's over." Am I the only one surmising there's going to be a good two dozen riders looking to shove this crybaby simp off the nearest mountainside on the grounds that he's not only a thieving cheat but a pathetic excuse for a pimply junior-high dork-boy? Damn, I'd rather watch Armstrong coverage than this stupid !@#$! Okay, maybe not Armstrong. Maybe the perpetually whiny St. David Millar could take up some airtime sobbing for the cameras instead?
Tweet O' The Week: finally, welcome to a new feature here on racejunkie, as this week's prize goes to we love Frank Schleck for this pearl in which he remonstrates Jakob Fuglsang for whining about his !@# and suggests a cure as well . Fascinating, but just perhaps a little *too* intimate to send out to even the less gossipmongering amongst the general public?
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