Tommeke's Back, Baby!

Woo-hoo Tom!: yes, our big babelicious Boonen, who'd actually have preferred to be at E3 Prijs this weekend but took Quick Step's demands to the contrary like a pip, is finally back after a long, glum post-illness bonk (though weren't you *so* proud to see Tom do *so* well sticking it out for *so* long in Milano-Sanremo while still recovering from the flu?) with a wholly unexpected--and beautifully played--pure sprint in Gent-Wevelgem. His reaction? More'n pleased, but not a typical sprinter-wank about it. Okay, Tom, you've eaten way enough humble pie the last couple seasons--time to come back and enjoy the main meal at the grown-ups' table from now on! Oh, and since I swore not to use that photo of you in a gladiator skirt anymore, lookin' good (with today's champ Frank Schleck no less) boy!

Yaaaaa-aawwwnnnn: okay, Fabian Cancellara is brilliant. But speaking of E3 Prijs, am I the only one who pretty well turned off the race in resignation and boredom when he took a flyer off the front with 16k to go and Haussler jerked off his wheel like he'd been actively glued to the tarmac? Forget "bike doping"--obviously, while the Spanish peloton was spending the entire winter dru--relaxing, the guy was in some secret medical clinic in Switzerland having his entire lower body replaced with titanium during the off-season. Cripes, Fabian, you can't at least *fake* a little fatigue for the guys behind you so we've got *something* fun to watch while you're riding?

Don't Mess With the Cavendish: meantime, ever-class whinemeister Mark Cavendish was less than thrilled to be taken out in Gent by some Movistar clown while he still had the legs to go for it--though what he was doing at the ass-end of nowhere in the peloton at that point in the race still escapes me--but, to his fine credit, managed to keep the post-race cursing to a minimum, unless I missed a whole bunch of Manx slang for "!@#$%ing Movistar mother!@#$ing !@#$er!" Here's the video: Aw, don't worry, Tusher--I know your boy'll come back blazing by the Tour!

Jeeeeennnnnnsssss!: fine, I know Frank Schleck actually won the Criterium International this weekend because the race organizers made a special if incomprehensible point of completely screwing the great Jens Voigt with the course, but it *was* dandy to see (1) Jens full-on attack from a gazillion kilometers out and (2) we still love Andreas Kloden taking another race, particularly since, when he popped around Samuel "Holy Crap He's the Olympic Gold Medalist!" Sanchez at Paris-Nice, I was just too heartbroken to really root for him. Anyone else notice since the glory days of T-Mobile and RadioSkank that when Klodi hasn't a dedicated owner like Lance or Jan he's seemingly mentally incapable of not kneeling to, he can actually pull off quite a fine race in his own right? While we're at it, next guy (like Frank) who does that !@#damn double-fingered chest thump like some grunting boss-man gorilla crossing the line gets his !@#$in' arms ripped out of his shoulders by the urine-test guy. Capisce?

Sisters Doin' It For Themselves: finally, congrats to the great Emma Pooley for her win at the spiffy Trofeo Binda today. Now--say, Versus or Universal--can we get some footage of women's racing where and when we can actually see it?

Easy Rider (At Least 'Til CAS Nails His !@#)

Enjoy It While It Lasts, Contador!: yep, after a triumphal queen stage for Alberto over at the Volta a Catalunya (and not to spoil yer party, honey, but y'know, if you're trying to prove your innocence on doping charges, ostentatiously dropping the rest of the Tour de France contenders like a rock on a vicious climb don't exactly *help* yer case), UCI's announced it is in fact appealing the Spanish cycling fed's impressive exoneration of Alberto Contador to the Court of Arbitration for Sport. The reasoning: UCI wants the "best decision" for "us, for Contador, and for the whole sport of cycling." Um, am I the only who thinks we're talkin' diametrically opposite interests here? In Contador's favor: cyclists--and even those hard-core steroid-stuffed Olympic ping-pong athletes--are getting off left and right these days for the inadvertent ingestion of Clenbuterol through loaded syring--um, tainted meat. Not in Contador's favor: well, pretty much everything else, particularly UCI's death-ray focus on showing that, between rider protests, revelations of half-million dollar Lance Armstrong gifts, shameless press-whoring, and, as the teams threaten to set up their own competing race league, its grievous losses in the Sissy-Boy Slap-Fight Superbowl, it hasn't been completely emasculated this year. Well, good luck with that, Alberto--and !@#dammit, Contador, I *told* you to cut that snotty "Pistolero" crap--you *know* if you keep pokin' at your brother in the back seat, he's gonna tell Mom!

A Mint Milano (-Sanremo)

Gossie, Gossie, Gossie, Oy, Oy, Oy!: wow, what a wham-bang of a finish at Milano-Sanremo! I gotta say, I had Cancellara pegged, but without a long flat finishing straight the man just ran out of road--compliments all 'round to rising Aussie star (and, natch, our beloved Aussie reader(s)) Matt Goss on a truly smashing sprint! Of course, I was crushed to see O'Grady fade, and no-one was gonna let Philippe Gilbert get any space--much to his particular rage when Pippo Pozzato chased him down. And Cav, at least today you can plausibly say it was that crash--whew! Here's the finale and then some:

Perfetto!: speaking of Milano-Sanremo, what would today's race mean without fine comparative footage of the 1922 edition? You want some translation, let me know. So, for your viewing pleasure:
Wah, wah, "strade bianche," wah--check this !@#$ out!

What An Ass: okay, no sleek taglines for me on this one--Pat "Dick" McQuaid is just, if I may diplomatically say, a total wanker. Why? Because, rather than address the actual merits of the pro-race radio argument--which, since Jens Voigt sez so, must be both many and persuasive no matter what my ignoramus carcass thinks--he used his "open letter to the riders" on the race radio situation to not only insult Jens himself--for which he deserves, though I am personally a pacifist and do not advocate any sort of wildlife-driven vengeance, to be eaten alive by rabid wolverines--but also to fatuously accuse them of being brainless saps (okay, let's be fair, he got a few of 'em there) whose heads have been totally manipulated by their self-interested teams. Which is funny, 'cause I thought the only thing the teams were manipulating was the riders' blood values--ba-dum-bum! Thank you very much, folks, I'm in the Catskills every Tuesday night...

What A Maroon: finally, no post would be complete without some half-wit testing poz for something, so many thanks for "reformed" scum-weasel/hypocrite tattle-taler Patrik Sinkewitz for coming up with the goods on HGH. Y'know, I *knew* that crap could cause some facial-bone growth as a side effect, but honest, I couldn't even tell: Lookin' good, Pat!

Cavendish, Cavendish, Wherefore Art Thou, Cavendish?

Disappoint Thy Lead-Out, And Confuse Thy Train: okay, so HTC-Columbia ain't panicking "yet" at the middling performance of fastest-man-on-earth Mark Cavendish so far this season, which must be why they're already also pegging Matt Goss as a protected rider for this weekend's festivities. And sure, his main 2011 goal of slaughtering every rival at the Giro, Tour and Vuelta is still some months away. But it's only a coupla days 'til Milano-Sanremo, baby, and with Tom Boonen at least having the excuse of the flu for being down, and Cav openly having touted his desire to crush the Classics as well, someone's gotta ask: you're gonna scare the likes of Freire, McEwen, and Hushovd with *that* crap show at Tirreno? How the hell can you insult everyone who helps you in your inevitable post-race no-brains interview meltdown if you're too far back at the line for anybody to want to talk to you anyway? Oh, Mark, you're just too entertaining to implode...here, this picture oughta fire you up!

Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli: uh, oh, UCI, better watch out: according to WADA, the "criminal underworld" is gaining control of the lucrative doping trade in pro sports, and if you guys !@#$ with their cash flow, they're gonna get *pissed.* Gee, maybe Alberto Contador is innocent after all, and surely all this whining and moaning about "CERA this" and "performance-enhancing" that really *is* just a buncha losers mad that they just plain can't win races. Here, let's flush that silly urine sample, Pat--that is, if you *like* having functioning kneecaps!

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Evans: y'know, the man ain't flashy. But then--and this from a guy whose historically dull wheel-sucking would've been annoying if it hadn't been so snooze-inducing--Cadel strikes, and while Scarponi and Nibali sit up like dithering tactical blockheads on the penultimate stage of Tirreno-Adriatico just yards from the line, he sneaks up and grabs the stage, and, for all intents and purposes, the overall win. So Ivan Basso sez he's not afraid of either Contador or Schleck in July? Fine--but he's an eejit if he's not at least a little scared of Cadel! Here's the move, just wait out the ad:

Ten-Four, Big Wanker: finally, over in race-radio news, the doper-enabler favoritism-junkies over at UCI are reportedly considering a compromise to allow genuine safety info, at least, to be immediately transmitted to the riders, which, I believe, makes particular sense for races on French soil. Anyone else envision the race commissaire grabbing the radio just to scream "!@#dammit, FDJ, if one of you weaklings don't take at least one race this season to salvage our national dignity you're gonna be taken out back of Sarkozy's garage like a rabid raccoon and shot!" Now *that's* a valid safety concern, dear reader(s)--"avoiding a 20-rider pileup" is the least of their problems!

I Said Get Me a *Double* Espresso, Beeyotch!

I'm Never Gonna Dance Again/ Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm: no, Riccardo Ricco didn't dope--his total calamitous organ failure was just a completely random event, sorta like sneezing, or voluntarily jamming a drugged-up syringe into yer scrawny spandex !@--um, sorta like sneezing. And yes, he blames cycling for it instead of himself--so not only does the whole sport make him wanna barf, he's quitting to become a barista. Plenty o' call for them at the start line of a Grand Tour, Riccardo--just watch out some of your former teammates don't toss their scalding ristrettos into your eyeballs! And okay, a barista is actually a bartender, but really, even a hard-core customer can't drink enough bourbon to make this clown bearable. Look, I'm very sorry Ricco' almost killed himself disgracing the legacy of the great Italian trainer Aldo Sassi (and even worse, his undeserved mentor Gilberto Simoni) with a bag o' expired blood, particularly since the oily little gnome actually managed to spawn and nearly left an innocent child behind. And I'm truly glad he's wholly recovered, particularly 'cause it'll give him about 50 years to get over his cowardly ingrained denial and his wussmasterian tendency to run'n'hide behind his fiancee and mama's skirts and go apologize to the clean riders (oh, come on! there's gotta be *some*!) he !@#$ed out of a Grand Tour stage win. Ergo, one last, fond look at our little Cobra in action:
Oops, wrong link!:

All the Race News That Don't Make You Sick: meantime, there's been some pretty high excitement over at Tirreno-Adriatico and Paris-Nice this week, and for my money, aside from Andreas Kloden being allowed to win a race with his ex-boss no longer around to whip 'em (and did anyone tell the great Levi Leipheimer he's free to ride now that he doesn't need to do Lance's laundry anymore?) the most noteworthy is that--and we all know reigning World Champions don't hardly domestique for anybody, whether they've got the legs to win or not--smashingly gracious big lug we love Thor Hushovd deigned to lead out teammate Tyler Farrar for the jersey and stage win. You're great to watch, Tyler, but you better remember this favor on the cobbles at Paris-Roubaix--now get to work with a hammer'n'chisel and start smoothin' 'em out for the man!

Friends In High Places: finally, if uber-narc/Lance nemesis Jeff Novitzky didn't have it hard enough evading hordes of pro-Lance torch-bearing villagers armed with pitchforks and Colt .45s trying to stop the search for truth in its tracks in Armstrong's home digs in Texas, now the man's got a Georgia Congressman on his butt, and to my mind anyway, I'd rather be rolled in tar and feathers and set on fire on some remote ranch somewhere than have to justify myself before a Congressional committee. Pretty good to be the king, Lance--but you still shoulda got Bush on your side before he got pissed crashing on his mountain bike!

They Blinded Me With Science

You *Suck*, CAS!: okay, poindexters, clear this up: why the !@#$ is Franco Pellizotti busted for two years under the bio passport when actual proven dopers get to go free or get some punk-!@# 1-year suspension? Fine, Pellizotti's blood values came up "funny." Is that really as incriminating and does it really warrant the same result as, say, your actual drugged-up bloodbag--like Ivan's or Valverde's? Or even, taking the strict-liability clenbuterol rule into account, some !@#$up buying a tainted supplement from some shady assclown off the internet or tainted steak from a farmer? I'm not sayin' Franco's innocent (tho' let's face it, he ain't dirtier than half the peloton last year), but I *am* calling total, complete, unmitigated bull!@#$. And no, I don't want to reward a pack of cheating scumlords for being rich, lucky, or savvy enough to beat the tests. But dang, oughtn't they be held *less* accountable than someone at *least* as stupid and inarguably more clearly guilty? You *suck*, UCI--now do you have the guts to go after a star who *really* broke the rules? And no, "Um, we got Pietro Caucchioli too" doesn't count!

Shades o' Contador: no, not an actual positive test--they wish!--but Franco, for his part, does claim he's been "cheated" and vows he's had it with the whole unjust circus and is quitting the sport for good. Oh, Franco, you cut off those lovely locks for nuthin'...at least you've got nuthin' but time for them to grow back! Anyway, here's our (ex) Giro podium finisher/polka-dot jersey winner in happier days:

The Spanish-Italian War: meanwhile, the tifosi, of course, are freaking out, claiming (1) he didn't do it (2) if he did, they don't care and (3) as usual, the guilty Spaniards get to walk or put off their suspensions til they're actually clinically dead, while the guilty Italians get hosed just in time for that little bastard Contador to ride and take their hometown Giro, *again.* Aw, don't worry, I'm sure Alberto'll dedicate a stage win to Franco in May...won't that make you all feel better?

Nice To Know You: in race news, it's alternately thrills 'n' carnage at Paris-Nice. Today's smashing win (and nasty fall): Get well soon, Sagan--and geez, did *anyone* predict Thomas de Gendt for Stage 1?

Bow, Bow I Say!: finally, for no particular reason except I was just so happy luxuriating in the dulcet tones of Phil Liggett 'n' Paul Sherwen from Paris-Nice this weekend, I bring you a wholly gratuitous tribute to Sir Phil himself: Oh Phil, *tell* me they're all clean, I'll believe anything you say, I promise!

My Fantasy Alberto Contador Press Conference

Good morning. I've called you all here today to break my sworn silence for the first time since I was falsely accused of doping at the 2010 Tour de France (brother/manager Fran whispers in ear). What? I've been complaining to the media every day? In that case, I've called you all here today because I haven't called you all here today since yesterday.

First, I'd like to address my defense to the minute amounts of clenbuterol found in my body. As we all know, this came from those leftover blood bags from the Tour de Suisse I thought were--(Fran whacks upside the head)--*ow!* I mean, from a tainted steak purchased in Spain for which we have the receipt. And if that doesn't hold up, we also have the receipt from the potatoes I ate that night as a side dish, because, as my team chef assures me, those things were so freakishly huge clen was obviously used to bulk those suckers *up*. I would like to point out to UCI and WADA, as they review my file in the desperate hope they can let me off the hook for this deba--(Fran pinches Alberto's arm)--Mo-om! Fran's pinching me!--review my file with all due objectivity, that the very fact that zero cows in a Spanish barnyard population of 36 million have ever tested poz actually proves my innocence, because obviously, no cow ever tested positive because obviously I ate the very one that *was* positive before it could be tested for clenbuterol. How do you like *them* apples, you doubters?!

Second, I'd like to address the issue of the plasticizer residue allegedly found in my blood that exactly chemically matches the plasticizers used in the high-grade medical equipment my soigneur purchased from that guy in the hoodie off the back of that tru--(Fran kicks sharply in shins)--ouch, quit it Fran!--I mean, found in IV tubing exclusively stored in locked vaults in hospitals. Mainly, that there's no UCI or WADA-approved test for it yet, so you can't get me. Nyeah nyeah nyeah nyeah nyeah! Also, the reason it got there anyway even if it *did* get there anyway is because, as you all know, every time I do well on a training ride, Fran lets me have my Sunny D juice box with a Silly Straw. Look, my new one's blue--isn't that keen?


Third, I want to remind everyone of three things: (1) if you criticize someone with a preexisting medical condition for the totally unrelated defense of doping, you're a heartless !@#hole; (2) if you criticize someone who performs genuinely noble charitable work, you're a heartless !@#hole; and (3) in light of the fact that I'm doing this for *all* cyclists, primarily because I don't want to race against the rest of those drug-stoked dirtbags clean myse--(Fran pinches arm hard)--Mo-om! Fran's pinching me!--I ask you to give *my* protestations of innocence the same respect and credence you gave Floyd Landis, !@#$, I mean, Lance Armstrong. Did I mention I just donated $500,000 in cutting-edge laboratory equipment to UCI?

In conclusion, I'd like to remind you that I am just as cute if not even cuter than Ivan Basso, you big meanies made my parents cry, and most of all I want to thank the national cycling federation of Spain for having the strictest, most effective rider-protection sca--(Fran noogies Alberto's head violently)--I am *so* going to make Bjarne Riis beat the crap out of you Fran!--anti-doping program in the world. How else to explain that in the 852 "false" positives in the Spanish peloton in 2010 alone, there's never been a single conviction? Now *that's* due process, baby (Fran hustles Alberto out of room with cattle prod)!

Oh, Hush *Up*, Alberto!

La-La-La-I-Can't-Hear-You!: look, I'm with dear reader PJ to a certain extent on this--Contador is thrilling to watch on a climb, and the boundless satisfaction I got when he kicked Lance Armstrong's !@# and Lance was a graceless third-grader schoolyard beeyotch to him on the podium was a cold, cold glass of lemonade on a hot, hot day. But for %^&*'s *sake* Alberto, if you don't want UCI and WADA appealing your case (which, to be fair, they're gonna do anyway), *don't* go telling em' to "read the whole file" and "trust the process" just like you do. Get it, boy? If they're gonna back off on you at all, they need an out that doesn't make 'em look as shamelessly enabling and sycophantic as they've always been with La--that is, as the entire freakin' nation of Spain has been with you. You yap, you screw that up. You want to ride, let 'em scam their *own* bul!@#$ excuse so they can plausibly claim total neutrality when they get pounded for letting a big name off the hook, *again*. Capisce?

Ask and Ye Shall Receive: Joe's right, it *is* an interesting story--the return of erstwhile old-school pro/Olympic gold medalist/Colorado-scene eccentric Alexi Grewal. Now, I confess, back in the day, my knowledge of the 80s US cycling scene was pretty much completely limited to "Wow, Greg Lemond is kicking spindly Euro !@#!". But after catching up on what I've missed, I gotta say, I'm intrigued to see the man back in action. So does his inspiring story and imminent comeback--sorta like Chad Gerlach, whose tragic-yet-heartwarming tale of talent, freefall, and redemption apparently concealed a truly astonishing pervy doucheosity--x-out the fact that by some accounts the guy was allegedly a massive tool when he was at the top of his game? I mean, let's face it, if sheer character dictated success, Jens Voigt'd be, well, even more of a god than he already is, I'd be completely out of an already-lowly blog, and Lance'd be in an unventilated sweatshop scrubbin' the six-hour skank off George Hincapie's chamois somewhere. Anyway, since I don't have to ride with him, I'm wishing him all the best on his return. Gerlach, however, is another matter. Facebook and ye shall sow, pig-boy!

Game On, Baby!: last but not least, as the Classics finally get underway in earnest, and Thor, Tom, Philippe, and George get ready to cause their fellow riders some serious pain, fastest-man-on-wheels Mark Cavendish has announced his season plan: he's ready to take on the Giro, the Tour, the Vuelta, the Classics, and that mother!@#$er who deliberately got into the 12-items-or-less line at Whole Foods with 13 items. Me, I'm expecting another smashing Milano-Sanremo and, of course, a ripsnorter of a post-race insults-to-everyone interview whether he wins or not. Good luck Cav--and especially lookin' forward to seeing you at the press conference! Here he is with the win in 2009:

Showdown at the Classics Corral; and, Sissy-Boy Twit-Fights!

Yep, Race Radios Suck!: wow, congrats to Sebastien Langeveld on a bangin' pounce at the line over yes-I-thought-he'd-take-it-bite-me Juan Antonio Flecha at the Omloop Het Nieuwsblad, and if today's thrilling end proved anything, it's that (1) Thor and Tommeke are lookin' on target for a few weeks from now (shut up! Thor sez he's happy), and (2) some riders--and we all know who they ain't--can actually think for themselves without total bloody implosion catastrophe. Let the MENSA inmates rule the asylum, baby! Here's the top two at war, the glance'n'dither ends and surge starts in earnest around 8:30: Over at the women's race, Emma Johansson grabbed the win in a whompin' sprint after strongwoman Grace Verbeke crashed out of the break (and presumably later beat the crap out of her hapless cringing mechanic) when her handlebars snapped. Here she comes: Now on to more cobbles at Kuurne tomorrow--Tyler, if you can just channel your inner Belgian for the freezing slop, I'm rooting for you kid!

Sissy-Boy Twit-Fight!: but, the 140-character slaughter over race radios continues unabated over in the Twit-sphere, with rabid control freak Johan Bruyneel outraged, outraged I say over anti-radio race purist Marc Madiot's hilarious, if perhaps slightly hypocritical, suggestion that *he* wouldn't like someone shriekin' in *his* ear all day. Gee, I hate to side with Johan--I mean really, watching-useless-Tour-de-France-coverage-of-some-!@#-kissing-glory-glomming-celebrity hate it--but I'm rather with him on this one--if *I* were Brad McGee, I'd have sat up on the time trial bike and blown the whole show just to jam a spoke in Madiot's mug. Besides, with Armstrong whipping the !@#$ out of his domestiques with a riding crop, who needs race radios, anyway?

He's Baaaaa-aaaaack (Again, and Again, and Again): tired of watching the new generation o' riders win clean all the time (hee!)? Nostalgic for the days when your own teammate would slash yer tires just to gain an advantage for himself on the Tourmalet? Long for the cheerful red of a drug-stoked blood-bag amidst the tired Easter-egg blue-and-yellow of your team kits? Never fear, my children: yep, completely reformed Alexander Vinokourov is leavin' it open to come back in 2012. Even better, if he retires anyway, he's promising to bring you "the next Vino." Tic-tic-tic...is it me, or did the stock-market price for a major medical equipment manufacturer just shoot up?

Yer Gratuitous Alberto Contador Ref o' the Week: and, for dear PJ and our other Contador loyalists, while nothin' much is going on with his case this week, I'm happy to report our doe-eyed climbing king *is* having a nice time in Mallorca with--and giving due compliments to--his teammates. Enjoy the quiet training while you can, Alberto--that, or stick to Spain!

Recovery Report: finally, best wishes for a quick recovery to training-concussed former-Lance-acolyte-supreme Taylor Phinney and, of course, Euskaltel sprinter (go to hell! they do so have one!) Koldo Fernandez, awaiting further news on what the hell besides his collarbone he's busted this time. Lookin' forward to seeing both of you back in action--but Taylor, maybe you're still a little more accustomed to the track?

Aw, Rats! If Jens Voigt Sez So, It Must Be True

Radio Silence: look, let's face it: race radios blow. Frankly, I'm sick as hell of being able to predict to the boring-!@# "metre" exactly where the sprint squads are gonna reel in the breakaway, precisely how many minutes to the second the peloton's gonna give the winner of a rolling stage based on the time of biggest GC threat in the lead group, or at which exact barrier Cav's gonna send up his lead-out goons with billy-clubs to beat the crap out of his competitors in the run-up to the line. In fact, if it weren't for thrillingly irrational wingnut Vinokourov and the occasionally suspiciously-resurgent late-career stage-winning 96-year-old Spanish domestique, with the damn radios we'd all be able to plot any given day's events with soul-numbing accuracy right down to where Millar starts whining how hard it is to win clean. The problem? Yes, indisputable god Jens Voigt sez they're a good thing, and therefore, it must be true. Ergo, despite the fact that the winners of every damn race for the entire future of humanity'll be more or less foreordained, it is, it must be, I have to accept they are indeed, the best damn thing on the face of the earth next to pancetta. Oh, Jens, forgive me my sinful doubts--your poor ignorant subject here is *trying*!

Aiiigggghhhhhh!: and, just when I thought we'd get a good day off from the 24/7 Lance news onslaught that has been the interminable last damn decade, those pesky anti-doping vultures are at it again, demanding Lance's old urine samples for re-analysis and, hopefully, completely pointless further prosecution now that he's no longer, you know, actually riding. Man, just when you thought it was safe to read the news again, this happens. Can't we at least call off the dogs 'til the annual endless whoremongering begins at the Tour, and we're *forced* to listen to the 3-week hurling sound of nonstop Lance coverage whether we like it or not?

Yer Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' the Week: over in Contador news, as Bjarne Riis professes joy in Alberto's decent-but-not-disconcertingly-superlative early-season form, not least because it's enough to keep the narcs off Bjarne's back for 10 minutes so he can figure out how the hell to intercept UCI's appeal in the mail so it arrives at CAS too late to keep the boy out of the Tour de France, the Spanish Cycling Fedis rushing to explain why el Pistolero is only riding locally so far this year, assuring the general public it has nothing, nothing to do with Contador's fear he'll be accidentally ingest, say, CERA from some third-world backwater like Belgium's certainly drug-addled public water supplies. Alberto, I feel your pain--and if you *do* stray outside your own borders, watch out for those pissed-off squealing teenybopper Andy Schleck fans--they'll beat you down with their terrifying Hello Kitty backpacks in an instant!

Oscar the Ouch: finally, as Damiano "See What Happens When You Jack Over Simoni? That's Like 10 Years of Bad Karma!" Cunego breaks his looooong winless streak with a handsome win at the Giro di Sardegna, none other than gentle iron man/freak-injury king Oscar Freire takes his first of the season over a pretty fine field at the Ruta del Sol. Woo-hoo Oscar! And, since there's yet no video to be found, and because I do so love my loyal reader(s) who are Cavendish fans, I gratuitously bring you the Manx Missile's still-fresh win at the Tour of Oman last week instead:
Okay, here's Oscar now, run-up to the line and the crash start around 7:30, enjoy, and go Oscar!:

It's the End of an Era, Baby!

Finally!: yep, Lance has really, truly announced his last-ever retirement to focus on his family, his unimpeachably noble anti-cancer work, and desperately evading the vulturous narcs, and while all-American CNN's fan commentary, particularly in response to accurate reminders that yes Lance *has* tested positive no matter what he says, runs along the lines of "DON'T YOU DARE CRITICIZE ARMSTRONG THE HERO YOU !@#DAMN TRAITOR!", my winner for Best Line in an Associated Press Story goes to "He doled out favors, like stage wins..." What?! As I recall, he only doled out *one* stage win in *seven* straight years of making the superstars-at-any-other-squad of US PostalDiscovery his total subservient automaton beeyotches--to the only one who never did betray him with conflicting personal ambitions, the great (and could've been even greater) George Hincapie. Let's not rewrite history like Captain Magnanimous gave a !@#$ about anyone else's wins but his own--dang, even that drug-stoked freak Vinokourov, who'd attack his own grandma on Mont Ventoux if he thought it'd score him a win, never begrudged his boys their own glory! Anyway, here's a tribute to Lance: Oops, it's basically a video about Lance being a sore loser to Contador...oh well, best wishes to a true Tour champion anyhow!

Every Action Causes An Equal and Opposite Reaction: meantime, as Contador proclaims his happiness, relief, and yes, vegetarianism, the rest o' the cycling world's reactions are pouring in, with the Italians predictably enraged that the Spanish dopers are getting off, *again*, when their own cheats always get nailed(and they ain't gonna enjoy that it looks like marvel-o'-the-Vuelta Ezequiel Mosquera's going to get off, too), the Tour de France staying noncommittal on Alberto's return, and Tour 2nd or 1st place winner Andy Schleck, who first defended then slagged Contador, keeping, so far as I can tell, completely mum. But watch out, Alberto, bagging meat may not be enough: looks like some of those dirty fruits'n'vegetables have been on steroids, too!:

Sky's the Limit: over in morally-superior cleanster news, Team Sky's still trying to control the damage from recent admissions by squad leadership that, due to the lack of untainted talent in the recently-graduated peloton ranks, they just can't help but staff up with dopers to supervise their innocent riders. Well, if you want clean, Lance is now available! Oh, wait...

Gilbert On a Tear: finally, watch out chumps at pretty much every race all season on the planet, 'cause the season's barely started and the fearsome Philippe Gilbert is already on the attack at the Volta ao Algarve. Look for Gilbert to take off around 5:15 in to the vid: You go Philippe!

Ride, Ride Like the Wind, Alberto!

'Cause You Might As Well Do It Before CAS Bans Your !@#!: yes, cycling freaks, our ethereally graceful (and you'd be 'ethereal' too, if *you'd* had that much blood removed for storage--allegedly!) climber supremo Alberto Contador is off the hook and cleared to ride the Tour de France, which means that at least for now (1) somewhere, some Spanish narc is clearly on a monster dose of hallucinogens and (2) somewhere, Bjarne Riis is on his knees burning incense before an altar of yellow jerseys and praying to every god he can call on that somehow this thing's gonna hold up. Champagne for everyone--hey, you--put down that syringe--I said "champagne"!

To be fair, however--and it ain't easy, alright?--it is indeed possible, and I hope actually true as our faithful PJ believes, that our poor Contador ingested the Clenbuterol from tainted beef and, considering what !@## 90% of the peloton is apparently on, he could've intentionally snarfed an entire herd in some grotesque US-style barbecue-eating contest frankly and it still wouldn't've put him on a higher level than his filthy compatriots anyway. Either way, I'm happy to say with confidence that with Contador back in number 1 and gunning to avenge his tainted rep, we won't be stuck with some totally lame snoozefest in the mountains come July. And heck, if Schleck & everyone can't beat Alberto fair and square, they can always resort to whining bitter slanderous innuendo at their press conferences! Here, let's save Alberto the wasted energy of making that "Pistolero" move in celebration, so he can focus on the Volta ao Algarve tomorrow:


Best Wishes: speaking of skanktastic doping thief-pigs, of which Contador is not one, hearty good wishes and a continued full and speedy recovery to irksome little weasel Riccardo Ricco', whose kidney failure from an alleged gross too-old tainted blood transfusion is on the mend but whose lung and heart complications have landed him in the cardiac unit. Ugh, feel better you loathesome worm--at least so you can grovel for the great Gilberto Simoni's forgiveness for mentoring your worthless carcass!

Gee, I Guess I *Am* On Crack: by the way, am I on crack, or is UCI, whose selective rider favoritism, capriciousness, and abject cowardice knows no bounds, threatening to sue Floyd Landis for impugning their "honour"? Um, not to offend you by pointing out the obvious, but *everyone* impugns your honor, so picking on just Landis for it only makes you look like you target certain people even more. Please, can't you focus on something wholesome, like butt-kissing Armstrong instead...

Tell Us How You Really Feel, Cav!

Yer Racejunkie Quote o' the Week: just as I was admiring Mark Cavendish for his firm yet diplomatic (re-)rebuke of Riccardo Ricco, and in particular his kind good wishes for his recovery, Cav confirms my growing swoonfest over his total inability to self-edit by tucking in a final thought for our fallen weasel: yep, Cav hopes "he becomes someone's bitch in prison." Me, I'm gonna be nice and bring you a tribute to his glory days. D'oh! He was a snakeling then too!

Like the Boy Scouts, Except They Help You Dope: uh, oh, friends o' Ricco', time for an impromptu trip to somewhere exotic: the Italian narcs are lookin' for anyone who helped him tranfuse, and since, let's face it, some of these magnum dopuses couldn't figure out how to put on their team jerseys without directions from their race radios, I'm guessing along with fellow skeptic Bikezilla the chances are pretty good that someone, at the least, helped Ricky Google "black-market expired medical equipment purveyor." Well, we already know it ain't Vacansoleil--after hiring you knowing you were an unrepentant lying cheating scumbag, they *did* have the PR sense to at least suspend you once it made *them* look suspect!

Race Roundup: in actual racing news, with Tommeke off to a fine start at Qatar, and Robbie lookin' good (if technically still winless--just for the moment!)in India, the boys are laying out their plans for the season, with Cav targeting, well, everything (and class move opining what a shocker it is for everyone, unlike for him, whenever Farrar wins a sprint), Cadel Evans having the eminent good sense to honor the fabulous Vuelta (where last year's tragic crash-out Igor Anton is still gonna kick his !@#, but no hard feelings Cadel!), and, best of all, we love Thor "Holy Crap He's the New World Champion!" Hushovd going for Roubaix and the Tour. Geez, Cadel aside, if the climbers don't get their acts together I might actually have to start paying attention to the fast men this year--ow, their giant egos are making my head hurt!

Like Those Weird Guys Who Insist the Moon Landing Never Happened By Pointing Out Tiny Funny Pixel Anomalies In Grainy Old Photographs, But More Delusional: and, for those of you (like Spain's Prime Minister) still flush with faith in Contador's innocence, here's a community of like-minded sweetly-naive in-denial doper-apologists, I mean, loyal fans with whom you can unleash your righteous anger over his complete crap frame-up, delineating in no uncertain terms how his 4 clenbuterol pozes are a trick and by the way enjoy that tainted hamburger before it drops you dead before you finish your chew. Aw, I still deep down do *hope* he didn't do it--wouldn't it be nice to be *sure* he made Lance Armstrong look like an !@@ perfectly cleanly?

Except UCI Agrees With The Weird Guys: whoa, looks like UCI--previously crusading to have Alberto drawn and quartered by a four-pack o' cyclists--has decided that the Spanish narcs, who they've been excoriating for weeks as being a bunch of nationalist hero-worshipping cheat-pampering pansies--have been doing a heckuva job after all, and it really wouldn't be in "cycling's" interest after all to, you know, try to clean up the sport. Hell, it certainly hasn't been in *UCI's* interest if they just plain like you--and even better, make tons of dough off you--the last umpteen years! Right, La--um, la la la, isn't it a lovely day to sing a song?

Nooooooooooo!: last but not least, it looks like eternal French road goddessJeannie Longomay finally be considering retirement, unless she sticks around for the Olympics, and not to question your patriotism or nothin', I say that's damn near treasonous--you're the only French rider who doesn't suck, Jeannie, and you owe it to your country to stick it out til they teach someone else to ride a bike! Or clone Hinault. Or slash everyone else's tires at the start line of every stage of the Tour. Or...Anyhoo, please don't go! And hey, Jens--I figure this gives you another good ten years in the peloton before you throw in the towel, no?

Kumbayah My !@#!

Andy Strikes Back: okay, enough of this "supporting Contador" Love Boat crap--baby Schleck can see where public favor is turning, and he's suddenly pissed off all over again about last year's Tour de France "Chaingate." Way to capitalize on Contador's downfall, Andy--that takes class! Sure, Alberto could've shown some in the first place--but am I the only one starting to agree with Carlos Sastre that riders oughta stop being such white-glove crumpet-nibbling crybabies, suck up the occasional mechanical, and just race? At least blame the win on his drug use, Andy--dang!

How Now, Brown Cow?: speaking of whom, more bad news for Alberto--as the boy submits his ill-advised appeal, the narcs've traced the farm his clenbuterol-snorting steak came from, and honey, those cattle are *clean.* Hey, I call bull!@#$, WADA--*everyone* knows those cloven-hooved scumlords use masking agents!

On the Radio: meantime, the riders are striking left and right over the UCI's race radio ban, and while I wholly sympathize with their safety arguments, I gotta say that, besides the fact that Robbie McEwen wants 'em and, I'm pretty sure, could still actually clinically rip my face off with his index fingers, I sympathize even more with the notion that at least a coupla these jokers oughtn't to be allowed to even pin their own numbers on without strict parental oversight. And really, how else are we gonna catch a DS telling his rider to d--that is, pedal faster?

What the Hell Is Wrong With You?: y'know, when I first read on tuttobici this morning that Riccardo Ricco' was taken to the hospital with "kidney failure", my first thought was "!@#$, I hope that kid didn't hurt himself doping." My second thought was, "RJ, don't be such an !@#hole!" Which I may well be, but it turns out, not for that reason, because apparently he *did* almost kill himself doping. Riccardo, I truly hope you get better--because some people, of course, never had that chance. But what are you, a !@#$in' eejit? You're barely old enough to spawn, Ricco'. You've barely had time to do *anything*. Is a freakin' trophy and a smack on the cheek from a podium babe worth leaving your kid fatherless merely to satisfy your own insatiable ambition? Thinking of a smack on the cheek...count yourself lucky if Vania Rossi only lectures your moron !@#, you punk! And no thanks for completely dishonoring the memory of the late Aldo Sassi, dirtbag! Geez. Stay safe, the stinkin' dopin' lot of you, willya?

Hey Na, Hey Na, Tom Boonen's Back!: finally, in actual racing news--and boy, thank goodness there finally is some after this ridiculous winter--as a stage-winning Heinrich "I Don't Get No Respect" Haussler still whines to everyone that Cav crashed him out last year, 2011's shaping up to be a banner year for the sprints and Classics after all: yep, big Tom Boonen's whomped the field in Qatar and even held on to the leader's jersey after today's stage. Keep it up, big guy--we poor tifosi've gotta have *someone* we can believe in this season! Here's the Tornado in action: Woo-hoo Tommeke!

It's the Tour of Qatar, Baby!

The Fast and the Furious: okay, a few days and a coupla damn stiff drinks later, I'm over the Landis thing and back in complete-denial and middling-optimism mode, because it's time for the fast men (and already the fast women) to hit the tarmac at the smashing Tour o' Qatar! On tap: Mark Cavendish, a bitchin' Tyler Farrar, and of course, the fabulously-recovered-and-ready-to-rumble big Tom Boonen! Yap, Cav, Tyler, yap--my money, and my hopes, are on Tommeke. As a reminder, here's our fearsome studpuppy stormin' two stages last year before the You Suck Amgen EPO Tour of California took 'im out:
2010 Tour of Qatar Highlights

And, our hero in further action:
Sure, it's gratuitous. And no, I haven't the slightest idea why a totally innocent instructional video has a 70s come-hither porno soundtrack. But really, can you picture Levi Leipheimer putting this out on the internet where his momma could see it? Anyway, 2011 is your year, again--you go, Tom!

The Battle Hymn of the (Spanish) Republic: meantime, Alberto Contador has, against all good judgment, decided to risk an even worse ban and fight his wrist-slap one-year suspension, and while I admire his righteousness--and let's face it, I ain't the only one who's made *that* mistake--I gotta say, in purely practical terms he's reverting to his "Lance'll Be a *Great* Teammate!" dimmer-bulb days. Are you *begging* those clowns to slap an extra year's ban on your rump before you even have a chance to hide the needle mar--I mean, track down that renegade cow-herd? Oh, Alberto, it took us *so* long to set you straight the first time...

The Basques Are Comin', The Basques Are Comin'!: and, watch out you big-budget poseur squads--Euskaltel-Euskadi is out for vengeance and Grand Tour victory after Contatwerp (Menchov, whatever) hosed Samu' out of his Tour podium and Nibali slurped off Igor Anton's vicious and unfortunate pavement-suck to opportunistically take the Vuelta. Bow, bow before the orange jersey, you wannabees--before their wingnut screaming fanbase *makes* you bow!

Yer "You Wish" Headline o' the Week: "Brian Holm Sez Alex Rasmussen Could Be the Danish Thor Hushovd." What?! I don't care how well you ride or what team you're on, you're lucky he doesn't pull a Lance Armstrong and make you indentured-servitude his !@# like Kloden! Just keep dreamin', punk...

How Do We Love Jens? I Cannot Count the Ways: finally, as if there were any doubt that Jens Voigt is a god--and no, there's not, you hell-bound heretics--the man is on the rampage again, ready to burn the field in the service of Schlecks and, of course, barely daunted for a moment after his hideous wipeout at the 2009 Tour. Really, can anything short of a nuke (and even that would probably cower before him) take down this man? Jeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnssss!

The Whole !@#$ing Sport Makes Me Sick Right Now

Yankee Doodle Dope or Die: fine, I've read the entire Floyd Landis/Paul Kimmage interview, and all I can think is (1) bull!@#$ and (2) why, why, why? Great, you couldn't ride competitively if you *didn't* dope, so you had no choice. Yeah, I'm sure--we get it. Which means damn near everyone who's ever won a stage, much less a Grand Tour then or now, is a cheating, drug-sucking scum-weasel. Fair enough. But here's the problem--you *still* weren't competing on a level playing field, because if you think that the enormous money at the high end of the sport doesn't give those dopers an advantage over equally-talented, hard-training, broke-!@# domestiques from !@#$ squads in the form of better drugs, better doctors, more certainty, and less likelihood of being caught, you're !@#$in' nuts. It's the simple market-value difference between a $3 bottle of Thunderbird and a $3,000 bottle of Champagne. You benefited, unfairly, and while I highly sympathize with having to put up with Armstrong as the price for your magnificent success, suck it up. And you're just certain that the fans who believed in you and put hard-earned dough into your "Fairness Fund"--to which, for the record, I didn't contribute--would completely understand your thieving them personally if you had but ten hours to sit down and explain to them how right you were to ask them for money. Should they've known better, understood the real rules better? Sure. But the punishment for naivete is *not* to be screwed over for their faithfulness, whether they feel ripped off or not, so how the hell does that make it right?

Look, I'm happy Floyd's experienced some catharsis, and opened the lid on the ugly aspects of the sport, if only because it'd be a damned shame if some desperate kid dropped dead over the next fashionable drug cocktail before s/he ever had a chance to think it through, and if reading this interview fends it off, that's quite something. And I sincerely hope Landis, who clearly isn't much worse than a whole lot of folks but *is* !@#damn disastrous at PR, leads a long, happy, wonderful life and that whatever comes next is entirely better than the last five years've been. But let's cut the King Arthur crap, all right?

And while we're at it, I'm going to continue assume there's someone, someone in that entire !@#$ing peloton who isn't on the juice. And if I'm going down a fool, I'm going down a fool who believes that a sport this demanding, this grueling, and this paradoxically beautiful can still, in *someone* as flawed and tempted and conflicted as Landis and every other doper ever was, live up to its ideals. I sure hope it's Cadel, or Carlos, or Tyler, or Cav. But if it's not, it's gotta be someone. Otherwise, it's just one big WWF match in even gaudier clothing, and everyone who's ever known or been a serious cyclist who's suffered for the sheer love of it, has got to think it's more than that. Lanterne Rouge 2011--I'm rooting for you in July!

Alberto Contador Goes Down

For Now, That Is: yep, the verdict is in: Alberto Contador is officially banned from the sport til he hits puberty next year, and if he doesn't give Andy Schleck back the maillot jaune nicely he has to go straight to bed without any dessert. Burn! I gotta say, though, I *am* quite sad. If he tested poz 'cause he doped--zero sympathy. But if he *didn't* dope, and is getting busted over some stupid zero-tolerance policy that doesn't even consider whether someone did anything actually wrong, it's a year-long waste of a brilliant talent. And while both options suck, I'm sorry to concede--and I feel your pain here, dear reader PJ--it may well be option A at work.

Oh, and y'know that scene in "Alien" where that giant gooey face-sucker glommed itself onto some poor sap and rammed its tongue down down his throat until a little alien spawn burst out of his stomach in a big pile o' guts and went skittering across the floor? Yeah, that, except now Andy Schleck sez that whole slutty make-out scene with Contador on the Tourmalet was totally staged and not a truly authentic expression of his love at all. Oh, like post-break-up disses even *count*, Andy--and that's *before* you heard the news today!

As to Contador's threat to quit the sport if he's found guilty--no word yet, but I imagine his (1) manager-brother Fran or (2) attorney is tyin' his scrawny little bod to a chair and dope-smackin' him out of *that* righteous hallucination as we speak. The official word: due at Contador's press conference on the 28th. Screw that "I'll retire" bull!@#$--"I've made a principled decision to fight on," anyone?

Finally, let's take one last look at our wee little hero in his glory days, before the Spanish cattle association, the Schleck brothers, Denis Menchov, Pat "Dick" McQuaid *and* (worst of all) Alexander Vinokourov have a chance to go all hired-goon on his pretty, doomed !@#:


Alberto, we hardly knew ye!

Blondes Have More Fun (At Least With Clenbuterol)

Blinded By the Light: yep, good news for the fairer members of the peloton: according to the head of a WADA-accredited lab in Germany, cycling's go-to snarf-o'-the-moment Clenbuterol is 20 times more detectable in brunette hair samples than in blond ones. Contador, if you got snipped, there's your basis for appeal--you've been framed, framed by your own hypersensitive hairdo, I say! Me, I'm thinkin' that there's gonna be a surfeit of Goldilocked riders just flocking to their nearest asthma-drug dealership for a truckload of the near-undetectable good stuff. Don't even think about it, Ricco' you little weasel--we're already *watchin'* you!

Law and Order: speaking of poor Alberto, rumors are a-swirlin' that, as the Spanish cycling fed tries desperately to strike that delicate balance between "totally gutless" and "just baaaaaaaaaaarely passin' the smell test", our boy is gonna get a 1-year ban as soon as Thursday, which effectively means that, as both sides inevitably appeal--and whether Contador actually doped or not--he's gonna be slumped over in his Laz-y-Boy serial-drinkin' Bud Light and suckin' down nachos in front of the TV come July. Bjarne Riis, of course, is taking it well,while, in an excess of caution, and out of due respect to the cycling prowess of his pal, Andy Schleck has reportedly been training extra-hard in case Contador does show up to try to steal his Tour de France: Good luck, Alberto--and I still do hope it ain't so!

Yer Nut-Kneeing Heartbreak o' the Week: no, not Cav denting that handsome face--though it's close--but am I the only one howling like a milkbone-deprived Basset hound whenever I read a perfectly nice Tweet from Robbie McEwen thanking his--aiiiiggghhhhhh!--RadioSkank teammates for a job well done? Aiiiiggghhhhhh! Oh, Robbie, how I miss those happy, lighthearted days of yore when you threatened to "fill [Armstrong's] face with [your] fist..."

It's Carnage, Carnage I Tells Ya!

No, Not Armstrong at his Press Conference, the Tour Down Under: yep, it's our first big crashes of the season, as the sprinters hit the deck in two big balls o' spandex, titanium, helmets, and egos, wily Ben Swift gets the stage 2 win, general god Robbie McEwen snags the overall lead, and a tougher'n nails Cav stoutly sticks it out with a blood'n'guts head to finish the stage. Damn, guys, can't you just go back to safely punching each other into the barriers like you usually do? Here's how it unfolds--and feel better Cav!

Yer Doping Excuse o' the Week: and, I see the usually preternaturally-calm Lance Armstrong has gotten noticeably pissed over the Sports Illustrated doping allegations, including the claim that Italian authorities found texts and emails at Yaroslav Popovych's pad linking RadioSkank to notorious Dr. Michele "Ferrari? Oh, you'll race like a Ferrari all right!" Ferrari as recently as 2009. Leaving aside the fact that poor slavish acolyte Popo has had to run screaming for his life from Lance, more problematic, it seems to me, is the latest Ferrari link, which collusion Armstrong has in the past of course excused as being totally unrelated to anything more illicit than simple verbal training tips. Um, am I the only thinkin' this sounds an awful lot like, say, Valverde and Basso claiming they only saw Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes because "I just didn't feel...you know...fresh?" Next week: Alberto Contador announces "it wasn't the steak, it was that crack-whore, clenbuterol-snorting side dish that did it." !@#$in' carrots!

It's Back to the Races, Baby!

Aussie Aussie Aussie Oy Oy Oy!: yes, cycling fans, after a long winter's layoff of rest, relaxation, and ludicrous doping appeals, it's the moment we've all been waiting for: we're back in business at the fabulous Tour Down Under! Sure, Armstrong's gonna hog all the press coverage for no reason, but for my money, what really matters is, who's taking the big game in the battle between Mark "the Jaw" Cavendish and BFF Andre "!@#$-Race" Greipel? Me, I'm sad to say the winner's clear, though Greipel can always hope that Cav'll get himself relegated by some spectacularly unnecessary act of wankerness and then still mock him for weeks for not even deserving the win. Oh, Cav, so young, so raw--where's the vicious finesse of a Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen when this sport needs it?

Signed, Sealed, Delivered--I'm Hosed!: well, Contador, good luck with that appeal to CAS, 'cause the righteous protectors of due process over at UCI have already overruled any Spanish attempts to free your doe-eyed cow-doping carcass by declaring you the inevitable winner of a two-year ban. Way to keep the illusion of justice going, UCI! Y'know, if he *didn't* dope, you guys are just pathetic political frauds too cowardly to protect your once-beloved Next Lance Armstrong from an unfair result while you desperately look for another scandal-free pretty-boy to cover you with second-hand glory. And if he *did* dope, you've once again lost all your credibility from the one time you *didn't* act like rider-snuggling sycophants by tainting what should be a just proceeding with your venality. Can't you guys go back to doing something really dignified, like gutting the careers of hard-working third-tier unknowns for taking an illicit Advil for strained groin muscles?

You Suck, Tour de France!: all right, so Tour organizers ASO are indicating that Team Geox--home of 2008 Tour de France winner we love Carlos Sastre, and, much as it galls me to say it, that also-deserving Vuelta-thieving stealth-ferret Tour podium-finisher Denis Menchov--isn't gonna get an invite to the Tour de France this year, not because of anything having to do with Geox's stellar pedigree, or Sastre and Menchov's obvious qualifications to ride the race, but because, basically, French teams, despite some individually noble work by a coupla natives in recent years, blow, and it'd hurt their effete pate-slurping feelings and make the French look lame by not inviting them. What?! This is the Tour de France, not some pansy-!@# Barney the Dinosaur feel-good self-esteem exercise for uncoordinated helicopter-parented toddlers !@#dammit! If you want French teams to get a spot at their own damn Tour, then suck it up, let the French guys who aren't biting teach the squads some lessons, and make 'em earn their place like a big-boy squad. Free dear little Carlos you selfish goons!

You Suck, Schlecks!: meantime, bad enough that I actually like the Schlecks, and frankly would forgive them damn near anything short of puppy-kicking because Jens Voigt deigned to go with 'em, but now they've earned my undying enmity by smack-talking about Carlos Sastre and essentially calling him a complete troll. Wah, wah, he expected you to work for 'im--why didn't you guys settle it on the road if you could have taken him out and bagged the 2008 Tour so easily? Needless to say, I am exceedingly irked that now I have to actually root for Menchov to come up behind you clowns like a Predator drone and take out your Tour-win dreams in a blaze of sizzling sauteed unimaginative-team-kit spandex. Look, Andy--remember that you haven't actually done this yet?

Nut-Kneeing Heartbreak o' the Week: finally, this win's for LL Cool Sanchez, who's already denying to the Spanish press that he had recent, hot'n'heavy contacts with infamous Operacion Puerto and Op Galgo perp Dr. Eufemanio "Gyno to the Male Stars", and indeed never knew the man at all, which, given that if I'm not on crack I seem to recall him and a passel of fellow Liberty Seguros cribmates cheerfully receiving mystery skin patches from close Fuentes pal Manolo Saiz, seems both blindingly stupid and breathtakingly implausible. Fine, so Contatwerp goes down for Clenbuterol--you *have* to go down for a mere dipwad lack of discretion in doping providers? Aiiiggghhhh!