It's Yer 2021 Tour de France in Preview, Part Deux: the Contenders!

All right, though the outlook to this Tour may look foreordained, even this reliable circus can throw out (or throw up) a few surprises, and I can predict with 100% accuracy that if you're looking for inspiration for and guarantees success in a Tour de France online betting game, every single thing I say in here will be wrong.  So having helped you win your millions (or an off-brand bidon, whatever), who've we got on tap?  These guys!

The General Classification Contenders: yes, they're the stars, and from the field, and their own bangin' form this season, it looks damn near inevitable that one of these two will win: defending jailbait champion Tadej Pogacar, who rampaged on the penultimate day's time trial to take 2020, and so-close-but-no-Champagne Slovenian compatriot Primoz Roglic, who handled the whole catastrophe with grace and class.  But life, and the Tour, is more than the endless random "Didja know Rogla was a ski jumper/Didja know Pogacar was a wombat?" exclamations every time the camera catches one of 'em on a nature break.  Indeed, high among this year's list is self-proclaimed bottle-carrier/4-time TdF champion/all-time champion donkey-to-racehorse Chris Froo--all right, he's out of it, but it seems somebody oughta herald the cheating sonofa!@#$% before--whew, glad that's outta my system! There *are* other contenders though who may at least have a shot at the podium, if only because they gotta fill that third step with *somebody*: Richie Porte, who everyone is complimenting now but will inexplicably slag as the three-week stage race failure for a format he's never even pretended is his best the second he lags behind the lead group on Ventoux;  Rigoberto Uran, whose shocking recent time trial win is gonna red-flag UCI like--well, honestly, nothing really red-flags those schmucks anymore unless some renegade scumlord overstretches his socks by 2 millimeters, does it?; and best of all, the spectacularly self-destructive four-pronged !@#%-it-up-on-the-road Ineos attack formation, which is theoretically united behind veteran Tour winner Geraint Thomas but is primed for treachery of truly Caesar-and-Brutus--or even more horrifying, Carapaz-and-Landa--proportions the second Thomas foolishly pauses to fiddle with his shoe at the neutral start. Geez, it's hard to know *who* to root for in that scenario!  Oh, right, and Gaudu to crush the perennial (if fruitless) French hopes, new dad Alaphillippe to utterly exhaust himself and delight the entire race with his truly endless panache as he decides to focus on stage wins, and maybe Mas or Lopez to give Movistar a reason to say they're going for GC when what they're really looking for is the older'n-Moses Alejandro Valverde not to flip off the narcs too ostentatiously.  Anyway, as underdog as this group gets, I'm rooting for Rogla, who came sooooooooooo, sooooooooo close last year!  

The Stage Hunters: Between yer traditional puncheurs like van Avermonster to storm the breakaway stages, van der Poel to take whatever the !@#$ he wants and he's got the stylin' tribute jersey to prove it you hopeless weakling, former Great Tour de France Hopes like Nairo Quintana looking to justify their paychecks and recapture their prior glory, and canny young climbers looking to make their mark while the GC pragmatically eye each other like falcon on squirrel on the prestigious high passes, there should actually be a fairly good shot for a reasonably diversity of stage wins.  With vets like PhilGil looking for a late-career pickup, how-can-you-not-adore-Chavito looking sprightly again, and Vincenzo Nibali likely to attack the more helpless descenders from behind on the multiple downhill finishes, I'm also looking forward to a veritable parade of geriatric-guys-way-younger-than-I flying the flag. And of course, if Pogacar and/or Rogla cracks, they've got some truly incredible lieutenants to take up the slack and bring their team back some accolades.  Just don't help that process along by, say, shoving a bottle in someone's wheel, you hear? 

The Sprinters: unlike the Giro, guys come here to actually try to sprint throughout the entire three weeks, instead of running home screaming to mama the second the word "Dolomite" gets whispered into their sleeping ears, because the Tour's just that kind of a showplace.  And while there are many fine fast men in the race, none is taking up so inordinate a share of hype-to-likelihood-of-winning ratio than legendary Mark Cavendish, who, having charmed and thrilled the cycling world by recently winning two of the sort of "&*!@ races" he used to degrade the far nicer and still hugely prolific we love Andre Greipel for taking, and armed with a stellar lead-out, he really will manage to grab at least one I think.  Of course, the Champs belongs to Andre.  Oh right, and there's the fabulous Caleb Ewan--though I firmly maintain that the "Pocket Rocket" nickname belongs to the great Robbie McEwen alone--Demare, recent surprise speedster Merlier, spankin' new Italian road race champ Sonny Colbrelli, and that fast-but-not-a-pure-sprinter famous green jersey guy.  With that burgeoning 'stache and the relentless joyful press-n-fan fawning, how can Sagan possibly lose?

The Teams: oh Movistar.  It's so sweet, your relentless pursuit of this one!  So what if those arrogant wankers at Jumbo-Visma are gonna take the whole thing?  Other anticipated pleasures on my list--what the !@#$ is Vino gonna to do screw over Astana after his ill-timed termination, and how long before nice Tao Geoghan Hart has to break up a slap-fight between the other team leaders at Ineos?  Porte, stay outta there--that Carapaz looks innocent, but he'll !@#$ you up!

Well, there's a few key players, all of whom will almost certainly be upended, if recent age trends are any indication, by some kid more recently accustomed to wearing diapers than an actual grownup chamois.  Fans, good luck with your fantasy Tour team, and Ion Izagirre, go on and grab a coupla stages for Gorka's sake! 

It's Yer 2021 Tour de France in Preview, Part Un: the Course!

Okay, let's face it: with just three mountaintop finishes, this year's TdF course--particularly compared to that of the superior Giro or Vuelta--just bites.  Still, it *is* the Grand Boucle, we're starting off with some spectacular intra-team implosions, and there *are* a few places for lively entertainment and even where the GC battle might get hot.  So besides drunken naked freaks running beside them to mug for the cameras, excited dogs wandering unimpeded into would-be podium-contenders' wheels, and the inevitable smoke flares, what've the riders--and even the fans--got to look forward to?  Let's check it out!

Week One: Mon dieu! Instead of some boring prologue or 160k slog for a foregone sprint, we're actually starting off with one for the puncheurs this year, with a windy parcours and a 3 kilometers hill at 5.7% at the end, which'll hopefully lead to someone totally unexpected donning the race's first maillot jaune.  Allez--well, whoever's jonesing for a bigger contract next year!  Stage 2: in another surprise, a hilly 183k with a double hike up the Mur de Bretagne and a 6.9% kick.  Weakness may start to show here, gentlemen!  Stage 3: ah, back to the *real* Tour--it's one for the sprinters, and Sam Bennett is--aw, crap!  Anyway, good luck Andre, don't listen to all this stupid Cavendish hype, you hear?  Stage 4: a 150k joyride for the sprinters again, with a chance of winds giving a mild hope for the breakaway that's sure to be frustrated.  Dag nabit!  Stage 5: a 27.2 kilometer individual time trial, not enough to cause serious damage at this point but definitely enough to scare the crap outta Roglic if Pogacar slaughters him again this early.  Bon chance, suckeur! Next up, another one for the fast men to Val de Loire, a bit higher at the end than at the start, but hopefully nothing these guys can't haul their carcasses over.  Painfully, we wind up the week with the longest stage in 210 years, a flat start to the 249k of pain then headed for the hills, with a 3,000m, Cat 2 finish up Signal d'Uchon.  And no, you don't get a rest day yet!

Week 2: finally, some *mountains*!  Stage 8 brings us a Cat 3, a Cat 4, the Cat 1 Mont-Saxonnex, the Cat 1 Cote de Romme, and a usually iconic ride up the Colombiere, whose otherwise GC-shattering potential will be utterly !@#$ed by the fact that the riders end by riding off it downhill.  Well, you can always hope your rival can't descend for !@#$, I suppose! Stage 9: *now* we've got a mountain finish, baby, as the peloton gets back to Tignes after being shut out in 2019, covering the Cat 1 Col de Saises, the Holy Crap 12.6 kilometer Col du Pre', and, after a brief interlude to screw with your head, the 21k, Cat 1 Montee' de Tignes.  Carapaz, if you're gonna bushwhack Geraint Thomas--and you know you are--now would be a good time to put him in his place.  Next day's a rest day--or a good time to hide from your pissed-off teammate, depending!  Stage 10 hands it back over to the sprinters, so Andre Greipel, now's a nice chill day to make your move, if you aren't already going to surprise and delight us on the Champs-Elysees (which he can so too either, so stuff it you haters!).  Stage 11: a bit sadistically, it's a 198k stroll interrupted by a twofer hike up the iconic Mont Ventoux, yet another game-changing finish hosed by the final descent.  What the !@#$ *is* this stupidity, already?  Anyhoo, we're all set up for a Stage 12 bunch sprint in Nimes, with the possible problem of GC-cracking echelons, which probably means that spiky windmill Froome is gonna attack from the end of the neutral start and take 57 minutes on Rogla to grab the podium.  C'est la vie, kid!  Stage 13: though technically a flat stage, apparently it's unlikely to end in a big-bunch sprint in Carcassone, and with 219 k to play with, maybe a break'll make it stick.  Well, stick it to Cav at least! We end the week with a hilly stage 14 for the power puncheurs, warming up for the Pyrenees with 3 Cat 2 and 2 Cat 3 climbs with a final descent off the Col du Saint-Louis.  Alright, *now* would be a nice time for another rest...

Week 3: but you ain't getting one yet, as Stage 15 takes us back to the mountains, successful stomping grounds of Thomas "the Tongue" Voeckler, ending with the leg-nippy 6.4k, 8.5% Col de Beixalis--downhill, of course.  Jaysus, enough already!  After a rest day, the GC can recover yet again as the breakaway artistes take another turn--I started to say 'crack', but then I didn't want to curse anybody--with the Cat 1 Col de la Core just a bit more'n halfway, but a flat finish.  Ouch! Stage 17: yep, another chance for the GC, as we amble up the Peyresourde--well, *we're* ambling, *their* legs are screeching--before a (yay!) mountaintop finish up the HC Col du Portet.  Don't worry G, you've got another shot tomorrow--or if you've already blown it, now's yer opportunity for stage glory! Stage 18: last chance to finish uphill, as GC takes its almost-last gasp over the forbidding Tourmalet before the Climb o' Truth up to Luz Ardiden.  !@#$in' hell, Kuss, you're supposed to *wait* for Rogla, not ditch 'im!  Next, we got the second-to-last chance for the fast men, though not *quite* flat, on Stage 19.  Stage 20: Almost home and *so* close to the top step in Paris--yep, it's yer potentially race-deciding final 30k ITT. Don't !@#$ this up Roglic!  Finally, for whoever's not too ashamed to show his face after yesterday's soul-crushing debacle, it's the triumphant, champagne-swilling parade into Paris, where we love Andre Greipel will grab his last win on the legendary Champs-Elysees before retirement.  Screw off, he can so either!

Welp, for better or worse, there's your 2021 Tour de France course.  Best wishes to everybody, and Thomas, don't say I didn't warn you about yer teammates!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2021 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!

Yes, the Prosecco's been popped, the confetti's been showered, and Lefevere's discreetly slunk on home to make excuses for Quick Step, so what's left, after three excruciating, glorious, unpredictable weeks through most of Italy?  Well wash that chamois and step on up, because that's right, it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2021 Giro d'Italia racejunkie Awards!  The prizes--I swear on Gilberto Simoni--for anyone so egomaniacal, so craven, or so desperate as to claim them: (1) a dashing, custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap for yer head; (2) a passel of handsome racejunkie stickers to adorn yer bike, yer helmet, or yer rival's face; (3) eternal shame; and (4) a genuine sports-related trophy tchotchke with your name and award either engraved, or, budget not permitting, written with exceedingly neat handwriting in genuine Sharpie right on it to proudly display next to your Trofeo Senza Fine, Tour de France honorary plate, or Paris-Roubaix cobblestone.  So fold down that middle finger, own the low-down things you've done the last three weeks, and let's get this Giro-pink party started!

The Entire Universe Completely !@#$in' Sucks Gut-Punch of 2021: look you bitter, cynical haters, I don't even want to *hear* a buncha crap about how he can never hold it together for three weeks or he courts disaster like Casanova courts chicks or whatever heretical anti-Carrot !@#$ you're spewing--Mikel Landa was happy, on the form of his life, and, may I repeat to you still suck Movistar, *happy* when he was taken out by the race's second-unluckiest man, the innocent previous-day's stage winner birthday-boy Joe Dombrowski, when the latter nearly plowed into some barely-marked road furniture, and, after several minutes of staying terrifyingly still, was loaded into an ambulance and whisked away with a thrice-broken collarbone, a nearly collapsed lung, and a pile of broken ribs, the perfect race and his perfect GC chances shot to hell.  !@#*dammit*, UCI,  can you either remove this !@#$ from the roadway or mark it with more than an invisible flag-bearer so nobody else has their triumphant win and maiden Grand Tour victory ruined already? 

Class Act o' the Race: yap, he's washed up, yap, he should be home tottering around his garden in Sicily, yap.  He's won the entire show twice while you were still figuring out where you were supposed to apply yer chamois cream, Bucko, he started the Giro with a broken wrist and zippo for training, and, through rain, snow, sleet, and idiot barreling team car, he still honored the race by getting out there and busting what was left of him to thank the tifosi, the race organizers, and the entire damn country as best he could.  More, after he crashed hard and hurt himself even worse, he stuck it out when no-one could've blamed him for climbing off his bike and heading off into the sunset.  But he's Vincenzo !@#$in' Nibali, and that's why the rest of the universe cowers before him.  Take a bow, Squalo, even if yer armchair critics haven't the grace to do it in front of you!

Fan !@#$wit Award: sure, it's gotta be both weird and unpleasant being pursued by wingnuts with growling chain saws, screeched at by an attention-whore in a mankini, or smothered by some dimwit with smoke flares, but what's *really* beyond the pale of ordinary bike-fan enthusiasm? Yep, thrusting yer maskless pestilence-ridden gob at and highly indecently mauling poor helpless Lorenzo Fortunato, about to take his first-ever pro win for his legendary bosses Alberto Contador and Ivan Basso after a miserable slog and incredible triumph on the iconic Zoncolan.  But a kid couldn't ask for a more ardent defender than two-time Giro campione Gilberto Simoni, who, not taking disrespect of his home stomping grounds lightly, piled on the interloper with the help of his wife and cousin and dragged him off.  Sempre grande Giboooooooooooo!  

Dumb-!@# Crash o' the Giro: look, I don't appreciate lurid crash porn, but occasionally, something so unutterably stupid and mercifully not life-changing happens that *someone's* gotta call it out.  This year, it was UCI's unbearably boneheaded anal-retentive rule-making that wouldn't let a rider dispose safely and sensibly of his rain jacket, leading the clueless BikeExchange team car, whose DS was distracted by coordinating the jacket's return with a passing neutral support vehicle, to plow right into the back of faultless and frankly perfectly visible rider Peter Thierry.  What the !@#$ is *wrong* with you, UCI? Now quit dodging that phone call from his lawyers, nut up, and take the (hopefully expensive) consequences!

Small Slice o' Marginally-Less-Pointless-Stupidity Thumbs-Up Emoji: and, to be fair--and believe me, that pains me--those idiots *are* to be somewhat commended, or at least, minimally less vilified, for bowing to near-universal outrage that they've taken all the fun outta cycling by not allowing the almost-always-super-generous riders to reward charming moppets, and the parents who just spent 7 hours freezing on a mountain top listening to their whining, with a prized, if slightly spit-covered, mobile souvenir, and permitted an approximately two-meter window for that to happen without incurring a huge penalty and lifetime imprisonment in some decrepit dungeon.  Well done UCI--Jaysus, would you *please* not DQ Bernal for his sock height til he's collected the trophy in Milan?

Brad Wiggins Memorial Bike Throw Hissy Fit Prize: yes, I spent the greater part of the race defending the kid from the ridiculous pressure and ludicrous weight of expectation dumped upon him, but still, you can't deny that jailbait needs to learn how to keep his cool--mm-hmm, a thoroughly distanced Remco Evenepoel angrily jerking out his radio--and thus the helpful, encouraging voice of his DS--as Egan Bernal blasted the time away on the strade sterrate of a legitimately epic stage 10.  You are, in fact, a humungous talent--but you ain't Contador yet, princess, so listen up when you're told to or else! Corollary Resentful Domestique Award: Joao Almeida, tersely acknowledging he was "disappointed" at having to schlep back to help the undeserving little twerp, despite being 4 minutes back on *him* on GC already on the first place.  That must've been one awkward dinner table that night--anyone got video?

Smack-Talk o' the Race: Stage 12. A rare opportunity (for second and third place, but whatever), as Andrea Vendrame capitalizes on some tactical dithering between George Bennett and Gianluca Brambilla to surge ahead unchallenged for the win. And after dangerously swerving to cut off Bennett to punish him for (arguably reasonably) not working in the chase, leading to relegation for jerkfacery, it was Brambilla lamming into Bennett to the cameras, sniping "just ask George Bennett how to lose the race. Sometimes it's better to watch some racing on TV so you know how to do it."  Still, Bennett does deserve kudos for managing to haul his musette for 60 kilometers to the line like he was about to ditch the corsa rosa for a leisurely stop at a farmer's market a few stages later.  Punk he may be, but litterbug he ain't!

Holy Cow That Could've Been Uncomfortable Mechanical of All Eternity: y'know, sometimes someone just drops a chain or gets caught on the wrong wheel to derail their sprint, and sometimes, you're about to be impaled with a giant titanium rod up your !@#.  This time, it was the latter, and monster points--and a fine save o' the delicate nether regions--by Fernando Gaviria on stage 13 for having the quick reflexes and mad bike-handling skills to stay airborne, upright, and miraculously uninjured after being startled by the snap of his seat post and subsequent unwanted ejection of his saddle with less than one kilometer to the line in a hotly-contested sprint.  Get that man a beer--and get his mechanic the hell outta Italy!

Shut-Yer-Eyes Save o' the Giro: sure, Astana's made a specialty out of attacking downhill under the slipperiest most treacherous conditions, usually, like Movistar's fruitless tactics, to no avail whatsoever.  But you gotta admire we love ex-and-ever-Euskaltel rider Gorka Izagirre, who came within a gnat's whisker of a painful face-plant into a roadside van skidding out on a Stage 6 descent in the Dolomiti before he pulled his foot outta the pedal and the rest of him fortunately outta harm's way.  Oh, give it up, you were too so either covering your eyes the whole time, there's no shame seeing that just in replays! 

Liar Liar Pants on Fire Statuette: yes, their team leader got knocked out early, so Bahrain-Victorious was honor-bound to do something special for him and salvage the race.  But an early stage win by Gino Mader, a second on Monte Zoncolan by Jan Tratnik, and a solo stage win and second on the overall podium by unsung worker-bee Damiano Caruso?  *That* was one bitchin' tribute, and no, you can't rewrite history and pretend you saw any of that coming.  Well done boys--now get a nice rest before you all humbly propel Landa to victory in the Vuelta!

Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: normally, this goes to Alejandro Valverde for ostentatiously undercutting his own team captain by attacking during a nature break, 'not seeing' his leader'd lost his wheel despite high-volume in-ear screaming from his outraged team car, or slipping a coupla doses of Ex-Lax into his bidon, but with Bala saving up for the Tour de France, this one goes to glamour-boy fan favorite and resurgent creaky old guy Peter Sagan, who, having the power and authority within the peloton to do so, relentlessly cut off and squelched any lowly peon with breakaway ambitions who could even remotely be a threat to his maglia ciclamino with such obnoxious efficiency that even UCI had to take notice and fine 'im.  Aw, he batted his eyelashes--wait, was that the Cutest Rider Ever Award we were giving him?

Like a Virgin Prize(s): Fortunato. Taco van der Hoorn. Alberto Bettiol.  Vendrame. Lafay. Mader. Schmid. Dan Martin.  Nizzolo, after 11--count 'em, 11!--second places at his home Grand Tour.  About 5 other guys you never get to hear of (I *know*, everyone's heard of Martin, I *know*).  This year's Giro, just about everyone who's never won a professional race, much less a Grand Tour stage,  and in particular a bunch of riders who spend 99% of their lives busting their rumps in obscurity for other, more heralded superstars, managed to take a Giro d'Italia victory, and even the occasional maglia rosa, from the expected usual suspects.  Love it, love it, love it--gentlemen, collect yer prizes!

Moral Outrage of the Giro: Sure, even Mario Cipollini was known to bail on the Giro rather'n 'honor the race' by facing the fruitless agony of his home-race mountains.  But when wee sprinter Caleb Ewan cuts his losses after a doppio of stage wins? Heresy! Aw, c'mon, he *said* he was only here to take a stage in every Grand Tour this season, and there pretty much *were* no other sprint stages left--*you* wanna be the teammate dragging his resentful carcass to the finish line within the time cut every day?

Last But Not Least, Domestique o' the Race: y'know, I was all set to hand this one to the fearsome Filippo Ganna, who has every reason to act like a complete snot of a prima donna and whose selfless unstoppable pounding of the terrified tarmac led the way for the most trouble-free fight for GC since the Armstrong PostalDiscovery train was--and I'm 100% sure this is a total coincidence--at the height of its, um, natural powers.  And Dani Martinez' inspiring yell and fist-shake into a lightly-cracking Egan Bernal's face at a desperate moment is the photograph that dreams are made of. But watching Bahrain-Merida's presumptive successor-captain we love Pello Bilbao grind to a near-halt on the final climb of the penultimate day to help ensure outta-nowhere Damiano Caruso's stunning second on the overall podium--and a gorgeous solo stage win to boot--it's pretty impossible to pick anyone else.  Well done ever-Carrot Pello--now let this guy off the leash for a stage win next year!

Well, time to dismantle the multilayered Giro shrine in my living room, mourn what wasn't (oh Mikel!), and celebrate what was til the Vuelta, or I guess that golden hype-fest in July's on too.  Anyway, thanks to all for sticking it out for a fabulous race, and congrats to all our worthy honorees--whether you should be proud of what you won for, or not!

It's Yer Giro d'Italia Rest Day Due Roundup!

 1. Welp, there's your final maglia rosa.  Barring Egan Bernal's back locking up or a major crash that is, both of which we dearly hope won't happen.  Even better, the kid's win was assisted when he had to outrun two !@#$in' nutwhacks chasing him with chainsaws. Sure, your team's an Evil Empire of doping cheating RadioSkank-train scumweasels, but you honor the race and speak fluent Italian, so we love you anyway Egan!

2. On a related note, Bernal may still be a whippersnapper, but that was extremely respectful and canny--as well as a smashing dope-smack to your competitors--to ditch the rain jacket without crashing to show off the maglia rosa when he won coming off Passo Giau.  *That* visual's gotta hurt Yates!

3. Speaking of fan bull!@#$, who was that who grabbed that screaming shoving germ-vector !@#$wit who damn near knocked Fortunato off his bike, and almost out of the Giro, a little over 1k out on his agonizing win on the Zoncolan? *That*'s right, mother!@#$ers, it was two time Giro d'Italia campione and personal Zoncolan victor we love smack-talking Gilberto !@#$in' Simoni, who together with his wife went all Bernard Hinault on his !@# and dragged him away from Fortunato to take the win.  Don't !@#$ with a guy whose grandmother sends him coke-tainted candies to enjoy, you hear?

4. Bahrain-Victorious sure hasn't let Mikel Landa's forced retirement (waaaaaaaaaaaah!) get them down.  A stage win, a second place on Zoncolan, *and* the utterly unexpected Damiano Caruso in second overall.  !@#$, well done guys--I hope they bring you all back to support Mikel in the Vuelta! 

5. And yes, I know Bernal's skipping the Tour so will take on the Vuelta, so stuff it Landa haters.  All that !@#$ Ineos is on has gotta wear off eventually, amirite?

6. What the !@#$ was that stupid crash 3k out on Stage 14? Poor Buchmann!

7. So after the preemptive cancellation, and resulting gutting of the decisive Queen stage, of the vicious Fedaia and grinding Pordoi climbs due to the invocation of the otherwise-useless UCI's Extreme Weather Protocol, RAI cheerfully broadcasted pics of the perfectly tranquillo, if mildly damp, top of both passes.  As a result, the riders' union, race organizers, governing bodies, and teams, who earlier in the day were all over each other grabbing credit for thoughtfully protecting the riders from hypothermic skating-rink total destruction, immediately began eating their own young blaming each other for the dumb!@#$ decision in the first place, with a few joyless holdouts among the tifosi forgivingly protesting that, after all, riders shouldn't be putting their frozen extremities and personal safety on the line simply to appease the sadism of a buncha sick freaks watching the spectacle from the warmth and comfort of their armchairs.  Crybabies!  Anyway, let the recriminations, half-truths, and history rewrites as to whose fault that was begin! 

8. Lay off Evenepoel, willya? He's not even old enough to drown his freakin' sorrows in Prosecco, and heck knows that erratic jackwagon Lefevere could drop that supportive bull!@#$ on a dime and feed his carcass to an actual pack of ravening wolves.  Evenepoel made no excuses, he's got the grinta to offer to stagger on, and he's still got one or two Grand Tours left in 'im before he ages out at the new geriatric standard of 23.  You go, boy!

9. There is absolutely nothing, *nothing* unusual about every climbing record ever set at the Giro during the height of the mindbogglingly uncontrolled EPO era being smashed by guys who are completely and virtuously clean.  Nothing.  But my, that's some powerful freakin' Muesli they're all eating at breakfast!

10. !@#$in' hell, cycling gods, *please* let Bauke Mollema win a stage.  What else does he have to do, barge into the time trial course and cattle-prod Filippo Ganna out of the way for a breakaway to stick? 

11. Heck knows I've had my issues with Basso and Contador over the years, but Alberto's howling 5-minute video reaction to Fortunato's win on top of the Zoncolan was both adorable and priceless.  But look, just because Eolo-Kometa earned its keep on its first Grand Tour outing doesn't mean you race organizers are excused from inviting Euskaltel back next year, RCS you punks!

Well fans, technically, it ain't over yet.  We've still got an anything-goes battle for second and third, the terrifyingly-named Splugenpass on the penultimate day, *and* the final individual time trial, in which wee Bernal needs a cushion of approximately 14 months to guarantee the final Trofeo Senza Fine in Milan. And it's the Giro, so heck knows anything could still happen.  No, not Evenpoel for Chr*st's sake--I told you all, lay off the kid!

It's Yer Giro d'Italia Rest Day Uno Roundup!

 All right, the riders've been cleared, the confetti's gone off, and, after Stage 9's fireworks, the fight for the maglia rosa is officially on.  So what've we learned, and what the hell's going on, and will?  This!

1. G$%mother!#$%ing b#$%^ c!@#theentire^&*!inplanetisouttogethimDAMMIT, right when he's on the form and in the spirits of his !@#$ing LIFE since he left Euskaltel, we love Mikel Landa is taken completely and bone-breakingly out a in Stage 4 crash in which he was just utterly pointless race-wrecking collateral damage. Also, it wasn't Dombrowski's fault. Still, you SUCK universe--*!@#$* !

2. On a related note, UCI, if you !@#$wits keeps focusing on stupid !@#$ like sock length and souvenir bidon-tosses and don't get this !@#$ing road furniture bull!@#$ in order I am going to lose my mind.  These guys are eyeball-locked on each others' wheels in a dead-on rush to the finish line and you can't be bothered to flash a !@#$ing flag at 'em til they're literally impaled on some steel pole?  When I issued my "revised UCI protocols" I didn't mean for you clowns to take 'em seriously. @#dammit!

3. On another related note, I am now all-in for we love fellow ex-Euskaltel rider Pello Bilbao on GC. Shut up, can so! Or Mikel Nieve or Gorka and every other ex-Carrot.  Please, just *one* for the orange army, boys!  Or several, that's cool too. Aupaaaaaaaaaaaa!

3. Considering that even a prominent Italian sprinter or two has been known to bail out at the first sight of high mountains in the Giro road book, it's kind of unfair to single out Caleb Ewan for monster tweet-slagging when a Grand Tour stage-win triple crown has been his stated aim all season.  Sure, it's blasphemy and he oughta honor the race by suffering through every last millimeter to Milan, but all this fuss at the Giro over a *sprinter*? 

4. On the other hand, Vincenzo Nibali of course is suffering even more miserably than expected from his crap broken wrist, but is *he* running home crying to mamma?  No, because he's Vincenzo !@#$ing Nibali, and everyone else is worthless and weak.  We love you Squalo!

5.  With his palmares, no one could really blame Filippo Ganna if he were a total princess prima donna who sat around the team bus whining between time trial victories, but you gotta hand it to him, he'll gut himself for his team any day.  Class!

6. Speaking of Skineos, it's nice to see Egan Bernal bouncing back from his endless excruciating back pain, despite the horrid team he rides for.  Okay, so the final podium is maybe a formality--with Landa out, who gives?

7. Sagan, man.  Hope Lefevere didn't already sign that check, you might be able to squeeze a few more euros outta him after today!  And anyone else think those taps of apology and congratulations after the argy-bargy to the finish line maybe weren't so friendly on some riders' ends as it seemed?

8. Viviani, man.  *Something's* gotta turn that ship around!

9. Nibali's right, that intermediate sprint today won't mean squat.  Sure was entertaining though--and I'd hate to be the rider whose estimate for the final time trial is three seconds off!

10. Contador and Basso's boys are making a very fine showing so far for their first Grand Tour outing.  So are they forgiven now, or is it still open season on the steak jokes?

11. If you're not happy that a guy named Taco, a totally unheralded kid from Cofidis, and a man who literally kisses his maglia rosa farewell won stages, I honestly don't even know what species you are.  Is there ever a more gorgeous setting for a first-ever-or-even-just-infrequent stage win than the Corsa Rosa?

12. Bauke Mollema.  Like you don't want him to take a stage after all that work he's put in?

13. Extreme Weather Protocols.  Watching these guys skid over the tarmac like drunken Ice Capades rejects, is anyone else convinced that they're pretty much bull!@#$ ?

14. Finally, UCI, while we're thinking about stupid !@#$ you do, what the !@#$ is these stupid new rules where it's better to have a support vehicle and a DS dispose of a freakin' rainjacket properly than to *avoid running over an actual human cyclist*?  If they can't do this stupid crap without turning the riders into bowling pins, back the !@#$ off so they don't have to fear being whacked at 30 miles an hour! 

Anyway, I know I've missed out on buckets, but them's mine.  Good luck in the Dolomites suckers, and vai vai vai Pellooooooooooooooo! 

It's Yer Giro de Italia in Preview, Part Tre: The Sprinters, the Stage Hunters, and a Dance Performance for the Ages!

 Holy crap tifosi, we made it--it's just one day til the fabulous Giro d'Italia!  The teams are presented, the coffee-table shrine to hot pink glory's in place, the spritz is ready to be poured--so let's plunge in for our last minute preview of Giro Stuff We Really Wanna Happen!

1. The Sprinters: well, wee Caleb Ewan sez he's all-in to win at least one stage in the Giro, Tour, and Vuelta this year, and if his form so far is any indication, for once, this isn't any of that casually arrogant sprinter bull!@#$ that sent me screaming toward the discreet exploits of the mountaineers who let their legs (and an occasional well-chosen insult) do the talking when first (and frankly, by far still) I got into this sport. So why not? Forza Caleb!  Of course, it's all overshadowed now by the bitter dispute between horrific face-smashing crash survivor Fabio Jakobsen and accidental near-career-destroyer Dylan Groenewegen, who appeared to reach detente after some incredibly gracious statements by Jakobsen, some serious time to heal, a controversial 8-month UCI ban and careful withdrawal by Groenewegen, some tentative forgiveness from the peloton, and, just yesterday unfortunately, a harsh rebuke of an apparently wholly unapologetic and unself-aware Groenewegen bragging about a productive, brotherly, and theoretically confidential meeting with Fabio that Jakobsen himself took a totally and far-less congratulatory view of.  Please just let Fabio heal inside and out, whatever else happens between you boys! Other fast men to watch this year, at least til they hit the base of the Zoncolan and have the sense and self-preservation to say "!@#$ this !@#$ !": Elia Viviani, coming off a coupla crap seasons with buckets to prove and who will stick it out to the end anyway to honor the race; Dylan Groenewegen, who better watch his back as well as the wheel in front of him; Giacomo Nizzolo and Fernando Gaviria, equally eager to and capable of delivering for the home crowd; that punk Moscon, on very good form; and, of course, not-a-pure-sprinter-but-you-better-not-!@#$-with-him Peter Sagan, freshly shorn, wily as hell, and, of course, with the kind of legendary panache the Giro lives for.  Forza Elia--just watch out for those dumb!@# motos this time, willya?

2. The Stage Hunters: as usual, there are several opportunities here for breakout stardom: days when the route is hilly but not so treacherous as to waste the time and energy of the GC contenders; and days when we hit the highest high passes and the childhood dreams of triumphant mountaintop glory are coldly shunted aside in favor of marking one's GC rivals and simply squashing any dangerous pretentions of podium-place one-upmanship.  You want flowers, or you want the Trofeo Senza Fine, pal?  Anyhow, we've got a plethora of big talent here, some in the twilight of their careers, some at the beginning looking to justify the hype and up their contract-season bargaining power, and the occasional, unknowable breakout shocker with his heart on his sleeve and--well, just don't !@#$ this up with an illegal supertuck, punk!  My picks, and yes, they're 90% ex-Euskatel who SHOULD BE HERE YOU INGRATES: we  love Gorka Izaguirre, as bro Ion takes a well-deserved rest; Filippo Ganna, surprisingly vulnerable this season in the time trials but cut him some !@#damn slack whydontcha the man's not a robot which if you all recall is actually a *good* thing; Jai Hindley, who'd love to prove that last year's exploits weren't a freak of weird timing and a !@#$ed-up field; LL Cool Sanchez, who started as a baby with Contador but is still at the front of every break and attack and deserves a last GT stage just for grinta; Nibs, who if he realizes he can't fight for GC will nonetheless crush the pain like a mosquito and go for a yuge mountaintop finale; Basso and Contador's boys in to stretch their legs and impress their legendary bosses at least in the breaks; we love Pello Bilbao, who we'll particularly love if he crushes himself for Landa and still manages the time and good luck to be let out to go for a mere stage win; guys that are unjustifiably hyped for GC like Buchmann, sometimes-not-quites-but-still-really-really-goods like Bardet and Soler; and for me, most of all, I'd love Mikel Nieve to take another stage, because frankly, that victory in 2018 at Cervinia on his 34th birthday 7 years to the day from his last one right in front of me literally made me cry.  Aupa grandeeeeeeeeeees!

3. Ceeeeee-le-brate Good Times, Come On!: finally, I'd be incredibly remiss in my interminable run-on sentences if I didn't stop to praise the remarkable pre-race team presentation, with not only a lovely orchestra, lushly talented singer, parade of otherwise-banned podium babes in those reliable cyclist standbys six inch stilettos bearing flags, and oh, right, the *riders* and even (respectful touch, I thought) the DSes, but also a Cirque-de-Soleil/Madonna-in-her-Vogue-Period/Bondage-esque dance performance, which you really, really oughta look up on the internet because I'm mostly geo-barred here.  So with that, and EF and Bardiani's trippy new kits, searing our eyeballs, time to bust out the Europop, kick back with some lovely Tuscan reds, and get ready for the of course the mountains, but also the gravel stretches that'll probably make or break this whole show!

It's Yer Giro d'Italia in Preview, Part Due: the GC Contenders!

 Yes, dear reader(s), it's *still* happening, so with the updated start lists finally out, and everyone who no one gives a crap if they even rode it or not already popped for this year by the ace antidoping enforcers over at UCI, it's time to review our General Classifications Contenders!  The field, with pros and cons:

1. Mikel Landa: Yeah, I said it. And if I read one more twitter poll about who's gonna win that doesn't list him I'm gonna spit--me, a delicate, genteel lady! Anyway, two issues: (1) Confidence. If his !@#$in' DS makes those big sad puppy-dog eyes fill with tears or even crease his brow by slagging him in the press this year you wankers, he will collapse like a souffle' in an earthquake, so you can shut yer freakin' yap with any of that !@#$ing bull!@#$ *right now*, you hear! (2) The second time trial.  FFS Bahrain, you need to pad this boy's lead by at least a minute by the penultimate day or Mikel's gonna be swiped off the podium like a bad Tinder profile.  DON'T mess this up you guys! Strengths: Pello, who's been on fire this year, sez he's committed to having Mikel's back.  Yeah, I've heard that before--but let's hope he really means it!  And the squad is really bringing a bangin' group.  And Mikel genuinely seems a jillion times happier than he was at Team BackStab or SquanderMe. So stay upright Mikel and pace yourself--those final-week mountains are yours!

2. Pello Bilbao: Look, I *love* our dear ex-Carrot, and hope he at least has the luxury of popping off the front for a stage win.  But have you not read a !@#damn thing I just told you in the first paragraph?!  It's like that time Scarponi could've pulled off at the cafe for a beer and a massage and still beaten everyone else to the line but graciously waited for Nibali, or when Sepp Kuss could've taken the stage twice while Roglic was desperately trying to grind back up to him, but they still *did their jobs*.  Aupa Pello--within reason, of course!

2. Vincenzo Nibali: sure, our two-time champ's getting a little long in the tooth as Grand Tour GC winners go, but I mean, not eligible-for-the-old-person's-home-Chris-Horner-bagging-the-Vuelta old, and look how *that* panned out. And of course, Lo Squalo's starting off somewhat hampered in training and form by a busted wrist.  But he *is* the mitico Shark, he adores his home race, and HE WILL HOLD THAT DAMN JOINT TOGETHER WITH DUCT TAPE AND RUSTY NAILS IF HE HAS TO SO UNDERESTIMATE HIM AT YOUR ETERNAL HELLBOUND PERIL YOU QUIVERING WEAKLINGS!

3. Simon Yates: I know.  He doesn't want any pressure either.  And he can't fake out to the peloton that he's really his brother now that they're actually on different squads.  And he's acting awfully nonplussed for someone going after one of the biggest--and definitely the most beautiful--prizes in cycling.  His form looks great, he hasn't been afraid to hit the gas pedal just so he won't tip off his competitors, and he is just floating when he accelerates.  If he doesn't crack after the mountains in the second week--and if he can manage against, or with, other teams that are more formidable on paper, he's gonna be tough to out-ride.  Good luck, but I still hope Landa and Nibali beat you!

4. Egan Bernal: His back.  His back, his back, his poor poor back.  He is a gorgeous climber, and surprisingly not so catastrophically disastrous in the time trial as he oughta be.  So if he can control the pain, it's hard to picture him off the podium.  But Skineos clearly isn't optimistic, because they've named Pavel Sivakov--a very fine rider, but still--"co-leader."  Oh yeah, that !@#$ works--just ask Movistar! 

5. Remco Evenepoel: yes, he still gets age-checked for Space Mountain at Disney.  But 4 is the new 28-to-32-years-old apparently, and despite the fact that he's still coming back from a nasty crash in last year's Il Lombardia, he's carrying a lot of expectations on his back whether his team'll cave to it or not. Just don't throw those things by the side of the road or UCI'll have your !@# !

6. Dan Martin.: Cripes, he almost gets as little respect as Landa.  But no matter what kind of a day he's having, or how much a particular section is blowing his legs out, he is just *dogged*, and over three weeks and at least one stage guaranteed not to be called off until the riders already have massive hypothermia, that's the kind of grinta you need.  He was also fourth in the Vuelta last year--a pretty punishing parcours.  He may not win--but I'm still expecting pretty good things from 'im!

7. Hugh Carthy: He won on the Angliru, and podiumed at the Vuelta.  Whether you think that was due to everyone's weird schedule, everyone's weird form, or an entirely weird race, that is indisputably some badassery.  Maybe not this year--but if things go sideways, and with EF reportedly debuting yet another retina-searing kit that will distract and exhaust the rest of the peloton with screaming nightmares, you can't entirely count him out, either!

Well, them's mine, which virtually guarantees that if you bet on someone else entirely, you're likely to make a !@#$load of cash.  So good luck to all of you, but best luck to Mikel Landa of course--and bring on the mighty Zoncolan!  Last preview coming up: the sprinters and, far more importantly, the high-altitude stage hunters.  Aupa Mikel Nieveeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Holy Crap It's Really Happening: It's Yer 2021 Giro d'Italia in Preview, Part Uno: La Corsa Rosa!

Yes, in a topsy-turvy but intermittently-hopeful cycling season in which Paris-Roubaix was postponed, La Course was !@#$ed (of course), and Valverde remains a hot young property at the age of 682, the beautiful Giro d'Italia is back in May when it belongs, and with one of the strongest fields and some of the most fearsome mountains in years, it's time to look at the course!  Here, what the boys will be battling, the crowds will be drunkenly socially-distancing at, and the couch peloton will be cheering, this year:

Week One: we start off in Torino with a short, 8.6km time trial in which we find out right off the bat exactly how many seconds dear Mikel Landa is already screwed. Go to hell, he's conserving energy for the Dolomites, you miserable haters! Stage 2: Ciao, velocisti!  The sprinters get an early chance to shine with a flat, 179km chillfest to Novara.  Please, no twitchy, stupid accidents to break our hearts, and bruise delicate peloton skins, this early!  Stage 3: A 190KM bit of a roller to wake the legs up and give the break some leeway til a slightly uphill last k for the finish in bella Canale. Stage 4: sure, enjoy the first half of the day, but the second part of the 187k turns upward, with a wicked ascent up the Colle Passerino just before the end.  Ugh, can you cameras quit sadistically focusing on the poor suffering autobus?  Stage 5: phew, after a nice massage, you can relax til you hit the rotaries and 3 corners as you approach the finish line.  At least it's pancake flat!  Next up: it's yer intro to the Apennines, as we take on some road furniture, and basically a final 15k uphill.  If you've got some early weakness, GC, now's the time to freakin' hide it!  Finally, we wrap up the week with some potential crosswinds along the Adriatic coast and a slightly uphill finale.  And yeah, be grateful while you can, sprinters!

Week 2: Are we in the mountains yet?  Gettin' there, honey, 'cause Stage 8 through Campobasso, up Bocca della Selva, a long leisurely descent, then a final hike to Guardia Saniframondi is gonna ache!  That is, til Stage 9, which tosses in a coupla Cat 2s, a Cat 3, then a Cat 1 finale up to the sarcastically-named Campo Felice, with, as a bonus for the tifosi if potentially tire-pinching for the riders, a sharp uphill gravel finish.  Yeah, they'll be "felice" when they fall off their bikes!  Stage 10 takes it down (literally) a notch, with a short 139k stage from L'Aquila to Foligna, and a long, mostly downhill 38k or so to the curvy, though paved, finale.  Enjoy your rest day, kids!  Stage 11: it's a beautiful amble through the vineyards via the strade sterrate on the Brunello di Montalcino "wine stage". Surely you hard-driving team directors'll allow these boys a decent toast tonight?  Stage 12: party's over as we head down from Siena to a quartet of Cat 3 and Cat 2 passes (including some ouchy little 14% nips on the final climb) til the surprisingly twisty end. Careful out there!  Stage 13 throws a massive bone to the two sprinters who haven't already gone home crying to Mamma on a paper-flat meander from Ravenna to Verona.  *Now* would be a good time to run home crying to Mamma, fast men!  Last but so very not least, Stage 14 brings on the first real splits in GC with the spectacular, and whoa-nelly painful, Monte Zoncolan.  Don't !@#$ this up, Bahrain-You-!@#damn-Well-Better-Be-Victorious!

Week 3: Lord have mercy, or at least the organizers did, 'cause Stage 15 is a trio of Cat-4 lumpers, a final wee 14% gradient as we dip into Slovenia and back into Italia, and even a short section of pave til the last 300 meters of all-out tarmac. That wasn't so bad, was it?  Good, because tomorrow you're climbing Passo Fedaia, *then* the Cima Coppi of the freakin' Pordoi, *then* the massive nut-kick of Passo Giau.  Hey, at least it's downhill to Cortina d'Ampezzo--if you've still got control of your bodily functions!  And if you don't, you got a final rest day to get 'em back.  Don't get lazy though! Stage 17: do you know the way to Canazei?  Well, from, but having largely determined the GC, we relax with a slightly less torturous jaunt to Sega d' Ala with the Cat 1 Passo di San Valentino at 155k in, then a ripping Cat 1 finale starting at 10%, plateauing at 15%, and a few nice stretches of 17 and 18% to really bring on the pain the last 11k of the race.  Mikel, you know what to do here!  Stage 18: it's a snoozy 196k through Cremona til 4 wake-up bumps in quick succession to a silky smooth finish in Stradella.  Ah, that felt nice--or it would've if most of the sprinters were still here!  Stage 19 jars you back to reality, with the Cat 1 skip to Mottarone halfway in and a gorgeous Cat 1 finish up Alpe di Mera.  Don't work too hard though boys--the GC and the podium is sealed, if it isn't already, by a brutal penultimate day with a deceptively chill first half then a cannonball into the pain cave with agonizing last-chance schleps up Passo San Bernadino, the ominously named Splugenpass, and, after a careening descent, your final, if almost forgiving, 10% reward to the top of Alpe Motta.  Seriously, you're gonna DQ me for deliriously tossing a baby fan my last water bottle NOW? Anyway, if you've got enough padding on the clock, time to celebrate, or if not, to totally legally and legitimately ride the best freakin' time trial of your life--it's yer last chance to win or lose the maglia rosa, and welcome, for better or way worse, to Milan! 

Well, that's Yer Preview Part Uno.  Next up: the General Classification contenders!  And no, even *I'm* not that nasty to poor Froomey. Well...Anyhoo, get out your Euskaltel caps BECAUSE IT'S A !@#DAMN OUTRAGE THEY WEREN'T INVITED AND THE ORGANIZERS WILL FEEL OUR PAIN AND PROTEST STRAIGHT FROM OUR LIVING ROOMS OVER THE AIRWAVES INTO THEIR TINY, SHRUNKEN, MISERABLE HEARTS, bust out the Aperol, and let's get this hot-pink party started! 

It's Yer Handy UCI Guide to Proper Peloton Behavior!

 Yes, usually you can rely on us here at racejunkie for such crack racing analysis as "!@#DAMMIT, GIRO, WHY DO YOU KEEP INCLUDING TIME TRIALS WHEN YOU KNOW THEY !@#$ OVER LANDA?" and "what kind of insane crap is this bull!@#$ 'new generation' on?" But the hot issue--and frankly, the most bat!@#$ bonkers--is what can riders do out there on the race course that won't get them fined, relegated, or banned from the sport?  So, in the interests of protected our beloved peloton from personal and professional self-destruction, we helpfully present Yer UCI Guide to Proper Peloton Behavior:

1. Socks. If you do not fix that completely unacceptable sock height WE ARE GONNA !@#$ YOU UP, YOU HEAR?

2. Bike Weight. Any underweight bikes shall be immediately corrected by (1) attaching Chavito-sized weights in appropriate increments until you are within no more than 1 microgram under UCI standards or (2) strapping Andre Greipel to your top tube. Try dragging *that* up Mont Ventoux, you cheating punk!

3. Tire Width. If you don't like puncturing every six seconds on the Strade Bianche because the tires you have can't take the constant stabbing of rocks, you can ride on yer rims then you crybaby!

4. Barriers: From now on, the dangerous footed metal barriers that continually cause riders to crash within meters of the line, and which in any event require environmentally destructive mining practices, shall be replaced by lightly padded UCI officials.

5. Sprints: to avoid the possibility of dangerous and reckless sprinting, riders shall henceforth set out one at a time, in two-minute increments--now, wait a minute, that can't be right...

6. Time Trial Helmets: From now on, only helmets that have terrifying googly eyes that actually bounce around in their casings are permitted.

7. General Environmental Concerns. As shown by the gas-guzzling INEOS monster trucks, enormous team buses, dozens of motos, team cars, tchotchke purveyors, Mercedeses hauling dignitaries, and approximately 600 vehicles bearing giant plastic replicas of corporate mascots both preceding and following the peloton proves, UCI is strongly committed to protecting the environme--ah, !@#$ it, I got nothin'!

8. Bidons.  Tossing empty bidons right to adoring child World Road Champions of tomorrow is strictly prohibited.  Tossing bidons at the heads of the joyless eejits who imposed this rule is strongly encouraged.

9. Gels. In an effort to bring back lighthearted 'fun' back to the sport that you all are unjustly accusing us of killing, empty gel packets may only be crammed at full speed into the GC leader's back jersey pocket.  Team with the most accurate hits and least crashes gets a kegger!

10. Musettes: To prevent further grotesque souvenir-hunting by happy fans whose patronage helps PAY UCI's BILLS, musettes may be thrown only into Gianni Moscon's wheelset.

11. Miscellaneous Rubbish: all other detritus, including but not limited to bodily fluids, must be deposited in a two-meter zone located at the base of the Koppenberg.

12. Podium Ceremonies. Podium babes, having been banned on both public health and misog--yeah, like we give a crap about misogyny!--grounds, remain forbidden. Small robots, having been mocked in tryouts, shall be replaced with the Terminator, or, for lesser jerseys, that molten-metal cop guy from the second movie. Flowers, which are useless water-sucking frippery, shall be replaced by dumping a wheelbarrow of mulch over the rider's heads.

13. Road Furniture.  Due to the large carbon footprint of people in safety vests waving destructive synthetic neon flags in front of road furniture, all such injurious hazards shall be helpfully marked with a 4-inch length of kitchen twine.  That oughta do it!

14. Carbon Dioxide Mitigation: Fans.  Exhalations of screaming fans contributing to an excess of greenhouse gases are prohibited. Tifosi shall hold their breath for the entire six hours preceding the peloton on the slopes of the Zoncolan.

15. Team Kits. Team kits, including but not limited to bibs, baselayers, jerseys, and chamoises, depend heavily on harmful unnatural fabrics. Accordingly, each rider shall be allocated a total of 16 local, sustainably-harvested fig leaves to pad their nuts against 7 hours of relentless pounding. 

16. Rain Jackets and Protocol. To avoid the potentially-deadly hazard of riders unable to doff and don rainjackets during the inevitably mercurial changes in weather in 10-meter increments on the Stelvio, thereby endangering other riders and subjecting the incompetent to dangerous frostbite, all World Tour cyclists shall be licensed annually in order to use such gear.  Real-world road conditions shall be simulated in the testing environment by use of water cannons, random ice patches, and bombarding the riders with rapid-fire tennis balls. Riders failing such test shall be immediately demoted to Sunday-morning club rides on !@#$ bikes with wonky derailleurs, loose chains, and pre-punctured tires, and stripped of all World Tour privileges.  That's a !@#$-ton of money even for you, Kelderman! 

17. As the women's peloton already gets NO !@#$ING MONEY OR SUPPORT ANYWAY, none of these rules apply to you.  Enjoy the sweet rewards of perpetual disrespect, ladies!

18. Rider Chats.  Yapping into race radios, and discussing tactical plans with one's teammates, rudely distracts the riders who are properly concentrating.  Accordingly, all on-course communication shall be conducted by Morse Code made by flapping your hands under your armpits to make that disgusting farting sound.  Good luck staying upright, though!

Well, fellow road warriors, that about covers it.  Maybe someday, we'll get around to !@#$ that really matters, like rider safety and dop--AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, you kidders!

My Fantasy Team Skineos Press Conference

 Good morning.  We're here today in this isolated,  empty hotel conference  room to address these scurrilous  allegations against us/courteously  maintain proper social distancing/so you  don't  throw stuff at us.  First, we'd like to thank  Dr. Freeman for his exemplary service  to the team/doing exactly what  we  told  him to do all along/lying his  #$% off to the narcs. Second, we'd like to unequivocally deny that we ever gave our riders any banned substances whatsoever/point out that you hypocrites knew exactly what we were doing all along/make the ridiculous assertion that these were the rogue actions of a depraved lone wolf.  Also, we were were really hoping you'd be distracted by all the lurid testimony about the witnesses' lack of sexual potency/the pandemic/whatever far superior !@#$ the 'new generation' is obviously mainlining.

As to the purported 'evidence' itself, there was absolutely nothing suspicious in the fact that those two key laptops conveniently went missing/the data files were erased by a spy-agency level computer specialist/some guy in a Skineos jacket blasted a hole through them with a Howitzer.  Regarding the alleged 'jiffy bags', they were clearly just innocent little snack bags stuffed with Goldfish crackers and a cheery note from Mum/to carry the riders' phones in their pockets so they wouldn't get all sweaty and gross/post-race Haribo gummies in the wacky and totally coincidental shape of testosterone nut-patches.  Further, any improvements in rider performance, particularly any untoward "donkey to racehorse" gains of people who were clearly acting on their own without any clearance ever from us, were entirely due to the lavender sachets we tucked into the boys' bedlinens to lull them into a relaxing night's sleep/the particularly strong espresso provided by our peerless team barista/some truly rhino-stunning amounts of cutting-edge drugs.

Finally, we'd like to affirm that we are absolutely committed to clean and transparent sport/going to throw some neopro you've never heard of and we don't care about under the bus instead of the glaringly obvious culprits/going to make our highly-paid lawyers drag this !@#$ out til everyone involved has turned to dust and we're all onto the next disgusting scandal.  Thank you, and good day/so long, see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya/!@#$ off! 

It's Yer 2021 Cycling Year in Preview!

 Y'know, I was gonna do my traditional "Year in Review" post, too, but in the end, one month of "Tour Down Under" then 11 months of "Oh, !@#$ !" seemed just too grim.  But it's a whole new year, everyone's been busting it to make it as safe and normal a year as possible--and yes, I'm aware that amounts to "still !@#$ed"--and it's time to cover what will be!  So mark my words--tho' I wouldn't give 'em any actual credence--and let's get to Yer 2021 Cycling Year in Preview!

January: Team camp time! "Wolfpack" air-dropped into Yellowstone National Park in elk costumes to see if they can outrun the real deal; Bahrain-Victorious changes name to Bahrain-ForGod'sSakeLet'sNotCurseLandaWithThisStupidNameBeforeTheSeasonEvenBegins; Ineos-Grenadiers double-dog-dares riders to lick cold aluminum pole in battle for Grand Tour leadership.  Hope you got legs, 'cause you ain't got a tongue any more!

February: The season ramps up! Riders at Tour of Oman hydrated by blasting fire hoses in lieu of bidon hand-outs due to social-distancing concerns; Kasper Asgreen fails to defend 2020 Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne under mistaken belief live racing is on hold, misses whole show by hooking up bike trainer to nonexistent Zwift course instead; Sagan posts video of himself wheelie-ing down Alta Badia giant slalom course, beats World Cup leader Alexis Pinturault by 39 seconds.  Ready for the Classics, I see!

March: The cobbles begin! Spectators, press, non-necessary personnel barred from Paris-Nice, 2016 champ Geraint Thomas claims win, saying "how the hell would you know? You weren't there to see it anyway"; torrential rain at Gent-Wevelgem turns Kemmelberg into giant wave, Peter Sagan surfs fan-club sign to victory; Cav takes Milano-Sanremo when Wolfpack hunts down, devours defending champ Wout Van Aert. That's about the only thing that'll stop that kid, anyhow!

April: Nothin' but Classics, baby! Arenberg cobbles purloined sometime during 2020, Paris-Roubaix quickly re-routed to some guy's suspiciously lumpy new driveway; Paris-Roubaix women's ra--aw, we know *that's* not gonna happen, peloton greeted by big UCI sign saying "NEENER NEENER!";  Alaphilippe sweeps Ardennes by sneaking on to courses night before, painting fake finish lines for Primoz Roglic, causing him to raise arms in victory prematurely. Take *that*, beeyotch!

May: It's the Giro it's the Giro It's the Giro! Riccardo Ricco' granted one-time reprieve from lifetime ban, busted in sting operation when mistakenly confuses watermelon Slushy bought from some guy outside a 7-11 for legitimate blood bag; Elia Viviani sweeps sprint stages after Cofidis teammates slash tires of every dumb!@# moto within 50 meters of him; Landa wins Giro after Movistar chases down GC rivals in usual pointless act of self-destruction.  Viva Mikel, viva il Giro! 

June: Pre-Tour prep time and Road nats! Riders arrive to quarantine ahead of Tour-bubble lockdown, drink entire year's national Champagne output in two weeks; Alexander Vinokourov crowned surprise Kazakhstan men's champ because "if you don't like it, *you* go tell 'im"; Toms Skujins wins Latvian men's road race, misses podium ceremony when distracted by nearby frites truck. 

July: It's the Grande Boucle, honey! 3-year-old Belgian toddler in debut road race wins Tour de France GC because "damn, that !@#$ is getting better every day"; Pogacar-Roglic rematch results in shared Lanterne Rouge when mark each other too closely, miss time cut on stage 1 by record-breaking 14 hours 28 minutes; riders solve rescheduled Olympics/Tour de France conflict by running screaming all the way to Tokyo when realize they have to climb Mont Ventoux *twice*. And what the !@#$ do you mean the Giro Rosa isn't a WorldTour race, you sick freaks?!

August: Are we still racing?  It's the smashing Vuelta a Espana, baby! Sturdy Classics guys who benefited from 2020 Vuelta reschedule to November vaporize in brutal Basque mountain heat, no riders left to take on cobblestones next April; Kuss gets bored waiting for exhausted Roglic, pulls over for a nap, wakes up in 2023 and still takes stage win for self; Euskaltel sweeps podium after at least getting invited to *this* race, fer heck's sake.  Aupa grandeeeees!

September: Time for the World Championships! Mads Petersen summarily awarded men's road race on finish line "because he never even got to show off his World Champion stripes last year"; van Vleuten new women's road champ despite being incapacitated by broken wrist, strained hamstring, swollen kneecap, severe gout, and chronic hangnails; Filippo Ganna first human to break the sound barrier by non-motorized transport during men's time trial, located 2 days later in New Zealand.

October: Il Lombardia, honey! Beloved "Race of the Falling Leaves" becomes "Race of the Falling Ice Shelf" due to freak El Nino weather pattern, race organizers decline to invoke extreme weather protocols, Nibali chisels way out to victory three weeks later with mangled seat stay fragment; women's peloton storms UCI headquarters, threatens to openly discuss menstruation and other scary lady stuff in front of board members, cowering misogynist ninnies immediately declare three-week women's Giro, Tour, and Vuelta for 2022.  Victory!      

November: Transfer season! confusion as Marc Hirschi linked to UAE, Ineos, Cofidis, AG2R, Manchester United and New York Mets; van Vleuten decides to ride solo with only small handlebar bag for support in 2022 "just to keep things interesting," still takes top of World Tour rankings; Froome to--!@#$ you haters, I am so still riding!

December: Team Kit reveals! 83 percent of 2022 races called wrong because no-one can tell every team's boring identical blue kit apart; Androni-Giocattoli ditches much-critized over-logoed 2021 outfits by demanding riders get all-body sponsor tats instead; EF replaces weird 2021 duck motif with kits made of actual, living ducks, riders repeatedly pulled off-course in 2022 by kit lunging after bread crumbs thrown by rival teams' soigneurs. Maybe we'll just make it a nice, simple blue kit next year!

Well dear reader(s), there's yer 2021.  So buckle up, cross yer fingers we actually get and stay going this year--and don't say I didn't warn you! 

 

It's Yer 2021 New Year's Resolutions for the Peloton!

 All right, whoever you are, nut up: you're guilty. And you *know* it, deep in your depraved, scrimy little heart.  But this is the season of redemption, of fresh starts, of FFS-please-let-this-craphole-year-be-over, and it's not at all too late to wipe that filthy slate of yours clean and sparkle into 2021 clean as a whistle!  Ergo, here's Yer New Year's Resolutions for the Peloton:

1. Julian Alaphilippe: I will raise my arms in victory *only* after I have actually crossed the line.  Even if I'm on a solo breakaway with 10 kilometers of open road behind me.  Why? Because no one needs to see the reigning World Champion get punked!

2. Mikel Landa: I will ride the *Giro*. The beautiful, perfect, mountainous *Giro.* And because I have put that idiot time-trialfest Tour de France outta my head, I will *win.*

3. Bahrain-Victorious: We have *one* objective this season, and that is helping Mikel win the *Giro*. Forget that stupid "well-rounded squad" crapola!

4. Peter Sagan: Bora's new green ombre kit is boss. But I will win the green jersey at the Tour and bring it all the way to Paris.  Eat my dust, Sam Bennett!

5. Patrick Lefevere: I'll quit Twitter-bullying people who can't defend themselves against my petty, baseless attacks. Instead, I'll pick on people my own size, like toddlers, or grandparents!

6. Lucinda Brand: I will develop a new line of 'cross shoes with built-in portable stilts. Because next year, it would be nice to have my head above the mud when I win at Dendermonde!

7. Euskaltel: Every. Grand. Tour. Dammit. Or we're coming for you jack!@#es in the mountains anyway!

8. EF: I will turn down the volume on the team kit design.  To something subtle and classy, like one of Cipollini's naked-guy skinsuits.

9. Chloe Dygert: I will continue to rehab from my awful crash at the World Championships. And I will never, *ever*, say or do another thing on social media.  Nope, I mean it--stop right there!

10. Primoz Roglic: next clown who says "Didja know he used to be a ski jumper?" gets it right in the kisser.

11. Chris Froome: next clown who says "Didja know he used to be a pro cyclist?" gets it right in the kisser.

12. Jumbo-Visma: we're gonna *try* not to have all 8 riders pulling on the front for 6 consecutive hours a day for 21 days straight in every Grand Tour this year.  I mean, the narcs have gotta get concerned about optics *sometime*, right?

13. UCI: In the spirit of our continued efforts to ease away from the "podium babe" tradition, and to practice safe COVID protocol, riders will no longer receive kisses on the cheek when they get on the podium.  Instead, everyone will have to perform the "Humpty Dance."  

14. 'Cross races: We will assume that the delicate women's uteruses won't fall out if we ask them to ride a full 50-minute course.  And if they *do* fall out, we'll just collect 'em in the pits next to the extra bikes and everyone can claim hers when it's over.

15. Tour de France: we're gonna run a full, three-week women's TdF.  Because when Anna van der Breggen glues on a pornstache and sneaks in and rides it anyway, we'll all look like *complete* !@#holes.

16. Quick Step and Astana: heck knows, none of you ever should be subjected to us rapping again.  From now on, all promotional videos and team press conferences shall be done in iambic pentameter.

17. Richard Carapaz: from now on, *I'm* gonna be the undisputed team leader at the Grand Tours, right from the start.  Back off, G!

18. E-Racing.  No more need for us now. Hope to never see y'all again out on the fake road!

Well folks, them's mine, and I hope all our resolvers stick to their pledges and have a successful 2021.  In the meantime, pop that Champagne, spiffy up that new team kit, and let's all kick 2020 to the curb!

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 racejunkie Awards!

Normally, this highly anticipated annual awards show'd be full of Mosconian asshattery, Saganesque camera antics, and classic Valverdean bushwhackery.  And frankly, in this strange and tragic year, it's kinda amazing that anything cycling managed to happen at all.  But happen it did, and if *anyone* needs a party to usher out this year and prepare for the new, it's the hardworking cyclists, staff, organizers, and tifosi that made this year even quasi-bearable.   Prizes, for anyone so desperate for self-esteem as to stoop this low--and I swear, on my desire to seek Euskaltel kick Ineos' !@# in the mountains, I'm good for 'em: (1) a handsome custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a fistful of dashing and shamelessly self-promoting racejunkie stickers to enliven yer bike, yer enemy's bike, but please for all that's holy not yer innocent kid's bike; (3) eternal infamy (thank you Internet!); and (4) a genuine, material statuary tchotchke with some sort of sports-related theme and your name and award extremely neatly written on it with genuine gold-ink paint pen (genuine ink, can't vouch for the genuine gold part).  So put on yer most festive togs--or at least, I beg you, some clean underwear--grab some Prosecco, fire up yer Zoom account, and let's get this party started!  

Totally !@#$in' Waste of Effort Award: wow, all that Everesting was fun! At least, in the "if I don't kit up and get my sponsor some YouTube hits they're gonna shred my contract in front of me like some pretentious poser Banksy auction-house stunt" and "man, this *sucks*" sense of the word.  But with road racing on ice, and 80 million stationary kilometers to a horrible Europop playlist looming like a whack to the nuts with a sledgehammer, everyone from Alberto Contador to Lachlan Morton to cookie guru Phil Gaimon to yer mamma was hammering to the very top of Mount Everest, or at least its precise height equivalent, in a desperate bid for glory and publicity.  Except you know what, champ?  You *didn't*, because in early December of this very year, China and Tibet joined forces to re-measure Mount Everest and determined it's actually 86 centimeters taller than previously thought.  D'oh--better bring along a tape measure next time, suckers!

Tiptoe Through the Tulips Award: in a year where everyone's race calendar went completely to !@#$, and more importantly, their meticulously-planned training regimens were blasted to bits, somehow, in the 10 weeks of racing crammed in with nary a day off from just September to Thanksgiving, records of every kind--time trial records, speed-up-the-mountains records, watts-per-come-on-even-Armstrong-couldn't-pull-off-that-!@#$ records--were shattered in nearly every kind of race there was, particularly the sport's most notorious climbs.  And the peloton's reaction--and from some riders with the most freakish performances, no less? Yep, scathing indictments from "I don't understand it" to "gee whillickers!" Oh for FFS, just spit it out already people--with so many narc-friendly targets, what're the odds they're gonna start to look at *your* performance, anyway?

Age of Innocence Prize: Remember those halcyon days of January, when a dog was taking out riders at the Tour of San Juan, the Dutch antidoping authorities were expressing mild discombobulation with Jumbo-Visma's whole-hog keg-party chugging of ketones, and the only whisper of the season's disaster yet to come was the cautionary cancellation of the Tour of Hainan?  Yeah, me neither, but this one's for nice guy and extremely fine cyclist Richie Porte, who took a wonderful overall victory at the Tour Down Under even after barely ceding personal playground Willunga Hill, which once and for all should've gotten everyone off his damn back about his Grand Tour performances and just given him credit for what he clearly does best.  Wishing you the same for 2021, Richie--and thanks for the shred of normalcy in 2020!

Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' the Year: forget about a mere 'cross champion's recent stealth handoff of perfectly legal ketones to his soigneur--before anyone even knew if Remco Evenepoel would ride his bike again after his horrifying plunge off a bridge at the Tour of Poland, social media was alight with speculation over what exactly was in the white container that QuickStep DS Davide Bramati slipped from Evenepoel's jersey and into his own pocket.  Um, can we let him be loaded onto the litter and carried up to the ambulance before we upset his already traumatized family watching on live TV any further by instantly slagging the guy? UCI, to its sorta credit I suppose, did in fact call for an investigation into the incident--the container one, not "who the !@#$ thought this was a good idea for a descent *again*" one--and concluded, after QuickStep obliquely explained them as "supplements", there was no violation.  Upside: UCI *did* nail a Juniors rider (Age 3-5 Category) for a deliberate juice-box violation, and summarily banned him from recess for four years.  A job well done by all, and continued good healing wishes for Remco! 

Beelzebub Has a Devil Put Aside For Me/For Meee/For Meeeeeeeeeee! Prize: no, no, no, no, no, no! Wout Van Aert to Ineos?  Say it ain't so.  Shove off, Team Satan--we *like* this kid!

A Spoonful of Sugar Makes the Medicine Go Down Award: in a season where the peloton's emotions--and social media accounts--veered from cheerful anticipation to mild concern to massive frustration to abject terror to just plain constant confusion, one rider's Tweets remained obstinately optimistic--yes, potato-lovin' Toms Skujins, who, with remarkable and reassuring consistency, self-deprecatingly downplayed his own fine form, lavishly complimented the performances of everyone else, and generally provided a bright light in a dark maelstrom of suck.  From the bottom of our hearts, thank you Toms--the nicest Tour de France "combativity award" winner in history!

Domestique o' the Year: honestly, between Tao Geoghegan Hart becoming the impromptu king of Ineos--and victor of the Giro d'Italia--after Geraint Thomas' fractured-pelvis crashout, and Sepp Kuss' pull-over-for-an-espresso-and-pastry butt-saving performance for a suffering Primoz Roglic at the Vuelta,  there were some pretty amazing performances even in this truncated, bizarro year.  But no-one quite superdomestiques like Team Movistar, which, in lieu of eating its own like it usually does, ganged up--to the benefit of another team entirely--to actually help the Murder Hornets' Rogla hunt down a surging Richard Carapaz and secure, in perhaps the most nail-biting 20 seconds in recent Grand Tour history, his overall triumph on the penultimate day.  *Damn*, Movistar, your trademark self-destructiveness really pays off--for other squads, that is!

Fan !@#$wit Award: from pee-tossing moralists to garden-variety eejits-in-a-speedo to dimwits who think a bike race with a speeding peloton is a perfect place to bring your unleashed herding dog, there's usually no shortage of brutish contenders for this shameful award.  But with fans largely banned from the roadsides for COVID safety purposes and piles of races cancelled outright, competition is actually pretty slim this year, and for the life of me, I cannot remember where I saw a single, solitary dumb!@# wielding a single, solitary colored smoke flare in the riders' gasping faces.  Don't you people *know* that inhaling that toxic !@#$ can interfere with the good stuff sinking in?

Shock Transfer o' 2020: no, not alleged multiple Grand Tour victor/donkey-to-racehorse changeling Chris Froome being unceremoniously dumped by Skineos then joining we love Andre Greipel over at Israel Start-Up Nation--though that was diverting--but reigning Former or Current Everything Champion (including a 2018 Giro Rosa!) and overall bad-!@# Annemiek Van Vleuten, who turned down a lucrative and other-superstar-stuffed gig with Trek-Segafredo while out the door of longtime home Michelton-Scott to sign with Movistar, to "keep women's cycling interesting."  Well that it should be--Movistar, *don't* screw this rider up!

Corollary Bad-!@# Of the Peloton Award: speaking of whom, which rider was that who, having busted her wrist and had a metal plate surgically implanted mere days before the World Championships, managed to come in second in the road race to the incredible Anna van der Breggen's victories in both the road and time trial stripes?  Yep, Annemiek van Vleuten, whose feat stood out even in a sport where riders routinely get run over by motos, stomped by livestock, and generally bone-broken and road-rashed to hell.  Hard-men of the peloton, you've got competition--and you lost!

Transfer o' 2020 (Sorta Sweet but Sorta Sad Edition): record-blasting sprinter Mark Cavendish, home after a disappointing 2020 to his old stomping grounds at Quick Step for a farewell season.  I mean, not to underestimate Cav, but remember that scene in "Call of the Wild" where Buck opens up a can of serious dog whup-!@# on the reigning pack leader and the rest of 'em tear the poor sod to pieces?  Yeah, that!

Breakout Star o' the Year: yap, Van Aert Van der Poel Evenepoel, yap. For me, while everyone was changing their minds by the day about which of those boys was the year's anointed, another rider stood out--time trial World Champion, and winner of damn near any other kind of race he tried this year, Filippo Ganna.  I mean, we knew he was *good*--he was a record-breaking trackie, after all--but with bagging all three ITTs in the 2020 Giro d'Italia, cycling (thank you folks, I'll be here all week) through a passel of classification jerseys, and another stage to boot, he crossed the line (literally) to greatness.  Swap teams from Ineos, Pippo, and you'll be even *better* next year! 

Goodbye, Yellow Bri--Uh, Cobblestone Award: yes, it had to be done, but boy, this *bit*.  A year without Paris-Roubaix, the first, if I've got this right, since World War II.  Forget the eagerly-anticipated yet typically-elusive forecast for rain, rushing hope into the hearts of armchair warriors everywhere--the flowing tears and sorrow-drowning beer-slop of the tifosi alone could've made those cobbles a soaking-wet skating rink.  *Please*, everyone, let's try to get our !@#$ together for 2021!  

It Ain't Me, Babe Prize: as a monthslong doping inquiry into British Cycling and Team Sky threatened to implode the entire disgusting show, the testifying witnesses, rather than addressing the issues at hand, instead gave a Master Class on diversionary tactics as they attacked each others', well, manly potency, leading to a serious and much-needed doping reckoning devolving into a juvenile "American Pie" !@#$-joke slapstick. Just--ew, can we get back to nice wholesome discussions about IV lines testosterone patches and drug-stuffed Jiffy bags, already? 

Nothing Rhymes With 'Orange' (Except "!@#$ You, Grand Tour Organizers") Plaque: yes, this may be getting a bit tiresome to both my faithful readers, but it's even worse for our dear Carrots over at Euskaltel, who were cruelly left out of every single Grand Tour--even in their own home Basque mountains--this year.  Wah, pandemic logistics, wah--you folks *suck*.  Never do this to us, or them, again!

Heartbreak Hotel Prize: oh, Rogla.  *So* close to winning the gaudy brass ring of the road-race merry-go-round, the prestigious Tour de France.  But then, on the penultimate day of the Tour, upstart countryman Tadej Pogacar slaughtered poor Roglic in the individual time trial.  And yes, Rogla was gracious about it.  Quit cryin' everybody, and just hand me a Kleenex, willya?

And Last But Not Least, The That Just About Sums It Up Award of 2020: Mikel Landa, we felt for you when you were so bored on your indoor trainer that you gave us an accordion concert while you spun.  But we even felt *more* for you--and you captured the entire year for everybody, perfectly--when you actually took a hatchet to the damn thing after too many days stuck inside in front of your TV instead of climbing an actual Basque mountain where you belong.  Sing it, sister, and let's hope we're giving you a "Grand Tour Victory of the Year" prize in 2021--you know which one you should be riding--instead!

All right everybody (well, the two of you), no doubt there's more, but this already is more than my cycling-heartbroken soul can take covering.  So goodbye and good riddance to 2020, and please, bring on a more normal 2021, for all our sakes!

It's Yer Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!

 Look, there's no sugar-coating it: 2020's been an absolute hellshow.  From the first case of COVID in the peloton, to the last-second cancellation of our beloved Classics, to the postponement of all three Grand Tours, to the total destruction of everyone's training plans, it's a !@#damn miracle anyone's making it outta here in one piece.  So if anyone deserves presents, it's these folks.  So whadda they get in their stockings? This!

The Entire Women's Peloton: La Course is bull!@#$. And yes, the Giro Rosa is lovely.  But give these athletes a real, 3-week Grand Tour already!

Mikel Landa: the Giro.  The !@#$in' *Giro*.  Not the relentlessly unsuitable, wholly pointless time trial-heavy Tour de France, you hear me?  And then, and *only* then if you've stayed upright, can you do the Vuelta, in which you will also do dandy.  And Bahrain-Victorious: if you wanna live up to yer new name, pony up for some more !@#$in' mountain support for the boy, and act like these are yer only races this season, all right?

EF Education First: screw the bug-eyed duck psychedelia--they were kind of stealth-magnificent this year, amirite? But as a result, they're marked next season.  Invisible cloaking kit for 2021!

Julian Alaphilippe: restraint, or however you do a reset on someone's internal clock.  *No* more celebrating before the finish line, you got that?

Movistar: *Now* you realize this "trident" strategy is bull!@#$, *after* you completely screw Mikel Landa?  !@#% you, Movistar, I'm not giving you anything!

Alejandro Valverde: an Olympic gold medal.  Just because it would make everyone *bonkers*.  Hey, me included!

Thibaut Pinot: goat therapy. Some serious, serious goat therapy. Come back Tibo, we know you're still in there!

Marianne Vos: I was gonna wish her her first cyclocross victory in (by her standards) quite a while, but she already did that this week, on her first 'cross race in ages no less.  Dang, I *hate* when the kids open their Festivus presents early!

Peter Sagan: oh, come on, I'm not his hugest fan either, but that stage 10 Giro win was pure panache.  But in his subtle Bora-Hansgrohe colors, we could barely even *see* him at the Tour.  Give 'im one last green jersey all the way to Paris, for the road!

Mikel Nieve: Yap, he's a great mentor for whippersnapper riders, yap (and he is).  But the sheer beauty of that 2018 mountain stage win on his birthday at the Giro *still* has me shaking in my boots.  One last Grand Tour stage for this ever-unsung, total class act of a rider!

Euskaltel: I DON'T CARE IF IT WAS A !@#$IN' PANDEMIC, YOU DON'T !@#$IN' EXCLUDE THE PLANET'S BEST CLIMBERS FROM THE GRAND TOURS! I mean, you went to the BASQUE MOUNTAINS without them.  Who the hell *are* you people, SATAN?

Police bikes and Race Motos: if it takes "no brakes" to keep 'em from stopping dead in a blind corner in front of an unsuspecting rider, particularly on a screaming descent, so be it.  You can have 'em back when you learn to stay outta the way!

Ineos Grenadiers: quit bitching and put away that fat stuffed wallet, you don't *deserve* Wout van Aert.  You'll only ruin 'im anyway!

Cherie Pridham: she's a continental-team DS with decades of experience, and some trailblazing women have long (ish) been guiding women's pro teams, and their incredible athletes, to smashing results.  But with her new gig as DS at Israel Start-Up Nation, she's the first woman to helm a men's World Tour team. I don't know what the hell town she was born in, but give that woman a 20-foot bronze statue in that town's square, pronto!

Master's Racers: it's beyond ridiculous that the only folks provably doping in the current peloton, which was smashing the records of known rightly-disgraced cyclists like hopped-up cheetahs this year, are a group of the very fine cyclists who, for reasons of age or having to have, y'know, paying day jobs, fill the Masters' ranks. And *yes*, I *do* know doping is wrong.  But this unequal enforcement is horse hockey--so heck, just give these guys the good stuff!

Andre Greipel: one more smashing win.  Bite me, he can so too either! What, like *you're* just asking Santa Claus for underpants?

Rally Cycling: new team kit.  Hell, pop a mushroom like EF's graphic designer clearly did and see what crazy !@#$ you come up with.  You're a dearly lovable squad, but how *dare* you wear Euskaltel orange?

Patrick Lefevere: I don't *what'd* piss off this guy most, but considering the innocent people he lammed into in the press and over Twitter like they were the second coming of Baby Lucifer, and the massive snit he's been in all year, let's give him that!

Annemiek van Vleuten: at 38, she's--well, lots younger than Valverde, and practically a millenium younger than Davide Rebellin.  And, after multiple kick-!@# seasons with Michelton-Scott (and every other team she's ever been on), she's still at the top of her game.  Movistar, this is the only decent move you've made in years--*don't* squander this incredible opportunity, and let her fly!

Euskaltel, II: a team time trial win.  !@#$, if those hulking pro-wrestler murder hornets over at Jumbo Visma can be featherweight Sastrean mountain goats, why not?

Jason Osborne: yeah, an Olympic *rower*, never previously known to have won squat on a bicycle, much less a World Tour race, kicked the peloton's absolute !@# and won the first-ever UCI cycling e-racing men's World Championships.  Jason, when you're snapped up by some enterprising DS with a last-minute infusion of sponsorship dough, may you never, *ever*, have to read "Didja know he used to be an Olympic rower?" for the rest of your cycling career.  Except here, of course!

E-Racing.  Last, but not least, let's give a completely heartfelt shout-out to the savior and bane of Spring and Summer 2020--e-racing, Everesting, and all that !@#$, for 2021, I wish you obsolescence.  Blessed, COVID-free, off-the-trainer-and-back-onto-the-cobbles obsolescence.  No wonder Landa snapped and took a hatchet to his setup!

All right, folks--despite the many, many deserving riders--and honestly, beleaguered fans too--left ungifted, this elf's got only so much bandwith, and frankly, anyone who's made it remotely this far's got only so much more tolerance.  Merry Festivus to all, and *please*, let's get on to next year!

It's Yer racejunkie's Cycling Things I'm Grateful for This Thanksgiving (And a Few I'm Damn Well Not)!

 Yes, it's nigh Thanksgiving in the US, that beloved celebration of family, food, and disastrous colonialism when we all gather together to have luxurious meals and--oh, right, if we're not complete superspreading tools, we're all stuck in our own homes, pretending that a 20-minute Zoom call that keeps getting interrupted by your partner shouting for you to come look at the turkey like *you just did thirty seconds ago*, and a glum, half-!@#ed dinner alone in our sweatpants in front of a football game with no fans in the stadium and a stationary, truncated Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade to start off the holiday season isn't completely !@#$ed.  Anyway, we're here, we've survived (I hope) so far a terrible year, and it's time to reflect on what we *do* have to be grateful for this bizarre Thanksgiving.  And surprisingly, there's fair near buckets!

1. On a serious note, no-one in the peloton died of COVID.  A bad handful of cyclists got sick, and we dearly hope they get 100% better with no lasting effects, but--whew.  And for those Grand Tour police escorts, team staff, hotel workers, and anyone else connected with the sport who got it--we wish you the same.

2. Holy crap we actually had three Grand Tours this year!

3. EF's crazy-!@# acid-trip Tour de France jerseys and terrified-duck-head time trial helmets.  Wasn't it nice to have *that* as cycling's biggest scandal for a while?

4. Julian Alaphilippe's premature celebration at the line at Liege-Waffle-Liege.  C'mon, that was funny!

5. Speaking of which, we've got World Champions! Alaphilippe, Ganna, van der Breggen, Dygert. May you fly the stripes in health and happiness next year!

6. Peeps into cyclist's home set-ups during those weird months of virtual racing.  Lovely terrace with incredible mountain views that make you question your own pathetic life choices? Check. Living room in front of the TV? Check. Grim cement basement gulag? Got it. Kids wandering in and out to pester Mommy or Daddy while they were full-gas towards the line and to show off for the cameras? Yup.  A fanboy/girl/person's dream!

7. On a related note, Mikel Landa taking a freakin' axe to his stationary trainer, a perfect metaphor for 2020.  And be honest, who *hasn't* wanted to do that?  Get this boy back to his home Basque *roads*, stat!

8. Fabio Jakobsen is back on his bike after his horrific crash at the Tour of Poland.  And forget scapegoating Groenewegen: race organizers, there is still *plenty* of time to fix this barrier bull!@#$ ahead of next year!

9. Tweeps. In a total !@#$show of a season, the couchpeloton helped keep us all sort of togetherish.  Grateful indeed!

10. I miss Kittel racing and all, but geez, doesn't he seem happier now?

And a Few I'm Damn Well Not: 

1. Okay, the Classics were !@#$ed. Come back, Paris-Roubaix!

2. Gianni Moscon.  How does *this* clown have a contract next year and *so* *many* incredible--and more importantly, not unforgivably assholian--cyclists do not?

3. CCC.  I'll miss 'em.  Oh well, at least my heart won't leap with misplaced joy every race 'til I realize they're not Euskaltel!

4. Evenepoel cheerfully touting losing 5 kg of nonexistent 'baby fat' after Lefevere bullied him for his weight earlier in the year.  Can we please lay off the pressure on these riders to develop full-blown eating disorders?

5. Last, but never, ever least: WHAT THE !@#$ NO EUSKALTEL IN ANY OF THE GRAND TOURS HALF THE SPRINTS WERE LEFT OUT THIS WAS PERFECT MOUNTAIN HELL TERRAIN FOR THEM YOU CLASSLESS INGRATE FREAKS!

Welp, on to nail-biting late-contract negotiations, brief respites, inevitable Masters doping busts, and body-crushing pre-season team camps.  Thanks to both my loyal readers, and thank !@#$ this year is almost done! 

It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!

Still blissfully zoning out to beautiful Spanish landscapes, when you don't even live there? Waking up breathless from suspenseful dreams about a Carapaz-Roglic showdown? Confused, but still discombobulated, at mourning the end of the Vuelta a Espana and the entire cycling season in November? Well it ain't over quite yet, honey, because we've still got a few things to tie up before the cyclists hang up their cleats and head home for the offseason--namely, Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2020 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie awards!  Prizes--and I swear on my Holy Once-Eroski Cap o' Destiny I'm good for 'em--for anyone so freakishly attuned to random fan sites, or so desperate for attention that they'll take even the most embarrassing accolade they can get: (1) a stylin' custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a passel of very spiffy racejunkie stickers to pop on your helmet, that crappy ancient bike you're about to leave on the sidewalk for the garbageman, or to cover up Froome's name on that offensive 2011 Vuelta trophy, and 3) a genuine sports-related statue thingy to memoralize your outstanding, or outstandingly horrible, achievement.  So without further ado, let's relive the glory of the 2020 Vuelta a Espana! 

Domestique o' the Vuelta: now, normally, this would be a clear and convincing win for the incredible Sepp Kuss, whose indefatigable work at the head of the Murder Hornets' bizarro-world Classics-riders mountain train was so relentless that, when Rogla finally struggled on the decisive last climb of the penultimate day, Kuss had to pull over to a virtual dead stop 3 different times to wait for his boss to stagger up to his wheel--reminiscent of Michele Scarponi, who once did the same thing for his team leader, Nibali, back in their Astana days.   But, this is 2020, and the award goes to Team Movistar, who helpfully dragged a grateful Rogla to the overall win ahead of Richard Carapaz, who absolutely slaughtered the climb to la Covatilla and would otherwise have gotten back all of his 40-odd-second deficit and the final red jersey in Madrid without Movistar's inscrutable tactics.  Sure, they managed to self-destruct their own squad--but boy, have they got contract offers from Jumbo-Visma for next year!

Total !@#$ing Bull!@#$ Award: WHAT THE !#$% DO YOU MEAN EUSKALTEL WASN'T INVITED TO THE VUELTA A ESPANA WHEN THEY'RE THE !#$DAMN GREATEST CLIMBERS ON THE PLANET?! Yes, 2020 was !#$%ed.  But *that* completely !#$%ed it worse--race organizers,  don't ever, ever let this happen again!

Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: oh, there was some argy-bargy in the sprint finishes this Vuelta--I mean, they're sprints. But it's a damn miracle that Sam Bennett, beloved by all for his incredible prowess this season, didn't smash anybody into the tarmac when he first bumped away Emils Liepens, then outright slammed directly into fair-playing Bora-Hansgrohe's Pascal Ackermann to take the win--then immediately lose it by relegation--on stage 9.  Well, that's all that good will evaporated in an instant--I'd still be a little careful at the start of next season in case anybody's holding a grudge there, Sam!

Corollary Smack Talk of the Vuelta Prize: geez, hell hath no fury like Deceuninck-QuickStep boss Patrick Lefevere scorned, who immediately took to Twitter to screech his outrage at the injustice of his protege being rightly relegated, only to extend the fight when Bora reasonably pointed out that Lefevere was, well, being a giant, petty, and epically wrong total jerk.  Wah, wah, wah--lucky this got settled with merely a keyboard war, you baby!

Like Hell You Saw That Coming Award: Hugh Carthy. And not just him, with his spectacular stage win and podium finish--all of EF was absolutely on fire, surging in every kind of terrain and grabbing 3 stage wins in total just when you'd most have expected them to be on their last legs, literally, after a largely disappointing Tour and Giro. Well done--looking forward to seeing what Carthy pulls off next year!

Go Gently Into That Good Night Award: No, he's not leaving the peloton just yet--he's merely been discarded like a spit-covered gel packet by the Ineos whose  entire fortune he made for the quieter Israel Cycling Academy next year.  And while it pains me to give a damn thing to Chris Froome, he did, to his credit, work his unimpressive butt off in the service of his teammates no matter how ignominiously far behind he schlepped in each day. More, he stuck it out without complaint and indeed with admirable humility to the bitter end.  Now give Cobo back his Vuelta dammit!

Corollary Weird-!@# News o' the Vuelta: speaking of whom, UCI once again struck a righteous blow for clean sport by, near the very end of this year's race, stripping Juan Jose Cobo of his 2011 Vuelta and awarding it to second-place finisher Chris Froome who, IIRC, both started and completed his amazing transformation from blase' donkey to Triple Crown racehorse that very year.  That oughta teach the next generation--that you're likely to be long retired before anyone punishes your !@# for being a cheat-weasel.  Fine, neither one of them deserved it--but I stand by my assessment that this was as bull!@#$ as handing Heras' final Vuelta win over to Denis Menchov!  

Class Act o' the Race: Rogla, man. Second at the Tour, and one imagines pretty darn tired to boot, all he had to do was take his podium lion and kick back for a long, relaxing break til spring.  So what does he do? That's right, heads right for the most mountainous Grand Tour this year when nobody's body is prepared for it, blitzes the time trials, stomps the stages, nearly loses the red jersey for good just two days from Madrid, then grinds back to take and keep the win--only to be scrupulous in noting Sepp Kuss' superior strength and obvious sacrifice on a very bad day, and to compliment Richard Carapaz on his terrifying near-victory with calm and class.  It's hard not to root for this kid, amirite?

Corollary Near-Catastrophe Award: okay, Dan Martin might reasonably have disagreed with me there, when a narrow bend before the line on Stage 5 caused Primoz Roglic to touch a wheel ahead of him, take down a dear Izagirre !@#dammit, and nearly take out GC threat Martin, who happily emerged unscathed, gorgeously captured a redemptive mountain stage, and grittily hung on for fourth overall.  Well done Dan--and lucky for you there Rogla!

Forever Young Prize: Sure, he didn't win a stage--this time.  But with 28 Grand Tour starts, 20 Grand Tour top 10s, and an actual Vuelta overall victory to his name, whether you love 'im or hate 'im, Alejandro Valverde's !@#$ performance at age 40 is most other riders' I-wish-to-hell-I-could-do-that at 25.  Hmmm....I'll have what he's having!

Fan !@#$wit Award: Amazingly, not a single rider got taken out by a wandering dog, face-smacked by a selfie-stick, crashed with an oblivious pedestrian, or smoke-flared by some eejit thinking that's just a great thing to do on the final climb of the queen stage.  Then again, people were largely forbidden from the roadside.  And where they weren't, they were pretty much all wearing masks.  For the first time ever in all the years of the racejunkie Awards: congrats to everybody, and shame on nobody!

Duck Season! Classics Season! Prize: Pity the poor delicate climbers of the 2020 Vuelta, who, rather than ascending happily on dry roads day after day under blistering sunshine as usual only to leave the hardier Classics boys in the dust, instead ended up getting slammed for a good half by the kind of freezing rain, impenetrably blinding fog, and sketchy as hell torrential descents that the couchpeloton only wishes happened every year at Paris Roubaix.  Notably chattering with cold after his victory at least: Jasper Philipsen on Stage 15.  Get that man a blanky and some animal slippers, stat!

Miracle o' 2020: Last but not least, let's take a moment to appreciate the good things (for once, I know, shut up!) The Tour was beset by fear over the prospect of running a GT during a rising pandemic.  The Giro was roundly criticized for endangering the riders, leading to positive Covid tests, team desertions, and threats of retribution on all sides.  But who got the job done without a single freakin' positive test or terrified rider flip-out?  That's right, the ever-underappreciated Vuelta!  Amazing. Whatever the hell the Spanish equivalent of "chapeau" to the race organizers is--that!

Okay, this was short but sweet--just like this year's 18-stage Vuelta, which I hope to heck never ever happens again.  Now unpack those suitcases, chill out at home, claim yer prizes--and if we're lucky, we'll see you summer of next year, withering heat and screaming Basque fans and Euskaltel orange among you and all!