Look, we all know what you did in 2019. And frankly, you oughta be ashamed of yourselves. So how better to start 2020 off with a clean slate than with a firm step forward and a strict dedication to our New Year's Resolutions? Well, for those of you too weak to make--or stick to--yer own, never fear--racejunkie's got you covered!
UCI: We are gonna wave our iPads *so hard* over some guys' bike frames you'll *know* we're gonna find any hidden motor out there. Even if we're really looking at funny cat memes. Hey--that one's playing the piano!
Mikel Landa: I will stop at nothing--no rival, no teammate (got that Poels?), no !@#$wit backstabbing team manager--to win the Tour de France. Tho of course I shoulda listened to racejunkie and taken a Giro or Vuelta first!
Philippe Gilbert: If I hear one more !@#$in' word about that !@#$in' Wolfpack I am going straight up Warren Zevon on their !@#es. Seriously, you fired *me*? Paris-Roubaix 2020, beeyotches!
Eusebio Unzue: Alejandro, I want you to absolutely kick Mikel Landa in the nu--oh wait, I got rid of that kid already! Um...Edu Prades maybe?
Egan Bernal: I'm 100% all-in for the Tour de Fra--ow, !@#$, Froomey, get that flailing arachnid elbow of yours outta my eye!
Chris Froome: I'm going 100% all-in for Tour de France number fi--ow, !@#$, Egan, quit biting at my damn ankles already!
Tour de France Organizers: a full-on, three week women's Tour de France. Ha ha--in your dreams--'cause it certainly ain't in ours!
Elisa Longo Borghini: Mine. The Giro Donne is *mine*. You hear me Vos Van Vleuten and van der Breggen?
Peter Sagan: I am going to reclaim my rightful place as King of the Peloton. Wait--did that !@#$er Van der Poel just pass me again?
The Giro: I will never, ever again put in some stupid surfeit of flat stages and egregious number of time trial kilometers to seduce lesser riders with bigger names to this beautiful race. What is this, the !@#$in' Tour?
Lucy Kennedy: I will not, *not* raise my arms in victory until I'm *sure* I've stuck a bike pump in the spokes of the woman behind me first. Winning!
Matthew Van der Poel: let's see, I've already conquered cross...road? no, got that...unicycle? too easy...tricycle races? bagged those...
Julian Alaphilippe: I will prove that I *am* in fact French cycling's Next Great Hope to win the Tour de France. And this time, I *mean* it--Fleche Wallone, my !@#!
Every Freakin' Idiot Fan on the Planet: I will not flood the racecourse, let my giant lumbering mastiff out for a stroll right in front of the peloton, try to take a selfie with Sagan in the last 50 meters of a sprint, or throw water, beer, or any disgusting bodily fluids onto an innocent rider. But asking me to keep my bouncing beer gut and precariously slipping Speedo outta yer face while I'm running beside you screaming with the cameras on me in all my doughy glory--now *that*'s just a bridge too far!
Well kids, time to kick 2019 off to the roadside. Let's raise a glass to a great 2020 season--and keep those resolutions dammit!
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Monday, December 30, 2019
It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 racejunkie Awards!
Yes, it's another marvelous, and also appalling, year o' cycling done 'n' dusted, and in this gaudy self-congratulatory awards season where reality-TV celebrities strut the red carpet wearing godawful dresses that cost more than a pro road bike fer chrissakes, and movie stars explain away yet another incriminating photograph, we all know that what's *really* important is celebrating the good, the bad, and the !@#damn ugly in the marvelous world of pro cycling! Prizes--I swear, if anyone should be so bold, so wiseass, or so desperate to claim 'em--a custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to adorn your shameful head; a passel o' dashing racejunkie stickers to slap on that jackwagon Team Skineos, or yer best friend; and a handsome, genuine abandoned promotional jock statuette trophy sustainably sourced from my local second-hand store with yer name personally written on it by me in indelible, irrefutable permanent ink. So without further ado, stand up and accept your prizes with pride!
Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' 2019: He fell at high speed in a training run, breaking 86 major bones 14 rather important organs and ripping off 93% of his skin from road-rash, and yet, despite the faithful testimony of an eyewitness teammate that "that !@#$ looked *bad*", Chris Froome's deliberate failure to contemporaneously post sufficiently disgusting gory selfies of his being tended to by the 20 different medical personnel who were surrounding him, plus the hospital's apparent mishigas about promptly cleaning up blood from a healing recovery room instead of leaving it looking like the freakin' elevator scene from "The Shining" for two weeks, gave joyful credence--or at least roughly 12 jillion characters of Twitter space--to the notion that Froome was in fact relaxing in a secluded castle in Montenegro having his entire bloodstream replaced by liquid HGH cocaine amphetamines EPO espresso and Red Bull while nursing, not catastrophic and potentially career-ending injury, but a vicious paper cut sustained while opening his squad's latest Amazon shipment, all in a wily elaborate fiction designed to evade the narcs, make his crappy team look even more repulsive, and increase scrutiny of an improbable arachnid superstar with the approximate credibility of Lance Armstrong. Froomey, collect yer prize--if you can!
Smack Talk Award: Giro frontrunner Simon (?) Yates' smug pre-race warning that his hopelessly outclassed opponents oughta be "!@#$ting in their pants right now." Which they were, if only in helpless laughter as they left him far, far in the dust for 21 consecutive stages. Congratulations, Simon (?)--in a field normally crowded with racists, punks, and eejits, you win for sheer audacity!
Mystery Transfer o' the Year: Nairo Quintana to Arkea. Seriously, I mean, whose wheel is he even supposed to suck in the mountains *now*?
Fan !@#$wit Award: you know, there's usually no shortage of contenders here, and with idiots wrenching bidons outta passing racers' hands, causing crashes by popping up like deranged clowns in unexpected corners of high-speed descents, and flat-out tossing random bicycles into the charging peloton, this year's been no exception. But is 2019's winner a standout: yes, that total blockhead who figured that the opening team trial of the beautiful Vuelta was the perfect time to flood his poor dehydrated garden and, naturally, a twisty section of the race course, thus wiping out almost the entirety of an unsuspecting Jumbo-Visma and UAE, and damn near making an even more confused Quick Step plow head-on into a Jumbo car that apparently didn't place a high priority on getting this !@#ses outta the way. Where's Noah and his freakin' Ark when you need 'em?
Lying Lying Liar Prize o ' the Year: if you say you remotely even predicted Mads Petersen men's World Road Race Championship victory in Yorkshire--and yes, that counts even if you *are* Mads Petersen--honey, you are *it*. Mads, get ready to prove us all wrong next year!
TMI Award: look, from "marginal gains" to personal pimped-out campers to jiffy bags to special fluffy pillows for the delicate flowers to lay their noggins on, to rampant sexism and immediate backlash for whistleblowing, to pack-fodder donkeys transforming into Triple Crown racehorses overnight, we all know British cycling as a whole, are a bunch of dirty, doping, bull!@#$ting bastards. So *why* must we sit through the unduly explicit testimony of dueling deniers/classless emasculated !@#holes Freeman and Sutton, one accusing the other of erectile dysfunction--which ought to be treated with sympathy, not derision, anyway--and the latter asserting his wife LOVES HIS STUDLY NATURALLY-NON-STOP JUNK? Jaysus, I miss omerta!
Classics Upset o' 2019: sure, your first professional win--spectacular an achievement though it is--is likely to be a minor stage in an obscure race given the UCI stamp of approval only after a truly epic night of drinking, debauchery, and serious cash payments, but for my money, if you're gonna win ever, you might as well make it a big one, as stalwart EF worker Alberto Bettiol shocks the field and bags Ronde Van Vlaanderen for his inaugural stomp on the podium. Well done, kid--now Sagan, don't get complacent!
Giro d' Netherlands Award: look, you're hard pressed to find a more beautiful race in the peloton than the Giro Rosa--and a more legendary bunch of hometown heroes, from sprint bad!@# Giorgia Bronzini to Eliza Longo Borghini to Fabiana Luperini, to dominate it. But this year, from Van Vleuten to Vos to Van der Breggen, it was nearly an all-Dutch wipeout. The exception? Exciting breakout sprinter Letizia Borghese. C'mon, azzurri--you've got this next year!
Law of Obvious Unintended Consequences Prize: !@#$in' hell, Movistar. You *know* this trident team leadership at the Tour scheme never works. Couldn't you just have !@#$ed Landa over without making him schlep all over France for three weeks?
Superdomestique o' 2019: Stage 19, Vuelta a Espana. Wee youngster James Knox, a surprising Top Ten in the overall standings, goes down hard in a nasty crash, and takes, as one might expect of a cyclist, the start on Stage 20--barely. So who shepherds this kid the entire way on the hard-driving penultimate day? Damn straight, that's the legendary Classics and breakaway champion Philippe Gilbert, with the ever-intimidating Zdenek Stybar to boot, tenderly nursing this kid over mountain after mountain and right across the finish line. *Dang*, Quick Step--you *seriously* didn't give PhilGil a contract for next year?!
All Hail the Chief (For Not Calling This Off) Award: after years of grim photos of hypothermic cyclists shivering under enormous drool-icicle pornstaches, quivering like wet Chihuahuas at an ice sculpture convention, and even gnarlier reports of wizzing on their own hands to fend off frostbite and enable their numb hands to even halfway manipulate the brakes, a sympathetic, rational UCI finally institutes an Extreme Weather Protocol. What *doesn't* bother the high honchos snugged cosily in their space-heated VIP tents? *that's* right, these fragile boys being bombarded with ice balls the size of their heads, as a freak Vuelta hailstorm sends the poor battered things diving for cover under any thornbush, overhang, or big Belgian Classics man they can find. FFS UCI, you need these guys to be blitzkrieged by actual dinosaur-destroying meteors before you call it a day?
Crash o' the Year (Disc Brakes Are Better Edition): Wout van Aert vicious deli slice of a wipeout, just like the riders have been warning about for years. Never fear: happily, the boy's already back on great form at this weekend's cyclocross races, and fortunately, his full recovery seems assured. Glad you're back--now back on to rim brakes for you!
Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana? Prize: yes, a year that saw tender fluoro-carrots Fundacion Euskadi amass a pile o' mountain stage wins, then horribly collapse, also saw--through Mikel Landa's endless efforts, a whole lotta fundraising, and fans who were about to riot if this didn't happen--our precious Euskaltel, Orbea bikes and all, reborn as a World Tour team for 2020. Aupa Carroooooooooooooooooots--and watch out for the damage in the high passes, the rest of you saps!
I'm So Pissed Off I'm Not Even Going to Name This Award of 2019: You *suck*, Tour de France. You can't run a three week women's Tour to honor one of the most formidable all-terrain talent pools the peloton has ever seen, when you've already got a group of women riding the entire race a day ahead of the men's event dodging traffic, pre-Tour road closures, and rampant-running livestock with barely an unexpired gel and a half-patched replacement tube for support? How about just handing Van Vleuten Vos and Borghini a !@#$in' broom dustpan and garbage bag to neaten up the team bus area before the all-important boys arrive, and show 'em how you *really* feel about women athletes?
Don't Give Up Yer Day Jobs Award: god love 'em, but Astana's fearsome rap video darn near broke the cycling internet--and our eardrums--with the mellifluous stylings of founding Run-DMC member Jakob Fuglsang, a scary as hell start-off by Alexander Vinokourov, and all the crotch-grabbing, handsign-throwing bravado we've come to expect from drunken fratboys on an ill-advised YouTube spree. I love you, Astana, I do, but--come to think of it, Vino, just please don't hurt me!<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rMIv5Dsmuf8" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Snit Fit o' 2019: y'know, it takes guts--and a truly award-winning ego--to climb off your bike the day before the Tour de France time trial you're fully and fairly expected to win, all in the name of a colossal crybaby prima-donna masterclass tantrum over the fit of yer skinsuit. Next year--well, you got rid of 'im for next year, but Rohan Dennis, don't half think your new squad's gonna put up with this crap unless you win the race *first*!
Social Media Master o' the Year: if you don't love Toms Skujins--whether or not you can spell it, pronounce it, or pick 'im out of a lineup--you are one warped, sorry individual. Even more warped and sorry than those of us who *do* spend 14 hours a day on Twitter!
Cry Me a River Award: Dang, what is this, 2005? Lance Armstrong. After 'winning' 7 Tours de France, bamboozling the entire US into a blindly-worshipping cult o' personality, screwing over his own friends and making dozens of millions of dollars he'll *still* never have to give back, thus reassuring a century's worth of future cheat-weasels that slime *always* pays, what's Captain Whines-a-lot cryin' about now? Right, that he's cruelly oppressed by not being able to cheat at competitive--and let's be honest, meaningless to everyone not personally doing it--Masters' ping-pong because of his voluntarily chosen and richly enjoyed treacherous dirtbaggery. FFS Lance, pick up a used table at the town dump and upload videos of you smashing it solo against the backboard if you can't live for 2 seconds without the thrill of victory and the roar of millions of admiring fans. Now either give that mansion you live in to the guys whose careers you destroyed if you *really* want some sympathy, or wipe your tears on those seven yellow jerseys in private!
Punk-!@# Move o' the Year: miraculously, this breaks Alejandro Valverde's approximately 16-year winning streak, as that pathetic !@#$wit who cheated at freakin' *e-racing* far and away takes the prizes. Cripes, have you *no* dignity?
And Last But Not Least, Slap Fight o' 2019: between Luke Rowe and Tony Martin's DQ-worthy argy-bargy (and let's be frank, outright assault) at the Tour, a mid-interview smack upside the head by a passing resentful colleague, and Nacer Bouhanni looking to sucker-punch just about anyone for anything, these angry little toothpicks can generate a surprising amount of upper-body strength, but for me, the amiable Tao Geoghan Hart and Ruben Guerrero, outrageously pissed at jointly allowing Jakob Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway while the two of them d!@#ed around, then devolving into actual post-race fisticuffs, perversely warms my pacifist heart. Next time, someone intervene quicker--before these flailing incompetents actually knock *themselves* out!
Well folks, them's yer quick and dirty (yep, very dirty) cycling awards for this year. So collect n to 2020--and guys, just *try* to hold your !@#$ together this season!
Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' 2019: He fell at high speed in a training run, breaking 86 major bones 14 rather important organs and ripping off 93% of his skin from road-rash, and yet, despite the faithful testimony of an eyewitness teammate that "that !@#$ looked *bad*", Chris Froome's deliberate failure to contemporaneously post sufficiently disgusting gory selfies of his being tended to by the 20 different medical personnel who were surrounding him, plus the hospital's apparent mishigas about promptly cleaning up blood from a healing recovery room instead of leaving it looking like the freakin' elevator scene from "The Shining" for two weeks, gave joyful credence--or at least roughly 12 jillion characters of Twitter space--to the notion that Froome was in fact relaxing in a secluded castle in Montenegro having his entire bloodstream replaced by liquid HGH cocaine amphetamines EPO espresso and Red Bull while nursing, not catastrophic and potentially career-ending injury, but a vicious paper cut sustained while opening his squad's latest Amazon shipment, all in a wily elaborate fiction designed to evade the narcs, make his crappy team look even more repulsive, and increase scrutiny of an improbable arachnid superstar with the approximate credibility of Lance Armstrong. Froomey, collect yer prize--if you can!
Smack Talk Award: Giro frontrunner Simon (?) Yates' smug pre-race warning that his hopelessly outclassed opponents oughta be "!@#$ting in their pants right now." Which they were, if only in helpless laughter as they left him far, far in the dust for 21 consecutive stages. Congratulations, Simon (?)--in a field normally crowded with racists, punks, and eejits, you win for sheer audacity!
Mystery Transfer o' the Year: Nairo Quintana to Arkea. Seriously, I mean, whose wheel is he even supposed to suck in the mountains *now*?
Fan !@#$wit Award: you know, there's usually no shortage of contenders here, and with idiots wrenching bidons outta passing racers' hands, causing crashes by popping up like deranged clowns in unexpected corners of high-speed descents, and flat-out tossing random bicycles into the charging peloton, this year's been no exception. But is 2019's winner a standout: yes, that total blockhead who figured that the opening team trial of the beautiful Vuelta was the perfect time to flood his poor dehydrated garden and, naturally, a twisty section of the race course, thus wiping out almost the entirety of an unsuspecting Jumbo-Visma and UAE, and damn near making an even more confused Quick Step plow head-on into a Jumbo car that apparently didn't place a high priority on getting this !@#ses outta the way. Where's Noah and his freakin' Ark when you need 'em?
Lying Lying Liar Prize o ' the Year: if you say you remotely even predicted Mads Petersen men's World Road Race Championship victory in Yorkshire--and yes, that counts even if you *are* Mads Petersen--honey, you are *it*. Mads, get ready to prove us all wrong next year!
TMI Award: look, from "marginal gains" to personal pimped-out campers to jiffy bags to special fluffy pillows for the delicate flowers to lay their noggins on, to rampant sexism and immediate backlash for whistleblowing, to pack-fodder donkeys transforming into Triple Crown racehorses overnight, we all know British cycling as a whole, are a bunch of dirty, doping, bull!@#$ting bastards. So *why* must we sit through the unduly explicit testimony of dueling deniers/classless emasculated !@#holes Freeman and Sutton, one accusing the other of erectile dysfunction--which ought to be treated with sympathy, not derision, anyway--and the latter asserting his wife LOVES HIS STUDLY NATURALLY-NON-STOP JUNK? Jaysus, I miss omerta!
Classics Upset o' 2019: sure, your first professional win--spectacular an achievement though it is--is likely to be a minor stage in an obscure race given the UCI stamp of approval only after a truly epic night of drinking, debauchery, and serious cash payments, but for my money, if you're gonna win ever, you might as well make it a big one, as stalwart EF worker Alberto Bettiol shocks the field and bags Ronde Van Vlaanderen for his inaugural stomp on the podium. Well done, kid--now Sagan, don't get complacent!
Giro d' Netherlands Award: look, you're hard pressed to find a more beautiful race in the peloton than the Giro Rosa--and a more legendary bunch of hometown heroes, from sprint bad!@# Giorgia Bronzini to Eliza Longo Borghini to Fabiana Luperini, to dominate it. But this year, from Van Vleuten to Vos to Van der Breggen, it was nearly an all-Dutch wipeout. The exception? Exciting breakout sprinter Letizia Borghese. C'mon, azzurri--you've got this next year!
Law of Obvious Unintended Consequences Prize: !@#$in' hell, Movistar. You *know* this trident team leadership at the Tour scheme never works. Couldn't you just have !@#$ed Landa over without making him schlep all over France for three weeks?
Superdomestique o' 2019: Stage 19, Vuelta a Espana. Wee youngster James Knox, a surprising Top Ten in the overall standings, goes down hard in a nasty crash, and takes, as one might expect of a cyclist, the start on Stage 20--barely. So who shepherds this kid the entire way on the hard-driving penultimate day? Damn straight, that's the legendary Classics and breakaway champion Philippe Gilbert, with the ever-intimidating Zdenek Stybar to boot, tenderly nursing this kid over mountain after mountain and right across the finish line. *Dang*, Quick Step--you *seriously* didn't give PhilGil a contract for next year?!
All Hail the Chief (For Not Calling This Off) Award: after years of grim photos of hypothermic cyclists shivering under enormous drool-icicle pornstaches, quivering like wet Chihuahuas at an ice sculpture convention, and even gnarlier reports of wizzing on their own hands to fend off frostbite and enable their numb hands to even halfway manipulate the brakes, a sympathetic, rational UCI finally institutes an Extreme Weather Protocol. What *doesn't* bother the high honchos snugged cosily in their space-heated VIP tents? *that's* right, these fragile boys being bombarded with ice balls the size of their heads, as a freak Vuelta hailstorm sends the poor battered things diving for cover under any thornbush, overhang, or big Belgian Classics man they can find. FFS UCI, you need these guys to be blitzkrieged by actual dinosaur-destroying meteors before you call it a day?
Crash o' the Year (Disc Brakes Are Better Edition): Wout van Aert vicious deli slice of a wipeout, just like the riders have been warning about for years. Never fear: happily, the boy's already back on great form at this weekend's cyclocross races, and fortunately, his full recovery seems assured. Glad you're back--now back on to rim brakes for you!
Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana? Prize: yes, a year that saw tender fluoro-carrots Fundacion Euskadi amass a pile o' mountain stage wins, then horribly collapse, also saw--through Mikel Landa's endless efforts, a whole lotta fundraising, and fans who were about to riot if this didn't happen--our precious Euskaltel, Orbea bikes and all, reborn as a World Tour team for 2020. Aupa Carroooooooooooooooooots--and watch out for the damage in the high passes, the rest of you saps!
I'm So Pissed Off I'm Not Even Going to Name This Award of 2019: You *suck*, Tour de France. You can't run a three week women's Tour to honor one of the most formidable all-terrain talent pools the peloton has ever seen, when you've already got a group of women riding the entire race a day ahead of the men's event dodging traffic, pre-Tour road closures, and rampant-running livestock with barely an unexpired gel and a half-patched replacement tube for support? How about just handing Van Vleuten Vos and Borghini a !@#$in' broom dustpan and garbage bag to neaten up the team bus area before the all-important boys arrive, and show 'em how you *really* feel about women athletes?
Don't Give Up Yer Day Jobs Award: god love 'em, but Astana's fearsome rap video darn near broke the cycling internet--and our eardrums--with the mellifluous stylings of founding Run-DMC member Jakob Fuglsang, a scary as hell start-off by Alexander Vinokourov, and all the crotch-grabbing, handsign-throwing bravado we've come to expect from drunken fratboys on an ill-advised YouTube spree. I love you, Astana, I do, but--come to think of it, Vino, just please don't hurt me!<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rMIv5Dsmuf8" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Snit Fit o' 2019: y'know, it takes guts--and a truly award-winning ego--to climb off your bike the day before the Tour de France time trial you're fully and fairly expected to win, all in the name of a colossal crybaby prima-donna masterclass tantrum over the fit of yer skinsuit. Next year--well, you got rid of 'im for next year, but Rohan Dennis, don't half think your new squad's gonna put up with this crap unless you win the race *first*!
Social Media Master o' the Year: if you don't love Toms Skujins--whether or not you can spell it, pronounce it, or pick 'im out of a lineup--you are one warped, sorry individual. Even more warped and sorry than those of us who *do* spend 14 hours a day on Twitter!
Cry Me a River Award: Dang, what is this, 2005? Lance Armstrong. After 'winning' 7 Tours de France, bamboozling the entire US into a blindly-worshipping cult o' personality, screwing over his own friends and making dozens of millions of dollars he'll *still* never have to give back, thus reassuring a century's worth of future cheat-weasels that slime *always* pays, what's Captain Whines-a-lot cryin' about now? Right, that he's cruelly oppressed by not being able to cheat at competitive--and let's be honest, meaningless to everyone not personally doing it--Masters' ping-pong because of his voluntarily chosen and richly enjoyed treacherous dirtbaggery. FFS Lance, pick up a used table at the town dump and upload videos of you smashing it solo against the backboard if you can't live for 2 seconds without the thrill of victory and the roar of millions of admiring fans. Now either give that mansion you live in to the guys whose careers you destroyed if you *really* want some sympathy, or wipe your tears on those seven yellow jerseys in private!
Punk-!@# Move o' the Year: miraculously, this breaks Alejandro Valverde's approximately 16-year winning streak, as that pathetic !@#$wit who cheated at freakin' *e-racing* far and away takes the prizes. Cripes, have you *no* dignity?
And Last But Not Least, Slap Fight o' 2019: between Luke Rowe and Tony Martin's DQ-worthy argy-bargy (and let's be frank, outright assault) at the Tour, a mid-interview smack upside the head by a passing resentful colleague, and Nacer Bouhanni looking to sucker-punch just about anyone for anything, these angry little toothpicks can generate a surprising amount of upper-body strength, but for me, the amiable Tao Geoghan Hart and Ruben Guerrero, outrageously pissed at jointly allowing Jakob Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway while the two of them d!@#ed around, then devolving into actual post-race fisticuffs, perversely warms my pacifist heart. Next time, someone intervene quicker--before these flailing incompetents actually knock *themselves* out!
Well folks, them's yer quick and dirty (yep, very dirty) cycling awards for this year. So collect n to 2020--and guys, just *try* to hold your !@#$ together this season!
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
It's Yer 2019 racejunkie Merry Festivus Gift List for the Peloton!
Yes, it's that heartwarming, giving time of year, when we all throw parties, send cards, give each other carefully chosen gifts, and give ourselves severe acid reflux when we view our January credit card bills. So in this season of love and generosity towards our fellows, what do we wish for our beloved members o' the peloton (and beyond) in the glorious world o' cycling this year? This!
1. EF Education First: a top-flight pair of Oakley sunglasses for everyone. 'Cause either they *were* trippin' when they designed that psychedelic 2020 kit, or they're gonna *be* trippin' when they're wearin' it!
2. Andre Greipel: one last (or heck, several last!) Grand Tour sprint victories. You give those whippersnappers what-for, Andre--we know you you've still got it in you, ya big lug!
3. Rohan Dennis: a spankin' new, perfectly fitted Team Skineos bike and time trial skinsuit. OR ELSE HE'S GONNA BLOW A GASKET MID-RACE AND DISGRACE THE WHOLE TEAM (LIKE THAT CAN GET ANY WORSE), YOU HEAR ME BRAILSFORD?
4. Team Sky: if the latest (and ickiest) British Cycling testimony is gonna be believed, a case of empty Coke cans to fill with clean urine to outwit the narcs, and a bucketload o' Viagra tablets. Not that those big studs need 'em or nothin'!
5. Mikel Landa: a break. The kid needs a freakin' break. What *is* this !@#$ with Poels or whoever yammering on about pursuing his own chances at the Tour. Get that twerp in *line*, Bahrain, and give Mikel some unqualified leadership for once! Wait...isn't this basically what I wish for Mikel *every* year?
6. Alejandro Valverde: an Olympic gold medal, and the 2020 men's world road championship. Because I basically have no soul. You go, Bala--heck knows time won't stop you!
7. Lucy Kennedy: Stage 3, Giro Rosa. An exhausted Kennedy raises her arms in victory--but just a moment too soon, as the indefatigable Marianne Vos speeds up and *just* pips her at the line. Lesson learned--now you're ready Lucy, so take that GT victory in 2020 you've so hard-earned!
8. Matthew van der Poel: To see the press-hype--and his actual palmares--this kid's the second coming of Peter Sagan. Honestly, besides maybe a camera-friendly wheelie trick, what the hell *else* could he possibly need?
9. Bella Italia: A World Tour team. I mean, this is *Italy*, home of Coppi, Bartali, Pantani, Simoni, Bronzini, Petacchi--for over 100 years, the perfect and beautiful Giro. Seriously, WTF?
10. Amgen: Bring back the EPO Tour of California! Where *else* do you get a fun, exciting stage race primarily sponsored by a popular PED? The "Hal's Illicit Blood Bags" Tour of California just doesn't have the same ring to it...
11. Tejay Van Garderen: look, everybody loves Tejay. How 'bout a nice big fat solo GT stage win to shut the doubters on this guy?
12. Sam Bennett: some !@#damn credit. A guy with his huge pile of wins this season, and he can hardly get a contract for 2020? I call bull!@#$!
13. The Climbers: great legs. 'Cause with Euskadi back at full World Tour status, their poor rivals are gonna need 'em!
14. Primoz Roglic: He can have second at the Tour, after Mikel. And next person who mentions his prior sporting career, Rogla gets to kick in the nuts!
15. Toms Skujins: Baked potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Scalloped potatoes. Fried potatoes. Hash-browned potatoes. Au gratin potatoes. Sweet potatoes. Latkes. All hail the King of the Perfect Carb!
16. The Wolfpack: a new nickname, 'cause let's face it, right now no-one can take another second of this self-promoting !@#$. "Basket o' kittens", maybe? "Six-pack o' Brewskis?" Naw, doesn't sound tough enough...
And finally, My Beloved Reader(s): may your cycling days be filled with warmth and sunshine--or, if you're Belgian, miserable, freezing rain and mud. May the cobbles not flatten your tires, may your chain never break, and may your stem never spontaneously shatter. May your bidons be full, your power gels delicious, and your apres-ride beer be crisp and cold. So kick back, enjoy your presents, and on to (holy crap!) 2020!
1. EF Education First: a top-flight pair of Oakley sunglasses for everyone. 'Cause either they *were* trippin' when they designed that psychedelic 2020 kit, or they're gonna *be* trippin' when they're wearin' it!
2. Andre Greipel: one last (or heck, several last!) Grand Tour sprint victories. You give those whippersnappers what-for, Andre--we know you you've still got it in you, ya big lug!
3. Rohan Dennis: a spankin' new, perfectly fitted Team Skineos bike and time trial skinsuit. OR ELSE HE'S GONNA BLOW A GASKET MID-RACE AND DISGRACE THE WHOLE TEAM (LIKE THAT CAN GET ANY WORSE), YOU HEAR ME BRAILSFORD?
4. Team Sky: if the latest (and ickiest) British Cycling testimony is gonna be believed, a case of empty Coke cans to fill with clean urine to outwit the narcs, and a bucketload o' Viagra tablets. Not that those big studs need 'em or nothin'!
5. Mikel Landa: a break. The kid needs a freakin' break. What *is* this !@#$ with Poels or whoever yammering on about pursuing his own chances at the Tour. Get that twerp in *line*, Bahrain, and give Mikel some unqualified leadership for once! Wait...isn't this basically what I wish for Mikel *every* year?
6. Alejandro Valverde: an Olympic gold medal, and the 2020 men's world road championship. Because I basically have no soul. You go, Bala--heck knows time won't stop you!
7. Lucy Kennedy: Stage 3, Giro Rosa. An exhausted Kennedy raises her arms in victory--but just a moment too soon, as the indefatigable Marianne Vos speeds up and *just* pips her at the line. Lesson learned--now you're ready Lucy, so take that GT victory in 2020 you've so hard-earned!
8. Matthew van der Poel: To see the press-hype--and his actual palmares--this kid's the second coming of Peter Sagan. Honestly, besides maybe a camera-friendly wheelie trick, what the hell *else* could he possibly need?
9. Bella Italia: A World Tour team. I mean, this is *Italy*, home of Coppi, Bartali, Pantani, Simoni, Bronzini, Petacchi--for over 100 years, the perfect and beautiful Giro. Seriously, WTF?
10. Amgen: Bring back the EPO Tour of California! Where *else* do you get a fun, exciting stage race primarily sponsored by a popular PED? The "Hal's Illicit Blood Bags" Tour of California just doesn't have the same ring to it...
11. Tejay Van Garderen: look, everybody loves Tejay. How 'bout a nice big fat solo GT stage win to shut the doubters on this guy?
12. Sam Bennett: some !@#damn credit. A guy with his huge pile of wins this season, and he can hardly get a contract for 2020? I call bull!@#$!
13. The Climbers: great legs. 'Cause with Euskadi back at full World Tour status, their poor rivals are gonna need 'em!
14. Primoz Roglic: He can have second at the Tour, after Mikel. And next person who mentions his prior sporting career, Rogla gets to kick in the nuts!
15. Toms Skujins: Baked potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Scalloped potatoes. Fried potatoes. Hash-browned potatoes. Au gratin potatoes. Sweet potatoes. Latkes. All hail the King of the Perfect Carb!
16. The Wolfpack: a new nickname, 'cause let's face it, right now no-one can take another second of this self-promoting !@#$. "Basket o' kittens", maybe? "Six-pack o' Brewskis?" Naw, doesn't sound tough enough...
And finally, My Beloved Reader(s): may your cycling days be filled with warmth and sunshine--or, if you're Belgian, miserable, freezing rain and mud. May the cobbles not flatten your tires, may your chain never break, and may your stem never spontaneously shatter. May your bidons be full, your power gels delicious, and your apres-ride beer be crisp and cold. So kick back, enjoy your presents, and on to (holy crap!) 2020!
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
It's racejunkie's 10 Cycling Things I'm Thankful For This Thanksgiving (And a Few I'm Darn Well Not)!
Yes, it's nigh about Thanksgiving in the US, where we celebrate our shameful colonial past by gorging ourselves with such venerable 17th century feast-staples as sweet potatoes with tiny marshmallows melted on top and a Doritos casserole recipe we found on some health-destroying godforsaken Big Agribusiness website, waiting to see if the giant inflatable emoji balloons soaring over 5th Avenue in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade are gonna break loose and terrorize the elves on the Santa float, quarreling politically with our !@#$wit relatives we have NO CHANCE WHATSOEVER OF CONVINCING EACH OTHER WE'RE RIGHT AND THEY'RE !@#$WITS, watching giant steroid-stuffed Hulks whang into each other painfully in football games for our sick enjoyment for the grotesque enrichment of a privileged few, and, oh right, taking a moment to reflect on what we are truly grateful for this year. So what, in our beloved sport of cycling, merits our love and gratitude this year (and a few what-doesn'ts)? This!
1. Euskaltel rising, again. Right on Mikel Landa!
2. One more year for we love big lug Andre Greipel. Go gooooooooo, Gorilla!
3. The bad-!@# women of the peloton calling bull!@#$--on harassment, abuse, crap wages, and general disrespect--throughout the sport. All Hail the Queens!
4. Team Skineos' house-o'-marginal-gains cards finally starting to fall down. Though it's not like the sport hasn't been spotlessly clean since Operacion Puerto went down!
5. The beautiful men's and women's Giro (well, Giri). Now make the women's race longer dammit!
6. The Vuelta. Arid, gorgeous, and *steep*. Aupa Euskadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
7. The continuing tradition of riders raising their arms in triumph only to be pipped at the line by a wily--and dogged--competitor. How else can us armchair strategists feel smugly superior to those who actually *get* their !@#es off the couch and *do* stuff all season?
8. Nairo Quintana to Arkea. Hell, now Valverde doesn't even need an *excuse* to bushwhack 'im at the Tour!
9. Domestiques. No, their job ain't pretty. But every stunning sprint victory, every thrilling GC-deciding mountaintop upset, every dream-destroying echelon split is because of *them*. Thank you, brave and talented souls--you know who you are, even if most cycling fans don't!
10. The ageless Alejandro Valverde. Because I basically have no soul.
11. Cross season. 'Cause how the hell else would we survive the excruciatingly long dry spell between October and January?
And a Few I'm Damn Well Not:
1. Mikel to Bahrain-Merida. !@#DAMMIT, this kid needs a !@#damn break!
2. Paranoid conspiracy theories o' the week. Froome didn't really crash. Froome *did* crash, but really only needed a little Spiderman Band-Aid. When Froome crashed, he got wicked bad road rash, and his true praying-mantis creepy exoskeleton was shockingly revealed to all. Aw hell, I *am* thankful for all this !@#$!
3. The Amgen EPO Tour of California is 'on hiatus'. Forget the damage to US cycling--how else can you repeatedly use the words "EPO" and "cycling" in close proximity without getting sued by a prominent rider, or team?
4. The British Cycling/Team Sky doping scandal. Seriously, did I *need* to see testimony about whatsisface's, well, gentlemanly stamina problems, and his wife's secondhand but forceful denial of same? Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
Well, dear reader(s), them's mine. So Happy Thanksgiving, and I raise a drumstick to you all--that is, if that greedy !@#$ I'm sitting next to doesn't selfishly grab it first, as usual!
1. Euskaltel rising, again. Right on Mikel Landa!
2. One more year for we love big lug Andre Greipel. Go gooooooooo, Gorilla!
3. The bad-!@# women of the peloton calling bull!@#$--on harassment, abuse, crap wages, and general disrespect--throughout the sport. All Hail the Queens!
4. Team Skineos' house-o'-marginal-gains cards finally starting to fall down. Though it's not like the sport hasn't been spotlessly clean since Operacion Puerto went down!
5. The beautiful men's and women's Giro (well, Giri). Now make the women's race longer dammit!
6. The Vuelta. Arid, gorgeous, and *steep*. Aupa Euskadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
7. The continuing tradition of riders raising their arms in triumph only to be pipped at the line by a wily--and dogged--competitor. How else can us armchair strategists feel smugly superior to those who actually *get* their !@#es off the couch and *do* stuff all season?
8. Nairo Quintana to Arkea. Hell, now Valverde doesn't even need an *excuse* to bushwhack 'im at the Tour!
9. Domestiques. No, their job ain't pretty. But every stunning sprint victory, every thrilling GC-deciding mountaintop upset, every dream-destroying echelon split is because of *them*. Thank you, brave and talented souls--you know who you are, even if most cycling fans don't!
10. The ageless Alejandro Valverde. Because I basically have no soul.
11. Cross season. 'Cause how the hell else would we survive the excruciatingly long dry spell between October and January?
And a Few I'm Damn Well Not:
1. Mikel to Bahrain-Merida. !@#DAMMIT, this kid needs a !@#damn break!
2. Paranoid conspiracy theories o' the week. Froome didn't really crash. Froome *did* crash, but really only needed a little Spiderman Band-Aid. When Froome crashed, he got wicked bad road rash, and his true praying-mantis creepy exoskeleton was shockingly revealed to all. Aw hell, I *am* thankful for all this !@#$!
3. The Amgen EPO Tour of California is 'on hiatus'. Forget the damage to US cycling--how else can you repeatedly use the words "EPO" and "cycling" in close proximity without getting sued by a prominent rider, or team?
4. The British Cycling/Team Sky doping scandal. Seriously, did I *need* to see testimony about whatsisface's, well, gentlemanly stamina problems, and his wife's secondhand but forceful denial of same? Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
Well, dear reader(s), them's mine. So Happy Thanksgiving, and I raise a drumstick to you all--that is, if that greedy !@#$ I'm sitting next to doesn't selfishly grab it first, as usual!
Sunday, September 15, 2019
It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards!
Seeing red--but traumatized because it's not the leader's jersey? Bereft with the final Grand Tour done and dusted and only the Worlds and Il Lombardia left before the bleak slow descent into winter? Well, cheer up, Debbie Downer, because it ain't over yet--yep, it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2019 Vuelta a Espana racejunkie Awards! The schwag, should anyone burst through the impenetrable fog of my meaningless obscurity to claim it--I swear, I'm good for it!--(1) eternal internet shame (or glory!) for some future cyber-archaeologist to unearth 5,000 years from now; (2) a stunning custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap to show off yer notoriety and adorn yer noggin; (3) a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to thwap on the bike of some loathed rival; and (4) a genuine indeterminate-metal-and-rocklike-base-material statute thingamajig foraged from a local second-hand shop, BUT WITH YOUR NAME AND PRIZE WRITTEN ON IT. Suck on *that*, cheapskate Oscars goody bags!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Individual Edition): Valverde against his own teammate and co-captain Nairo on stage--wait, was that 3? No, 6? No, 19? No, all of 'em! And I gotta say, I enjoyed every nasty, backstabbing pedal-stroke. Alejandro Valverde, you wily s.o.b., you never, ever fail to disappoint!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Team Edition): Yeah, I *know*, Marc Soler is an upstart little snot and if far greater riders can cheerfully pull off to the side of the road to surrender a bike or wait for their team leader, then why couldn't *this* egomaniacal twerp? Because he was right. I don't care if Nairo managed to have the legs to win a mountain stage because he's spent the last 6 years saving energy glomming onto everybody else's wheels--it was a d#!k move to drag another team's leader up to Soler, *then* spin by just enough to take the stage but not even grab the red jersey as a consolation prize. And no, Soler's scripted apology and his DS' public admonition of the naive wee thing doesn't fix it. You *suck*, Movistar!
Listen All Y'all It's Sabotaaaaaage! Prize: And, in a spectacular three-fer, leave it to Movistar to only pull their !@#$ together as a cohesive squad to attack race leader Roglic when he was delayed by a giant crash that not only took out half the Vuelta field, but the Tour and Giro's just past to boot, as the entire peloton, gasping behind their hankies and pearls in horror at the unwritten etiquette breach, erupted in gestures and outrage, mostly after, of course, they went along and put down the hammer too to their benefit. On the plus side, Valverde, who at age 346 certainly ain't stupid, totally coincidentally managed to screw over his chief teammate-rival as well. Damn, these clowns really *did* deserve to win the Team Competition!
Ice Ice, Baby Prize: Hailstones on Stage 9, forcing these fragile stick figures to beg for cover from any team car, overhang, roadside bar, or thornbush they could find, with nary a peep from the weather narcs in charge of stopping the race. What is this, the !@#$ing Classics? Drench 'em bake 'em or freeze 'em, sure--but *really* race organizers, letting the poor things get pummeled to death by Nature's evil golf balls? *That's* too much to demand!
Crash o' the Race (Holy Crap!): Think the stage 1 team time trial was gonna be hard on the riders? Well, we haven't even gotten there yet, as the Euskadi-Murias team car overcooks a corner during the recon and goes screeching into a barrier then face-plants into an actual building. Luckily, it being the recon, the crowd hadn't yet filtered in and no spectators were hurt, and the team car guys emerged with nothing worse than bruises. Whew!
Crash o' the Race (Near Miss): As if the Great Gardening Flood of 2019 didn't cause carnage enough, with Jumbo-Visma and UAE completely wiping out and throwing both their bodily integrity and race prospects into total chaos before the race even got to the Stage 1 finish line, the aftermath damn near took out a third squad too, as Jumbo Visma's team car, understandably caught up by mechanics frantically trying to get their riders and their wrecked bikes off the tarmac and replaced with rides that weren't in pieces, was still stuck on the road, unfortunately tucked invisibly at the corner right as the unknowing Quick Step boys came flying through. Amazingly, they managed to dodge the enormous additional solid obstacle, and even further disaster was averted. Oh, my--good reflexes, Wolfpack!
The Little Engine That Could (Until He Couldn't) Award: poor Fabio Aru. Once hailed as Cycling's Next Great Grand Tour Winner, then ground down by the initially adoring, then ruthless, Italian press into a self-defeating insecure nub, then buoyed by the identification, treatment of, and actually quite impressive recovery from a power-sucking iliac problem, only to look on fine returning form for this year's Vuelta then ensuing exhaustion after initial hampering from Stage 1's surfin' safari. Still, major points for grinta. Wishing you a better 2020 Aru!
Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Metaphorical): Enraged Tour de France reject Philippe Gilbert's textbook breakaway win on the vicious, and pretty unsuitable for him frankly, Stage 14. Oh, and he grabbed Stage 17 too. Sure, Quick Step gets some of the glory--but take *that* for screwing me in July, you b*stards!
Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Literal): Tao Geoghagen Hart and Ruben Guerrero, so pissed at their jointly allowing Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway that spindly cyclist fisticuffs ensued after the finish line. Note: the asshat who stole Tao's Garmin off his bike *during his podium ceremony* the other day is a complete and utter tool. Repent, jerkface, and give it back before he finds you--you've been fairly warned he can go all Bouhanni on your !@# !
Doping Bust o' the Race: no, silly, it's not some game-changing multi-squad scandalpalooza PED ring, or a huge payoff for UCI's current strategy of vaguely waving an iPad someone's using to play "Fortnite" in the general direction of a bike shop in hopes of not discovering a well-hidden high-tech motor, or finally figuring out whatever-the-hell-they're-all-on-lately that makes 'em look like they've been sucked dry by a 40-foot deer tick--it's because some dimwit who never heard of the word "tarpaulin" didn't think to cover his substantial roof-top weed farm from the indifferent eye of the race helicopter, which gave the local non-cycling narcs all the evidence they needed for a marijuana bust. Wow, glad we've managed to bring integrity back to pro cycling again--great job, UCI!.
Domestique o' the Race: For a guy who doesn't owe Quick Step jack for leaving him outta the Tour de France this year, he sure knows how to give back anyway. Double stage winner Philippe Gilbert, who tenderly shepherded young Vuelta newb James Knox the entirety of Stage 20 and right across the line after the poor kid suffered an excruciating crash the day before, in the helpful company of fellow bad-!@# big name Zdenek Stybar. Gilbert, we can always count on you to go out in style!
Fan !@#$wit Award: aw, this one's almost *too* easy. In a race where enthusiastic-but-polite fans are most likely to try for a selfie with a beloved hero *before* the stage, or at worst frantically fly a Basque flag a considerate two meters from a dangerous date with your wheel, one astonishingly clueless--if admirably diligent--landscaper surpassed even the most idiotic, vulgar, camera-whoring Tour de France speedo-screamer by unleashing a truly Biblical deluge right on a tricky corner of the opening Team Time Trial course that managed to turn an already-technical stage into something outta the final scene in "Point Break" where Patrick Swayze surfs himself to death in the HUGEST WAVE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY. The casualties? Oh, just a surplus of stage hunters, indispensable domestiques, road captains, and 6 or 8 valid GC contenders--nothing enough gauze to shroud Buckingham palace, a few dozen gallons of alcohol, 8400 tubes of antibiotic ointment, and 35,000 meters of surgical stitching couldn't cure!
Grim Reaper Prize: to be honest, this is a sport that relies on outsize personalities to jack up the crowd and attack valuable sponsor Euros, so to expect Cipollini-like stud-muffinry or Saganesque joie de vivre outta everybody seems a little, well, unfair to the introverts in our midst. So let's cut overall champion Primoz Roglic a little slack if he's not going all Suzie Sunshine for every interview, podium, and red jersey donned. The sole exception--his rolling cheerful last-day chat with Valverde, who since he helped shut down every threat from Movistar for 3 weeks without Roglic's boys having to break a sweat, damn well deserved one. Go back to grumping all you want Rogla--the trophy you bagged today shines brightly enough on its own!
And Last But Not Least, Breakout Star of Vuelta 2019: 3 stages. One Young Rider's jersey. And a tactical sense far beyond his approximate age of a nursery-school newbie. Tadej Pogacar, this final one's for you--and enjoy it while it lasts, because you're a marked man from now on!
Well folks, that's the Vuelta. Now let's take a deep breath, kick back the rest of the Cava, and get ready for the World Championships!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Individual Edition): Valverde against his own teammate and co-captain Nairo on stage--wait, was that 3? No, 6? No, 19? No, all of 'em! And I gotta say, I enjoyed every nasty, backstabbing pedal-stroke. Alejandro Valverde, you wily s.o.b., you never, ever fail to disappoint!
Punk-!@# Move of the Race (Team Edition): Yeah, I *know*, Marc Soler is an upstart little snot and if far greater riders can cheerfully pull off to the side of the road to surrender a bike or wait for their team leader, then why couldn't *this* egomaniacal twerp? Because he was right. I don't care if Nairo managed to have the legs to win a mountain stage because he's spent the last 6 years saving energy glomming onto everybody else's wheels--it was a d#!k move to drag another team's leader up to Soler, *then* spin by just enough to take the stage but not even grab the red jersey as a consolation prize. And no, Soler's scripted apology and his DS' public admonition of the naive wee thing doesn't fix it. You *suck*, Movistar!
Listen All Y'all It's Sabotaaaaaage! Prize: And, in a spectacular three-fer, leave it to Movistar to only pull their !@#$ together as a cohesive squad to attack race leader Roglic when he was delayed by a giant crash that not only took out half the Vuelta field, but the Tour and Giro's just past to boot, as the entire peloton, gasping behind their hankies and pearls in horror at the unwritten etiquette breach, erupted in gestures and outrage, mostly after, of course, they went along and put down the hammer too to their benefit. On the plus side, Valverde, who at age 346 certainly ain't stupid, totally coincidentally managed to screw over his chief teammate-rival as well. Damn, these clowns really *did* deserve to win the Team Competition!
Ice Ice, Baby Prize: Hailstones on Stage 9, forcing these fragile stick figures to beg for cover from any team car, overhang, roadside bar, or thornbush they could find, with nary a peep from the weather narcs in charge of stopping the race. What is this, the !@#$ing Classics? Drench 'em bake 'em or freeze 'em, sure--but *really* race organizers, letting the poor things get pummeled to death by Nature's evil golf balls? *That's* too much to demand!
Crash o' the Race (Holy Crap!): Think the stage 1 team time trial was gonna be hard on the riders? Well, we haven't even gotten there yet, as the Euskadi-Murias team car overcooks a corner during the recon and goes screeching into a barrier then face-plants into an actual building. Luckily, it being the recon, the crowd hadn't yet filtered in and no spectators were hurt, and the team car guys emerged with nothing worse than bruises. Whew!
Crash o' the Race (Near Miss): As if the Great Gardening Flood of 2019 didn't cause carnage enough, with Jumbo-Visma and UAE completely wiping out and throwing both their bodily integrity and race prospects into total chaos before the race even got to the Stage 1 finish line, the aftermath damn near took out a third squad too, as Jumbo Visma's team car, understandably caught up by mechanics frantically trying to get their riders and their wrecked bikes off the tarmac and replaced with rides that weren't in pieces, was still stuck on the road, unfortunately tucked invisibly at the corner right as the unknowing Quick Step boys came flying through. Amazingly, they managed to dodge the enormous additional solid obstacle, and even further disaster was averted. Oh, my--good reflexes, Wolfpack!
The Little Engine That Could (Until He Couldn't) Award: poor Fabio Aru. Once hailed as Cycling's Next Great Grand Tour Winner, then ground down by the initially adoring, then ruthless, Italian press into a self-defeating insecure nub, then buoyed by the identification, treatment of, and actually quite impressive recovery from a power-sucking iliac problem, only to look on fine returning form for this year's Vuelta then ensuing exhaustion after initial hampering from Stage 1's surfin' safari. Still, major points for grinta. Wishing you a better 2020 Aru!
Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Metaphorical): Enraged Tour de France reject Philippe Gilbert's textbook breakaway win on the vicious, and pretty unsuitable for him frankly, Stage 14. Oh, and he grabbed Stage 17 too. Sure, Quick Step gets some of the glory--but take *that* for screwing me in July, you b*stards!
Dope-Smack o' the Vuelta (Literal): Tao Geoghagen Hart and Ruben Guerrero, so pissed at their jointly allowing Fuglsang to take the stage on a breakaway that spindly cyclist fisticuffs ensued after the finish line. Note: the asshat who stole Tao's Garmin off his bike *during his podium ceremony* the other day is a complete and utter tool. Repent, jerkface, and give it back before he finds you--you've been fairly warned he can go all Bouhanni on your !@# !
Doping Bust o' the Race: no, silly, it's not some game-changing multi-squad scandalpalooza PED ring, or a huge payoff for UCI's current strategy of vaguely waving an iPad someone's using to play "Fortnite" in the general direction of a bike shop in hopes of not discovering a well-hidden high-tech motor, or finally figuring out whatever-the-hell-they're-all-on-lately that makes 'em look like they've been sucked dry by a 40-foot deer tick--it's because some dimwit who never heard of the word "tarpaulin" didn't think to cover his substantial roof-top weed farm from the indifferent eye of the race helicopter, which gave the local non-cycling narcs all the evidence they needed for a marijuana bust. Wow, glad we've managed to bring integrity back to pro cycling again--great job, UCI!.
Domestique o' the Race: For a guy who doesn't owe Quick Step jack for leaving him outta the Tour de France this year, he sure knows how to give back anyway. Double stage winner Philippe Gilbert, who tenderly shepherded young Vuelta newb James Knox the entirety of Stage 20 and right across the line after the poor kid suffered an excruciating crash the day before, in the helpful company of fellow bad-!@# big name Zdenek Stybar. Gilbert, we can always count on you to go out in style!
Fan !@#$wit Award: aw, this one's almost *too* easy. In a race where enthusiastic-but-polite fans are most likely to try for a selfie with a beloved hero *before* the stage, or at worst frantically fly a Basque flag a considerate two meters from a dangerous date with your wheel, one astonishingly clueless--if admirably diligent--landscaper surpassed even the most idiotic, vulgar, camera-whoring Tour de France speedo-screamer by unleashing a truly Biblical deluge right on a tricky corner of the opening Team Time Trial course that managed to turn an already-technical stage into something outta the final scene in "Point Break" where Patrick Swayze surfs himself to death in the HUGEST WAVE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY. The casualties? Oh, just a surplus of stage hunters, indispensable domestiques, road captains, and 6 or 8 valid GC contenders--nothing enough gauze to shroud Buckingham palace, a few dozen gallons of alcohol, 8400 tubes of antibiotic ointment, and 35,000 meters of surgical stitching couldn't cure!
Grim Reaper Prize: to be honest, this is a sport that relies on outsize personalities to jack up the crowd and attack valuable sponsor Euros, so to expect Cipollini-like stud-muffinry or Saganesque joie de vivre outta everybody seems a little, well, unfair to the introverts in our midst. So let's cut overall champion Primoz Roglic a little slack if he's not going all Suzie Sunshine for every interview, podium, and red jersey donned. The sole exception--his rolling cheerful last-day chat with Valverde, who since he helped shut down every threat from Movistar for 3 weeks without Roglic's boys having to break a sweat, damn well deserved one. Go back to grumping all you want Rogla--the trophy you bagged today shines brightly enough on its own!
And Last But Not Least, Breakout Star of Vuelta 2019: 3 stages. One Young Rider's jersey. And a tactical sense far beyond his approximate age of a nursery-school newbie. Tadej Pogacar, this final one's for you--and enjoy it while it lasts, because you're a marked man from now on!
Well folks, that's the Vuelta. Now let's take a deep breath, kick back the rest of the Cava, and get ready for the World Championships!
Sunday, September 08, 2019
It's Yer Vuelta a Espana Jaysus *Now* What the Hell's Going On Out There Rest Day Dos Roundup!
Whew, were *those* exhausting climbing days--to watch on our end, anyway! Luckily, we've *all* earned a good day's rest. So now that we're down to the final push, what's the state of this crazy-!@# race? This!
1. I don't care *how* many stages they win or who they smack around on GC--Movistar is still one !@#$ed-up squad. Valverde continues to attack Quintana like antibiotics on sinus infection. Soler's washed his hands of the whole lot of you bastards, with a brief pause to do Bala a solid, after his public rebuke from his DS. And your general strategy appears to be Every Man for Himself Because There's a Zombie Apocolypse, with a frisson of Chased By Screaming Human Steroids in Bondage Gear In A Mad Max Movie and a subtle whiff of Holy !@#$ How Many Times Are They Gonna Remake "Halloween" Before They Run Outta Bodies? Geez, maybe it *is* better Unzue sent Landa over to the Tour of Britain to brush up on gardening tips! Still, with Valverde firmly in second on the podium, and claiming fatigue which you know means he's waiting to bushwhack anyone in his way by this weekend, you can hardly write Movistar's whatever-the-hell-they-call-it off as totally ineffective--and with the commentators uniformly confounded by every half kilometer, you sure can't say it isn't entertaining!
2. (Minor) Celebrity Deathmatch: Ineos' Tao Geoghegan Hart and Katusha's Ruben Guerrero. Okay, so they blew the break and Fuglsang took the day--but what was *that* nasty little slap-fight after the line about?
3. Wolfpack My !@#--yes, that dashing breakaway victory was textbook PhilGil, but as a giant "!@#$ you for screwing me in July!"
4. It's All a Giant Slovenian Conspiracy. Didn't you see--gasp!--that wily fist-bump between Roglic and Pogacar? And the only reason everyone's clutching their pearls in horror is because no one *they* want to win has actually gotten their !@#$ together first. Just because our guys are busy eating their own young doesn't mean those two can't make some sense!
5. Anyone else a little weirded out that Jumbo-Visma is suddenly a GC squad? 'Cause I'm about to start betting on Euskadi-Murias for the sprints!
6. It's Deja-Vu All Over Again: Come on. I can't be the *only* one who thought Jakob Fuglsang already bagged a bucket o' Grand Tour stage wins!
7. !@#$in' Hell, Froome! Yep, *another* hospital photo op, this one proving that peeling a potato is apparently a slaughterhouse compared to crashing down a descent at rocket speed. Either go away or get popped once and for all, we can't stand this crap any more!
8. If You're Lookin' To Score...I think the race helicopter guys are gonna be doing a *lot* more random buzzing of rooftops from now on, whether they're on the race course or not!
9. Vinokourov Isn't Done With You Mother!@#$ers Yet. He's just bagged the Ironman World Championships in France in his age group--you think he doesn't still have a few scores to settle with the *cyclists* who got in his way?
Well, that's yer quickie review. Tomorrow, it's an officially-classified "flat" stage, which means the sprinters are gonna let the break dangle to the very last millimeter before they decide if they're gonna cause chaos right to the line. Onwards and (sorry, sprinters) upwards!
1. I don't care *how* many stages they win or who they smack around on GC--Movistar is still one !@#$ed-up squad. Valverde continues to attack Quintana like antibiotics on sinus infection. Soler's washed his hands of the whole lot of you bastards, with a brief pause to do Bala a solid, after his public rebuke from his DS. And your general strategy appears to be Every Man for Himself Because There's a Zombie Apocolypse, with a frisson of Chased By Screaming Human Steroids in Bondage Gear In A Mad Max Movie and a subtle whiff of Holy !@#$ How Many Times Are They Gonna Remake "Halloween" Before They Run Outta Bodies? Geez, maybe it *is* better Unzue sent Landa over to the Tour of Britain to brush up on gardening tips! Still, with Valverde firmly in second on the podium, and claiming fatigue which you know means he's waiting to bushwhack anyone in his way by this weekend, you can hardly write Movistar's whatever-the-hell-they-call-it off as totally ineffective--and with the commentators uniformly confounded by every half kilometer, you sure can't say it isn't entertaining!
2. (Minor) Celebrity Deathmatch: Ineos' Tao Geoghegan Hart and Katusha's Ruben Guerrero. Okay, so they blew the break and Fuglsang took the day--but what was *that* nasty little slap-fight after the line about?
3. Wolfpack My !@#--yes, that dashing breakaway victory was textbook PhilGil, but as a giant "!@#$ you for screwing me in July!"
4. It's All a Giant Slovenian Conspiracy. Didn't you see--gasp!--that wily fist-bump between Roglic and Pogacar? And the only reason everyone's clutching their pearls in horror is because no one *they* want to win has actually gotten their !@#$ together first. Just because our guys are busy eating their own young doesn't mean those two can't make some sense!
5. Anyone else a little weirded out that Jumbo-Visma is suddenly a GC squad? 'Cause I'm about to start betting on Euskadi-Murias for the sprints!
6. It's Deja-Vu All Over Again: Come on. I can't be the *only* one who thought Jakob Fuglsang already bagged a bucket o' Grand Tour stage wins!
7. !@#$in' Hell, Froome! Yep, *another* hospital photo op, this one proving that peeling a potato is apparently a slaughterhouse compared to crashing down a descent at rocket speed. Either go away or get popped once and for all, we can't stand this crap any more!
8. If You're Lookin' To Score...I think the race helicopter guys are gonna be doing a *lot* more random buzzing of rooftops from now on, whether they're on the race course or not!
9. Vinokourov Isn't Done With You Mother!@#$ers Yet. He's just bagged the Ironman World Championships in France in his age group--you think he doesn't still have a few scores to settle with the *cyclists* who got in his way?
Well, that's yer quickie review. Tomorrow, it's an officially-classified "flat" stage, which means the sprinters are gonna let the break dangle to the very last millimeter before they decide if they're gonna cause chaos right to the line. Onwards and (sorry, sprinters) upwards!
Monday, September 02, 2019
It's Yer Vuelta a Espana What the !#$! Just Happened Out There Rest Day Uno Roundup!
Look, so far this Vuelta's begun in chaos, and it's probably gonna !@#damn well *end* in chaos. But there's a whole lot to keep in mind as we head into what's sure to be a mind-boggling Week 2, so to set us up right, what'd we learn--and what were we forced to unlearn--so far? This!
1. Movistar is One Completely !@#$ed Up Squad. Carapaz crashes out on an easy-money crit before the race even begins. Quintana wins on a sprint stage. Valverde spends the next few stages attacking him. Nairo's the team leader. Valverde's the team leader. They're both the team leader. Soler makes one freakin' move on his own behalf looks set to win the stage Unzue dope-smacks him over the radio and everyone's pissed at Soler for being pissed when Nairo drags another team's guy up to him to screw him then takes second place and the red jersey. Nairo celebrates Unzue anointing him King of the Vuelta by formally announcing his three-year deal with Arkea-Samsic taking half the squad with him. They've got an entire full-time paid soigneur solely dedicated to make sure Nairo Alejandro and Soler don't (1) spike each other's drinks with easy-to-catch doping substances (2) pulverize each other's primary and backup bike frames with a sledgehammer when nobody's looking or (3) inflict the mother of all nut-crunching race-ending wedgies by swapping the other guy's bib shorts out with a toddler's extra-small diaper chamois. And somehow, this pack of infighting freaks is *still* atop the Best Team rankings. Kumbaya--now !@#$ you! No, !@#$ *you*! No...
2. EF Needs Divine Intervention. I dearly love EF for many reasons, not least because their team kit gives me all the happy Lampre Barbie Sparkle Rainbow Dream Unicorn Princess feels. Nonetheless, even I didn't, it'd take a stone cold killer not to feel any sympathy for these guys after they first almost lost Rigoberto Uran to a crash, then lost not just him but everybody else to an entirely different gigantic crash, *then* took poor remaining GC-savior Tejay Van Garderen out with a busted finger, and now, apparently, their team bus has been commandeered by Satan and is careening around Spain without even a visible driver at the wheel. So I'm not a religious person, but I implore me, you, and all people, plants, meme-friendly piano-playing housecats, and weird single-cell indeterminate life forms on this planet to invoke whatever gods, goddesses, spirits, ghosts, tree fairies, mermaids, selkies, gargoyles and garden gnomes you may worship to just *please*, *please* help the few remaining guys left upright on this squad to (1) make it outta here in one piece and (2) for just mercy's sake, somehow end up with a nice bonus stage win. By Grabthar's Hammer, by the suns of Worvan, you shall be avenged!
3. In the Annals of Fan !@#$wittery, This Guy's Got the Guinness World Record. Smoke bombs? Cry me a river. Flags in my face? Wah, wah. Knock my actual head off my body with a selfie stick? Yap, yap. But deciding that "hey, *right* as the team trial is going by on incredibly unstable bikes with incredibly nervous riders on an incredibly twisty course is the *exact* right time to flood my garden *and* the course dicking around filling some kiddie pool" is a *whole* 'nother level of assclown. Honesty, do you any of you dimwits even *know* there's a race on in your town?
4. By Comparison, a Race Moto Crashing Seems Pretty Tame, Right? Forget the riders staying upright: now we got the ground-level camera guys spinning out like some drunken dumb!@# inbred teenager with a rustbucket '67 Mustang doing donuts in a 7-11 parking lot. Or hey, why not decide to outright drive into the line of a GC contender on a tricky descent? Um, you do *know* it's not the *motos* trying to win the Vuelta a Espana, don't you?
5. Weather Protocol My !@#!: Sure, you can't *see* the race because a freakin' Sharknado has descended on the Basque Country and Jaws has taken out the race helicopter, but trust me, it's windy out there. And rainy. And would you enjoy the ride any *more* than you are if there's an entire Biblical plague's worth of hailstones dropped on six square meters of the course? Oh, hail no!
6. Geez, We've Barely Gotten Into the GC Discussion Yet! Yeah, that's because there isn't any, at least not any that makes any sense because half of them were wiped out in off-camera pileups, and the rest of 'em are so damn confused by what's going on we're lucky they're not riding the entire Vuelta course backwards at this point. Dumoulin Froomey whichever Yates that was and Carapaz are out before the start line. Rogla gets nicked by a moto. Lopez goes down on a gravel section. Roche gone. Uran--well, which mishap do you want me to start with? Chaves is forced to switch to a big-boy bike, *twice*, right as he's wrangling a massive climb, gets promptly sucked up into Grmay's humongous seatpost, and they *still* haven't been able to pry him out of it. Quintana's about to be crushed by his own ego, Valverde's still waiting for the key moment to implode, and hell, once the race organizers realize Pogacar's only six months old and can't even qualify for the Junior circuit, even the Vuelta honchos'll be honor-bound to take him outta the race. I'm telling you Landa sneak in here, they're so busy trying to figure out who's still on the start list they won't even question you when you try to sign in tomorrow!
7. I Can't Wait Until the Queen Stage on Day Twent--uh, on Day Nine! Y'know, it's entirely possible this entire Vuelta has already been decided, but to be absolutely sure, the race organizers are gonna make you sit through approximately 18 more sprints and 39 breakaway stages o' suffering before they let these body-bandaged, rain-soaked, sun-baked, road-rashed wraiths climb off the saddle for a much-deserved rest. What the--what fresh hell is *this*?! !@#dammit, I *told* you I wanted to ride the freakin' Tour de France!
8. The Gesticulating On This Vuelta Is Out of Control. Between Gilbert nearly taking Henao's eyeball out with his elbow for resisting taking a turn in the breakaway, to Soler's extravagant screw-you to the cameras when ordered to sit up for Quintana, to Nacer Bouhanni punching a spectator in the face when he's not even in the country, it's clear that a looooooong season has taken its emotional toll on our beloved peloton. Next thing you know, they'll be rolling on the floor like a pack of drama-queen cry-baby footballers because their shoelace has been air-swiped by a dung beetle. Boys in the break, do your share--or don't complain I didn't warn you!
Well, that's your Rest Day Part Uno in Review. Tomorrow, it's the ITT, which given how the race has played out so far, pretty much guarantees that Tony Martin's gonna be wearing the red jersey in Madrid. Congratulations Tony!--or is it still too soon to pop the champagne?
1. Movistar is One Completely !@#$ed Up Squad. Carapaz crashes out on an easy-money crit before the race even begins. Quintana wins on a sprint stage. Valverde spends the next few stages attacking him. Nairo's the team leader. Valverde's the team leader. They're both the team leader. Soler makes one freakin' move on his own behalf looks set to win the stage Unzue dope-smacks him over the radio and everyone's pissed at Soler for being pissed when Nairo drags another team's guy up to him to screw him then takes second place and the red jersey. Nairo celebrates Unzue anointing him King of the Vuelta by formally announcing his three-year deal with Arkea-Samsic taking half the squad with him. They've got an entire full-time paid soigneur solely dedicated to make sure Nairo Alejandro and Soler don't (1) spike each other's drinks with easy-to-catch doping substances (2) pulverize each other's primary and backup bike frames with a sledgehammer when nobody's looking or (3) inflict the mother of all nut-crunching race-ending wedgies by swapping the other guy's bib shorts out with a toddler's extra-small diaper chamois. And somehow, this pack of infighting freaks is *still* atop the Best Team rankings. Kumbaya--now !@#$ you! No, !@#$ *you*! No...
2. EF Needs Divine Intervention. I dearly love EF for many reasons, not least because their team kit gives me all the happy Lampre Barbie Sparkle Rainbow Dream Unicorn Princess feels. Nonetheless, even I didn't, it'd take a stone cold killer not to feel any sympathy for these guys after they first almost lost Rigoberto Uran to a crash, then lost not just him but everybody else to an entirely different gigantic crash, *then* took poor remaining GC-savior Tejay Van Garderen out with a busted finger, and now, apparently, their team bus has been commandeered by Satan and is careening around Spain without even a visible driver at the wheel. So I'm not a religious person, but I implore me, you, and all people, plants, meme-friendly piano-playing housecats, and weird single-cell indeterminate life forms on this planet to invoke whatever gods, goddesses, spirits, ghosts, tree fairies, mermaids, selkies, gargoyles and garden gnomes you may worship to just *please*, *please* help the few remaining guys left upright on this squad to (1) make it outta here in one piece and (2) for just mercy's sake, somehow end up with a nice bonus stage win. By Grabthar's Hammer, by the suns of Worvan, you shall be avenged!
3. In the Annals of Fan !@#$wittery, This Guy's Got the Guinness World Record. Smoke bombs? Cry me a river. Flags in my face? Wah, wah. Knock my actual head off my body with a selfie stick? Yap, yap. But deciding that "hey, *right* as the team trial is going by on incredibly unstable bikes with incredibly nervous riders on an incredibly twisty course is the *exact* right time to flood my garden *and* the course dicking around filling some kiddie pool" is a *whole* 'nother level of assclown. Honesty, do you any of you dimwits even *know* there's a race on in your town?
4. By Comparison, a Race Moto Crashing Seems Pretty Tame, Right? Forget the riders staying upright: now we got the ground-level camera guys spinning out like some drunken dumb!@# inbred teenager with a rustbucket '67 Mustang doing donuts in a 7-11 parking lot. Or hey, why not decide to outright drive into the line of a GC contender on a tricky descent? Um, you do *know* it's not the *motos* trying to win the Vuelta a Espana, don't you?
5. Weather Protocol My !@#!: Sure, you can't *see* the race because a freakin' Sharknado has descended on the Basque Country and Jaws has taken out the race helicopter, but trust me, it's windy out there. And rainy. And would you enjoy the ride any *more* than you are if there's an entire Biblical plague's worth of hailstones dropped on six square meters of the course? Oh, hail no!
6. Geez, We've Barely Gotten Into the GC Discussion Yet! Yeah, that's because there isn't any, at least not any that makes any sense because half of them were wiped out in off-camera pileups, and the rest of 'em are so damn confused by what's going on we're lucky they're not riding the entire Vuelta course backwards at this point. Dumoulin Froomey whichever Yates that was and Carapaz are out before the start line. Rogla gets nicked by a moto. Lopez goes down on a gravel section. Roche gone. Uran--well, which mishap do you want me to start with? Chaves is forced to switch to a big-boy bike, *twice*, right as he's wrangling a massive climb, gets promptly sucked up into Grmay's humongous seatpost, and they *still* haven't been able to pry him out of it. Quintana's about to be crushed by his own ego, Valverde's still waiting for the key moment to implode, and hell, once the race organizers realize Pogacar's only six months old and can't even qualify for the Junior circuit, even the Vuelta honchos'll be honor-bound to take him outta the race. I'm telling you Landa sneak in here, they're so busy trying to figure out who's still on the start list they won't even question you when you try to sign in tomorrow!
7. I Can't Wait Until the Queen Stage on Day Twent--uh, on Day Nine! Y'know, it's entirely possible this entire Vuelta has already been decided, but to be absolutely sure, the race organizers are gonna make you sit through approximately 18 more sprints and 39 breakaway stages o' suffering before they let these body-bandaged, rain-soaked, sun-baked, road-rashed wraiths climb off the saddle for a much-deserved rest. What the--what fresh hell is *this*?! !@#dammit, I *told* you I wanted to ride the freakin' Tour de France!
8. The Gesticulating On This Vuelta Is Out of Control. Between Gilbert nearly taking Henao's eyeball out with his elbow for resisting taking a turn in the breakaway, to Soler's extravagant screw-you to the cameras when ordered to sit up for Quintana, to Nacer Bouhanni punching a spectator in the face when he's not even in the country, it's clear that a looooooong season has taken its emotional toll on our beloved peloton. Next thing you know, they'll be rolling on the floor like a pack of drama-queen cry-baby footballers because their shoelace has been air-swiped by a dung beetle. Boys in the break, do your share--or don't complain I didn't warn you!
Well, that's your Rest Day Part Uno in Review. Tomorrow, it's the ITT, which given how the race has played out so far, pretty much guarantees that Tony Martin's gonna be wearing the red jersey in Madrid. Congratulations Tony!--or is it still too soon to pop the champagne?
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Tres: the Climbeurs, the Roleurs, and the Sprinteur(s)!
Okay, we got the course. We got the crazy-!@#, anything-goes GC. So who's *not* going for GC but *is* going for some mountains glory, the breaks, and the wholly out-of-place sprints? These boys!
The Climbeurs: Yes, the Izagirres are there to shepherd Lopez. But *damn*, can these brothers climb, and *geez*, do they deserve a shot of their own during the Basque Country stages 11-13. Mikel Nieve, set to back wee Esteban Chaves but a Grand Tour stage winner in his own right and an oldie-but-goodie. Euskadi-Murias is rightly all in for Oscar Rodriguez, who's had an incredible season and !@#dammit I don't want him poached by some sucky non-Basque squad next year! Hey, anyone else seeing a distinctly Carrot-tinged theme here? Damn straight, this is the Vuelta, pal! From Movistar, whichever two tines of the trident get their feelings hurt when Unzue declares them lunchmeat. Maybe even the all-terrain Tejay, if the stars align. And Little Puma from Cofidis. Aupa Oscaaaaaaaaaaaaar!
The Roleurs: we ain't got that many breaks in this Vuelta, but dang, we've got some heavy hitters to ride 'em. Quick-Step's last dance with Lotto-bound veteran Philippe Gilbert. Astana's LL Cool Sanchez, who seems to take a stage win in every Grand Tour he rides in. Degenstache and Haagen-Dasz. Thomas De Gendt. Dylan Teuns. Might as well leave the Wolfpack on a high note, Gilbert!
The Sprinteur(s): Look, Sam Bennett and Fernando Gaviria, and possibly Jon Aberasturi aside, most of these guys have already run screaming home and are hiding behind their momma's skirts. But there is some surprising additional firepower, mainly from Classics guys with the power to be fast on an uphill finish, who also coincide nicely with the Roleurs. The mighty Degenstache. Edvald Boassen Haagen-Dasz. Luka Mezgec, a little Michelton-Scott diversion from the Chaves GC fight. As for the rest of you studly braggart fast guys--well, there's not *too* much shame in cowering elsewhere til the Vuelta is over!
All right, I've thrown you all what bones I can, but we all know it's all about the Carrots, past and future. No offense to darling little Chaves, but screw the GC you're working for--aupa grande Mikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel, and let's get to the mountains already!
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Dos: the GC Contenders!
Frankly, I've had enough of teams and riders treating the fabulous Vuelta as the last choice on a filet-mignon-lobster-limp pile of yesterday's suspect shellfish buffet. But lucky for us, enough bangin' climbers *do* consider this enough of a playground that we've actually got a real race here, so bite it, haters! So who've we got (and not)? These guys!
1. The absent: Let's get this outta the way: last year's reigning champ, whichever Yates that is, is not defending his title. Ingrate! Also absent: Chris Froome--either recovering from a grotesque injury or laughing his nuts off as he hides his millions in a nameless bank at an undisclosed Caribbean hideaway before he disappears entirely off the grid before the narcs can bust his !@#; Tom Dumoulin, still recovering both from an actual injury and a bad breakup with Team Sunweb (though already on the rebound with Jumbo Visma); Romain Bardet, nursing a crappy dispirited end to his season and hopefully refreshing for next year; and Mikel Landa, who as you all know should've set this as his season objective instead of the Tour de France. Last year's podium finisher Enric Mas. Dan Martin, who surprised darn near everyone I imagine with his 2020 move to ICA. Okay, enough space blown on the lazy no-shows--on, in no particular order, to the players!
2. Nairo Quintana. Honestly--Arkea-Samsic? WTF is*that*? Anyway, since he threw the fans into a total redemption frenzy just by not passive-aggressively sucking wheels on 1 outta 21 stages at the Tour for chrissakes, he'll probably win it just to punish Unzue for COMPLETELY CODDLING HIM FOR YEARS WITH NO RETURN and to piss me off. Argh!
3. Richard Carapaz: he won the Giro, most politely. He's Ineos-bound, so he might as well enjoy his career while he can before it inevitably flames. He did well at the Vuelta a Burgos. And, he doesn't owe Quintana a !@#damn thing. If Nairo doesn't sabotage him and Valverde feels like helping, he's got a fighting chance. If not, you can certainly count on a stage win!
4. Alejandro Valverde: wait, now hear me out! He's wearing number 1 with last year's top two staying home. He's *won* this race before. And lest anyone still around from the 13th century when he was born think his age is still a problem, we got PhilGil over there signing a new (well, re-new) gig with Lotto 'til *he's* older'n Moses, so who sez geezerhood is an obstacle? Plus, he is one *wily* s.o.b. Downside: his tendency towards catastrophic one-day meltdowns. Just don't lose your !@#$ in the mountains, Bala!
5. Miguel Angel Lopez: yeah, I *know* Jakob Fuglsang is riding for Astana. But this is Miguel's terrain, he's won stages at the Vuelta before, *and* he's got both Izagirres to stomp the field into submission in the high Basque passes. Just don't forget to let one of those boys take a stage win Miguel!
6. Primoz Roglic: beats me how a freakin' ski jumper is suited to the brutal sun of the Vuelta climbs, but here he is, and I expect a decent--if not necessarily winning, because I can't fathom the certainty the rest of the internet seems to have on this point--show. We'll see if he can hold on for three weeks--and if Kruijswijk's legs don't pose a threat from his teammate!
7. Esteban Chavez: He's been *tired* this season, no? with occasional flashes of excellence, and a recent boost to his self-esteem from his Giro d'Italia stage win. Let's hope he can keep up the excellence part, and end up with a *reason* for being so smiley!
8. Rigoberto Uran: Yeah, me neither. But he can sure aim for the podium, and EF's backing him up with a bangin' squad. And really, *wouldn't* you love it if he surprised us all?
Alrighty, them's my picks--and yes, UAE's Aru and Pogacar are riding, too. So with just the stage hunters to round up, c'mon, let's get this show on the *road* already!
1. The absent: Let's get this outta the way: last year's reigning champ, whichever Yates that is, is not defending his title. Ingrate! Also absent: Chris Froome--either recovering from a grotesque injury or laughing his nuts off as he hides his millions in a nameless bank at an undisclosed Caribbean hideaway before he disappears entirely off the grid before the narcs can bust his !@#; Tom Dumoulin, still recovering both from an actual injury and a bad breakup with Team Sunweb (though already on the rebound with Jumbo Visma); Romain Bardet, nursing a crappy dispirited end to his season and hopefully refreshing for next year; and Mikel Landa, who as you all know should've set this as his season objective instead of the Tour de France. Last year's podium finisher Enric Mas. Dan Martin, who surprised darn near everyone I imagine with his 2020 move to ICA. Okay, enough space blown on the lazy no-shows--on, in no particular order, to the players!
2. Nairo Quintana. Honestly--Arkea-Samsic? WTF is*that*? Anyway, since he threw the fans into a total redemption frenzy just by not passive-aggressively sucking wheels on 1 outta 21 stages at the Tour for chrissakes, he'll probably win it just to punish Unzue for COMPLETELY CODDLING HIM FOR YEARS WITH NO RETURN and to piss me off. Argh!
3. Richard Carapaz: he won the Giro, most politely. He's Ineos-bound, so he might as well enjoy his career while he can before it inevitably flames. He did well at the Vuelta a Burgos. And, he doesn't owe Quintana a !@#damn thing. If Nairo doesn't sabotage him and Valverde feels like helping, he's got a fighting chance. If not, you can certainly count on a stage win!
4. Alejandro Valverde: wait, now hear me out! He's wearing number 1 with last year's top two staying home. He's *won* this race before. And lest anyone still around from the 13th century when he was born think his age is still a problem, we got PhilGil over there signing a new (well, re-new) gig with Lotto 'til *he's* older'n Moses, so who sez geezerhood is an obstacle? Plus, he is one *wily* s.o.b. Downside: his tendency towards catastrophic one-day meltdowns. Just don't lose your !@#$ in the mountains, Bala!
5. Miguel Angel Lopez: yeah, I *know* Jakob Fuglsang is riding for Astana. But this is Miguel's terrain, he's won stages at the Vuelta before, *and* he's got both Izagirres to stomp the field into submission in the high Basque passes. Just don't forget to let one of those boys take a stage win Miguel!
6. Primoz Roglic: beats me how a freakin' ski jumper is suited to the brutal sun of the Vuelta climbs, but here he is, and I expect a decent--if not necessarily winning, because I can't fathom the certainty the rest of the internet seems to have on this point--show. We'll see if he can hold on for three weeks--and if Kruijswijk's legs don't pose a threat from his teammate!
7. Esteban Chavez: He's been *tired* this season, no? with occasional flashes of excellence, and a recent boost to his self-esteem from his Giro d'Italia stage win. Let's hope he can keep up the excellence part, and end up with a *reason* for being so smiley!
8. Rigoberto Uran: Yeah, me neither. But he can sure aim for the podium, and EF's backing him up with a bangin' squad. And really, *wouldn't* you love it if he surprised us all?
Alrighty, them's my picks--and yes, UAE's Aru and Pogacar are riding, too. So with just the stage hunters to round up, c'mon, let's get this show on the *road* already!
Sunday, August 18, 2019
It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview, Part Uno: The Course!
Yeah, I *know*, the Tour didn't suck this year. Champagne popped, alright? But *now*, it's time for the *always* smashing Vuelta a Espana, where the serious climbers come out to play, the roleurs come out to crack like walnuts when they realize a "breakaway" stage is an every other races "I'm completely !@#$ed" stage, and the sprinters, well, they just cry until their empty husks are bundled into the team car at the side of some sun-baked HC beast and they're tucked in for their defeated flights home. Woot! So what've we got on tap for our enjoyment and the riders' downright misery? This!
The Time Trials: ugh, a cowardly, shameful part of me is almost (not actually, go to hell!) glad Mikel's not here, so at least he can't get screwed *again.* There's two: a 36k individual time trial on Stage 10 that starts (and startles) the specialists with an uphill almost right out the gate, then proceeds with a couple 'nother deceptively nippy lumps before the final 4 k or so plateau, and every flyweight's nemesis, the team time trial on Stage 1, which actually at 13-odd k you'd hope wouldn't hose anyone you care about before the race even begins, but then again, famous last words, the GC's been gobsmacked by less. Just--*please* don't let those twitchy legs derail you the first day, gentlemen!
The Sprints: hey, quit laughing! There's allegedly six, which are sadistically scattered mostly later on about stages 3, 4, 14, 17, 19 and 21, either to make those lazy flat-landers suffer completely needlessly through mountains they can't get up without a ski lift until the very last damn day, or to--well, that's pretty much the only reason I can think of! Bonus !@#$-youlerry--Stage 17 from Aranda de Duero to Guadalajara, though theoretically mercifully after the second rest day, is also by far the longest stage, at 219 kilometers. This ain't no foregone prance around the Champs with all (well, both) the other fast men you started with--good luck making it to the last one, or even past Stage 14, suckers!
The Rollers: 2, 5, 6, 8, who do we appreciate? The breakaways, the breakaways, yeeeaaaaahhhhhhh! By contrast to this relative sprint fest, there's a mere 4 "hilly" stages, which means that all the Classics guys looking for a late-season playground are gonna realize as they're excitedly ramping up for their inevitable win that they've actually got about 58k to go and dammit, it's all uphill. On the plus side, it *is* the Vuelta, so there's a significant chance the GC guys will be saving their firepower and/or their post-finish line utterly gutted projectile vomiting for another day, and at least one of your little gruppos will be allowed to take a victory. You go, boys--no, seriously, *go*, because if you all start d*cking around after 5 1/2 hours out front and get caught 500 meters before the line, there *will* be DS hell to pay!
And Finally, The Mountain Stages: yes, the Alpe d'Huez is *big*. And it's iconic. But it's not *here*, so forget the freakin' Tour already and look towards what the Vuelta *really* has to offer, which is gradient, sunbaked high-altitude desert, gradient, spontaneous human combustion, and *gradient.* First, we ease on down the road with Stages 7, which gives you a pan-flat introductory 80k before tossing a few easy Cat 2s and Cat 3s yer way before the nasty final climb to Mas de la Costa, and 9, which throws you helpless roadies onto 4 k of gravel before the final climb to Cortals d'Encamp, only to completely !@#$ your mojo up with the first rest day and the Stage 10 idiot individual time trial immediately thereafter. Having totally destroyed your legs by design, welcome to a triumvirate of agony on Stages 11-12-13 in the beautiful Basque Country, with "light" mountain stage 11 making you do a stupid circuit, Stage 12 welcoming you on a steep downhill to Bilbao after a tightly-packed and surprisingly leg-snappin' pile of Cat 3s, and a truly brutal Stage 13, dragging you up and down for 159k like a miserable self-propelled rollercoaster til the HC ending up Los Machucos. Wait, won't that *completely* blast out all my energy in the middle of my race for no reason, leaving me with squat in the tank for Stage 15's 3 Cat 1s plus a bonus new mountaintop finish to Santuario del Acebo, and Stage 16's later-stage pain caves, much less the absolutely monstrous and purportedly decisive Stages 18, with its frightening shark's-tooth profile and a mean little uphill to the finish line, and 20, which while on paper not overly formidable does not give you a single flat meter to chill on and is still enough to screw the GC if you're one gel--or ill-timed mechanical--short? Yep, that's the plan, Stan--why they decided to play devil's advocate--or hell, just plain devil--with the Vuelta's main attractions is beyond me, but hey, at least *we're* gonna enjoy watching you from the comfort of our sangria-lubricated homes!
Well, there's your course for 2019. So while you digest (and if you're about to be riding it, regurgitate) that, let's get ready for what's next up In Preview: Yer GC Contenders! Because really, do I *need* a whole damn post about the sprinters for this unforgiving race?
The Time Trials: ugh, a cowardly, shameful part of me is almost (not actually, go to hell!) glad Mikel's not here, so at least he can't get screwed *again.* There's two: a 36k individual time trial on Stage 10 that starts (and startles) the specialists with an uphill almost right out the gate, then proceeds with a couple 'nother deceptively nippy lumps before the final 4 k or so plateau, and every flyweight's nemesis, the team time trial on Stage 1, which actually at 13-odd k you'd hope wouldn't hose anyone you care about before the race even begins, but then again, famous last words, the GC's been gobsmacked by less. Just--*please* don't let those twitchy legs derail you the first day, gentlemen!
The Sprints: hey, quit laughing! There's allegedly six, which are sadistically scattered mostly later on about stages 3, 4, 14, 17, 19 and 21, either to make those lazy flat-landers suffer completely needlessly through mountains they can't get up without a ski lift until the very last damn day, or to--well, that's pretty much the only reason I can think of! Bonus !@#$-youlerry--Stage 17 from Aranda de Duero to Guadalajara, though theoretically mercifully after the second rest day, is also by far the longest stage, at 219 kilometers. This ain't no foregone prance around the Champs with all (well, both) the other fast men you started with--good luck making it to the last one, or even past Stage 14, suckers!
The Rollers: 2, 5, 6, 8, who do we appreciate? The breakaways, the breakaways, yeeeaaaaahhhhhhh! By contrast to this relative sprint fest, there's a mere 4 "hilly" stages, which means that all the Classics guys looking for a late-season playground are gonna realize as they're excitedly ramping up for their inevitable win that they've actually got about 58k to go and dammit, it's all uphill. On the plus side, it *is* the Vuelta, so there's a significant chance the GC guys will be saving their firepower and/or their post-finish line utterly gutted projectile vomiting for another day, and at least one of your little gruppos will be allowed to take a victory. You go, boys--no, seriously, *go*, because if you all start d*cking around after 5 1/2 hours out front and get caught 500 meters before the line, there *will* be DS hell to pay!
And Finally, The Mountain Stages: yes, the Alpe d'Huez is *big*. And it's iconic. But it's not *here*, so forget the freakin' Tour already and look towards what the Vuelta *really* has to offer, which is gradient, sunbaked high-altitude desert, gradient, spontaneous human combustion, and *gradient.* First, we ease on down the road with Stages 7, which gives you a pan-flat introductory 80k before tossing a few easy Cat 2s and Cat 3s yer way before the nasty final climb to Mas de la Costa, and 9, which throws you helpless roadies onto 4 k of gravel before the final climb to Cortals d'Encamp, only to completely !@#$ your mojo up with the first rest day and the Stage 10 idiot individual time trial immediately thereafter. Having totally destroyed your legs by design, welcome to a triumvirate of agony on Stages 11-12-13 in the beautiful Basque Country, with "light" mountain stage 11 making you do a stupid circuit, Stage 12 welcoming you on a steep downhill to Bilbao after a tightly-packed and surprisingly leg-snappin' pile of Cat 3s, and a truly brutal Stage 13, dragging you up and down for 159k like a miserable self-propelled rollercoaster til the HC ending up Los Machucos. Wait, won't that *completely* blast out all my energy in the middle of my race for no reason, leaving me with squat in the tank for Stage 15's 3 Cat 1s plus a bonus new mountaintop finish to Santuario del Acebo, and Stage 16's later-stage pain caves, much less the absolutely monstrous and purportedly decisive Stages 18, with its frightening shark's-tooth profile and a mean little uphill to the finish line, and 20, which while on paper not overly formidable does not give you a single flat meter to chill on and is still enough to screw the GC if you're one gel--or ill-timed mechanical--short? Yep, that's the plan, Stan--why they decided to play devil's advocate--or hell, just plain devil--with the Vuelta's main attractions is beyond me, but hey, at least *we're* gonna enjoy watching you from the comfort of our sangria-lubricated homes!
Well, there's your course for 2019. So while you digest (and if you're about to be riding it, regurgitate) that, let's get ready for what's next up In Preview: Yer GC Contenders! Because really, do I *need* a whole damn post about the sprinters for this unforgiving race?
Sunday, July 28, 2019
It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious Tour de France Racejunkie Awards!
Feeling glum this morning from your annual post-Tour de France hangover? Hoarse from proudly singing "La Marseillaise" for 3 straight weeks when, it just now occurs to you, you are not even French? Suddenly horrified by the cold realization that even though it was the first halfway interesting Tour in ages, SkyIneos *still* bagged the top two spots on GC? Well weep no more, honey, because if you've got the fever, yeah, we've got the cure--It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious Tour de France racejunkie Awards! Prizes--honest, if anyone legit should be so bold, so desperate, or so oddly masochistic as to claim them--(1) a dashing custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; (2) a passel of handsome racejunkie stickers to vandalize the belongings of that jack!@# you thought really *should* have been awarded your embarrassing prize; and (3) a genuine metal/plastic hybrid promotional statuette thingy reclaimed from the junk shop for some Millennial snowflake's childhood "participation" prize in the TinyTown Elementary School's Annual "Red Rover, Red Rover" Invitational Tournament. So let's take a deep breath, get ourselves a nice comforting croissant to celebrate our achievements, and get down to the awards show!
Class Act o' the Tour: Stage 18. Julian Alaphilippe, seeing a wee wet boy shivering in the cold as he panted across the line after yet another successful defense of his leader's jersey, doffs his maillot jaune without a thought and wraps the munchkin up in it to warm him. Do you realize what kind of apocalyptic world catastrophe it'd take for Armstrong to give up that thing? Yeah, I don't really think he would either. So there's that, and even--perhaps especially--in defeat, Alaphilippe carried the yellow jersey with humility, profound appreciation, and grace. Chapeau Julian--and get that guy some compensatory arm-warmers before his muscles lock up!
Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: Usually, this one goes to Valverde in any race he's in, and frankly, he came close when, on the penultimate day of the Tour, he attacked and outsprinted Mikel Landa in his desperate charge for second place after Vincenzo Nibali, though in relative terms, for Bala, the rainbow stripes seem to have given him inner peace. But this time, we've got a dual celebration in the Ineos/Jumbo Visma matchup of Luke Rowe and Tony Martin. Tragically, even a post-disqualification joint apology video didn't convince the race organizers to undo their decision to ignominiously eject them from the race. And honestly, with a closely watching Peter Sagan highly likely to pop a wheelie on their skulls after he was tossed outta the race for way less hostility two years ago, who can blame 'em? While what happened is a little unclear from the video, Ineos' (reason enough to condemn him) Luke Rowe grabs Jumbo Visma's Kruijswijk. Jumbo's Tony Martin nudges Rowe. Rowe punches Martin. Martin *really* nudges Rowe. It's like a mobile game of rock-paper-scissors, except everyone punches each other and no-one wins!
Wait, *Which* Ewan Again? Award: no, not legendary master of sprint-finish argy-bargy Robbie McEwen--he's commentating! But while I normally don't take undue interest in sprinters, I gotta give this one to Caleb Ewan, who snuck outta nowhere to not only take 2, but *three* sprints in a race traditionally chock full o' the best in the business, including the iconic finale on the Champs-Elysees. Nicely done--but everyone's sure gonna be on guard against you next year, so enjoy this triumph while you can!
There's a Fine Line Between Clever and Stupid Award: speaking of commentators, love 'im or hate 'im--it was a baffling, disgusting, and on reflection wily move for NBCSN to bring in none other than beyond-disgraced 7-time not-winner of the Tour de France Lance Armstrong for some cheerful analysis with, even more surprisingly, not even an ounce of apparent second thoughts by the NBC desk, which, to be fair, *was* disproportionately stocked with his former teammates. Needless to say, the couch peloton went nuts with moral indignation, and Armstrong, well, probably just garnered another 8 million listeners for his podcast and a fifteenth home in Tahoe. That's some chutzpah, NBC--but as long as you're all about redemption, why not give Floyd Landis a chance next year? We *know* it'll be a lot more chill, after all!
Slow and Steady Wins the Ra--No, It *Doesn't*! It !@#$s Up the GC *Every* Time! Prize: !@#dammit Movistar, I know your roster full of two-ounce climbers is completely helpless against the vicious blast of a headwind, a tailwind, a cross-wind, or even an emphatic snort of disapproval. But team time trials are no longer a specialty discipline or an irrelevant luxury, and unless they are actually mere handfuls of centimeters, you guys are absolutely screwed on GC *forever* unless you get everyone in the windtunnel and, I don't know, replace them with Quick Step altogether. I'm tired of seeing Mikel hosed on GC on the first day--get your house in order this winter dammit!
Crash o' the Race (Ah Jaysus! Edition): Wout van Aert's leg-slicing collision with one of those known-hazard sticky-outy footed barriers, which went *right* down to the bone and freaked even cross-tough van Aert out to look at it. Hey, those chef's-knife disc brakes aren't starting to look half so bad by comparison, amirite?
Crash o' the Race (Not Really GC-Deciding But Still Really Upsetting and We're So Glad He's Okay Edition): and, this one's for Astana's poor Dauphine champ Jakob Fuglsang, who really *was* doing quite well when he endured an excruciating fly over his handlebars in a Stage 16 tangle and, in severe pain but fortunately no fractures, obliged to withdraw from the race. Get well soon Jakob--perhaps this will inspire you to even greater vengeance on the road next year!
Crash o' the Race (Just Plain Weird Edition): Geraint Thomas's umpteenth crash this Tour, which is weird enough--but this time, a random and seemingly wholly unnecessary wipeout on a harmless corner where allegedly his "gears jammed up." Um, reviewing the footage with the eagle eye of an armchair jurist, isn't it rather more likely he just, well, messed up? Man, was that a spectacular--if thankfully harmless--pratfall! At least he wasn't on Moscon's bike when it completely disintegrated....
Smile Like You Mean It Prize: meantime, bless the hopelessly overwhelmed PR folks over at Movistar, who spent the greater part of their days at the Tour de France this year not touting the GC and stage performances of their riders, but forcing Nairo Quintana, Mikel Landa, and Alejandro Valverde together into a thousand awkward photo shots and videos with agonized grins on their faces like a show full of freezing bikini beauty-pageant contestants killing their feet in 5 inch stilettos. Fine, Movistar, make 'em smile--but did you *really* need to make Landa get a tattoo of Nairo's face on his !@# after that stage win? Cold!
Mr. Clean Award: to the Tour de France organizers for hiring two actual full-time employees to cover up (1) penises and (2) let's face it, they mainly care about penises, painted on the roadway for the delectation of the riders, motos, race helicopters, and fans watching intently at home. Damn, there goes my plan to pay thousands of dollars to fly thousands of miles across the Atlantic to visit the TdF specifically to paint a florid, anatomically-accurate vajayjay smack on the finish line of the Galibier next year--killjoys!
(Swat Me On the) Moon/And Let Me Play Among the Stars Award: and, in the annals of fan !@#$wittery, it would be almost rude not to mention Stage 10, when one enterprising fan (actually, one among several) mooned the peloton *and* the cameras right on the edge of the tarmac, only to be surprised by a distinctly unimpressed (and lucky for him, unidentified) Bahrain-Merida rider, who smacked the offending spectator on the !@# so hard in return it left an actual visible palm-print on the perp. Wow, that's even a better souvenir than a water bottle--just be careful what you bare to the peloton *next* year or you might *really* get hurt!
That's So Money! Award: Think you know how to handle a bike? Well get over yourself, you poseur--the Saganator can sign an autograph in his own book for a fan running beside him *while he was pedaling uphill.* Wheelie my !@#--Sagan, you're gonna have a tough time outdoing yourself here!
You Suck ASO Prize o' 2019: La Course? La f!@# !
Don't Forget the Alamo (Waterloo, Whatever) Prize: Alaphilippe's valiant defense of the maillot jaune. How many press conferences can you have with some asshat asking what it's like to be about to lose the leader's jersey way before you actually do it? About 12, apparently--suck it, haters, this guy really rose to the occasion in style!
Fan !@!#wit Award: Running alongside the lead group in a day-glo mankini? Yawn. Lighting a smoke flare right into the lungs of some poor sucker who's already gasping at 12000 feet? Amateur hour! Jumping over the peloton on a mountain bike, *again*? An inevitable disaster, but not this year. Kudos to the fan who, just edging out the trou-dropping butt-slapped guy, didn't even need a selfie stick to clock Niccolo Bonifazio upside the head smack in the middle of the final sprint with her cellphone camera and send it--but, miraculously, not him--flying. Lucky Bernard Hinault wasn't there to tackle her--do we have to go over the fan etiquette rules *again*, people?
Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' the Race: first, there weren't photos or film of Chris Froome's alleged "catastrophic injury". Then, there were--but stop right there, buddy, they weren't gory *enough.* Finally, he was shown pedaling with one leg, with knee scrapes that appeared to match up to earlier pics but WITHOUT AN ACTUAL LEG BONE STICKING OUT OF HIS BUSTED CLAVICLE SO CLEARLY IT'S ALL A FARCE SHEEPLE! But that's nothing compared to the epic race-deciding !@#$-up that was Stage 19, where pro-Ineos James Bond villians with humungous weather machines conspired to set up both a pounding hailstorm *and* a viscous mountain-melting mudslide and knock the crucial climb up the Cat 1 Montee de Tignes outta the Tour, render completely meaningless the thoughtful long-range stage tactics of the favored maillot jaune, and catapult the lucky Colombian (and let's be honest, the strongest overall climber in this year's race, despite the lack of a stage win) Egan Bernal to certain victory in Paris on top of a two-man Ineos podium, all to exalt the most notorious pack of oily dirtbags since DiscoveryPostal and be the sole reason the French haven't been able to pull their !@#$ together to win their own Grand Tour in two decades. Damn you Dr. No--uh, Blofeld--um, Goldfinger--that's right, Brailsford you wily bastard!
Snit Fit o' 2019: Rohan Dennis is in the breakaway one day ahead of his wholly expected triumph in the next-day's prestigious time trial. Suddenly, he pulls off to the side of the course--his Tour de France is over. Is it a mechanical? A bee sting? A stomach ailment of Dumoulinesque proportions? No, in the end it sounded less like some kind of physical or mental condition in need of sympathy, help, and treatment, and more like "garden-variety prima-donna !@#hole." On the other hand, Bahrain, you got buckets o' money, and some of the best industry sponsors on the planet. You couldn't get your !@#$ together to pony up a time trial bike and skinsuit he liked *before* the start line? How !@#$ing hard is *that* when this stage has been a primary goal all season? Gentility points, though, for "allowing" him to break his contract by August 1 penalty-free, rather'n simply firing his !@# for violating the standard cycling "don't be a d*ckhead* clause. Well, at least we know one of these two will continue to race next year!
Joie de Vivre Award: Look, emotions run high at the Tour. And when you're a French team with a French rider taking an iconic French mountaintop victory, things *really* get happy. Marc Madiot's (and let's face it, the whole entire team car to boot's) reaction to Thibaut Pinot's Stage 15 triumph on the Tourmalet. Someone grab that guy before he bounces off into space he's jumping so high!
Totally Irrelevant Oh My Word Did You Even See This News? Award: there's a baby Pippo Pozzato! there's a baby Pippo Pozzato! You may now return to your regularly scheduled big-deal race that's going on this month that I can't even remember what it is. There's a baby Pippo Pozzato!
Screw You ASO You Retrograde Neanderthals! Prize: In the face of repeated assurances that women can't handle racing a real Tour de France, there's not a cent to be put towards its realization, and that even if the delicate pile of scary woman-parts *could* do it, no-one would watch it anyway, desellesauvelo rode the entire Tour de France route one day ahead of the men's race, with hardly any support, no whirlwind Tour de France circus-atmosphere glory, in full traffic, and with ginormous crowds wherever they went. And not only did they ride the men's Tour de France--they actually rode *more* than theirs, because the women made it through before the stage 19 and 20s course-shortening landslides truncated the men's race by considerable kilometers and a coupla truly monstrous climbs. Can we cut the Victorian wilting-flower crap and give them--and us--the race they deserve already?!
I'm Not Crying You're Crying! Award: Oh, there's been so many. Guilio Ciccone--the first Italian to wear the maillot jaune in ages--clutching his fuzzy lion mascot *so* very tenderly. The utter exhaustion of Alaphillipe hurling for the cameras in his herculean effort to keep, and honor, his maillot jaune, which *nobody* expected him to keep this long. But *this* was enough to crack even the most hard-hearted cynic to the core. Stage 19. Pinot in tears as rumors fly he's got a wasp sting, later determined to be a handlebar-bashed deep muscle bruise, as he loses minutes desperately seeking help at the medical car, then sobbing as teammate puts his arms around him and holds his bike as he climbs off & gets into the team car. Those aren't tears, you sentimental simp--it's just water running outta my eyes like a dike just broke!
Domestique o' the Race: last but not least, in an impressive turn of events at SkyIneos, defending Tour de France champ Geraint Thomas, apparently seeing the writing on the road after Dave Brailsford wrote him off with the press as a real contender for his own title for a solid month before the race even began, and completely chucked him out the window as even a bidon carrier after the first mountain stage--and after he was easily outclimbed by his wee lieutenant at every opportunity-- sucked it up, played nice, and, after briefly bitching at the spectators for not being respectful enough, turned his attention to Egan Bernal and, to his credit, buckled down and genuinely supported him like a champ. Oh G, glory is so fleeting--glad you handled your ejection from leadership with grace!
Well folks, that wraps up another Tour de France. Now finish that Champagne, claim your prizes, and let's all get ready for the Vuelta!
Class Act o' the Tour: Stage 18. Julian Alaphilippe, seeing a wee wet boy shivering in the cold as he panted across the line after yet another successful defense of his leader's jersey, doffs his maillot jaune without a thought and wraps the munchkin up in it to warm him. Do you realize what kind of apocalyptic world catastrophe it'd take for Armstrong to give up that thing? Yeah, I don't really think he would either. So there's that, and even--perhaps especially--in defeat, Alaphilippe carried the yellow jersey with humility, profound appreciation, and grace. Chapeau Julian--and get that guy some compensatory arm-warmers before his muscles lock up!
Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: Usually, this one goes to Valverde in any race he's in, and frankly, he came close when, on the penultimate day of the Tour, he attacked and outsprinted Mikel Landa in his desperate charge for second place after Vincenzo Nibali, though in relative terms, for Bala, the rainbow stripes seem to have given him inner peace. But this time, we've got a dual celebration in the Ineos/Jumbo Visma matchup of Luke Rowe and Tony Martin. Tragically, even a post-disqualification joint apology video didn't convince the race organizers to undo their decision to ignominiously eject them from the race. And honestly, with a closely watching Peter Sagan highly likely to pop a wheelie on their skulls after he was tossed outta the race for way less hostility two years ago, who can blame 'em? While what happened is a little unclear from the video, Ineos' (reason enough to condemn him) Luke Rowe grabs Jumbo Visma's Kruijswijk. Jumbo's Tony Martin nudges Rowe. Rowe punches Martin. Martin *really* nudges Rowe. It's like a mobile game of rock-paper-scissors, except everyone punches each other and no-one wins!
Wait, *Which* Ewan Again? Award: no, not legendary master of sprint-finish argy-bargy Robbie McEwen--he's commentating! But while I normally don't take undue interest in sprinters, I gotta give this one to Caleb Ewan, who snuck outta nowhere to not only take 2, but *three* sprints in a race traditionally chock full o' the best in the business, including the iconic finale on the Champs-Elysees. Nicely done--but everyone's sure gonna be on guard against you next year, so enjoy this triumph while you can!
There's a Fine Line Between Clever and Stupid Award: speaking of commentators, love 'im or hate 'im--it was a baffling, disgusting, and on reflection wily move for NBCSN to bring in none other than beyond-disgraced 7-time not-winner of the Tour de France Lance Armstrong for some cheerful analysis with, even more surprisingly, not even an ounce of apparent second thoughts by the NBC desk, which, to be fair, *was* disproportionately stocked with his former teammates. Needless to say, the couch peloton went nuts with moral indignation, and Armstrong, well, probably just garnered another 8 million listeners for his podcast and a fifteenth home in Tahoe. That's some chutzpah, NBC--but as long as you're all about redemption, why not give Floyd Landis a chance next year? We *know* it'll be a lot more chill, after all!
Slow and Steady Wins the Ra--No, It *Doesn't*! It !@#$s Up the GC *Every* Time! Prize: !@#dammit Movistar, I know your roster full of two-ounce climbers is completely helpless against the vicious blast of a headwind, a tailwind, a cross-wind, or even an emphatic snort of disapproval. But team time trials are no longer a specialty discipline or an irrelevant luxury, and unless they are actually mere handfuls of centimeters, you guys are absolutely screwed on GC *forever* unless you get everyone in the windtunnel and, I don't know, replace them with Quick Step altogether. I'm tired of seeing Mikel hosed on GC on the first day--get your house in order this winter dammit!
Crash o' the Race (Ah Jaysus! Edition): Wout van Aert's leg-slicing collision with one of those known-hazard sticky-outy footed barriers, which went *right* down to the bone and freaked even cross-tough van Aert out to look at it. Hey, those chef's-knife disc brakes aren't starting to look half so bad by comparison, amirite?
Crash o' the Race (Not Really GC-Deciding But Still Really Upsetting and We're So Glad He's Okay Edition): and, this one's for Astana's poor Dauphine champ Jakob Fuglsang, who really *was* doing quite well when he endured an excruciating fly over his handlebars in a Stage 16 tangle and, in severe pain but fortunately no fractures, obliged to withdraw from the race. Get well soon Jakob--perhaps this will inspire you to even greater vengeance on the road next year!
Crash o' the Race (Just Plain Weird Edition): Geraint Thomas's umpteenth crash this Tour, which is weird enough--but this time, a random and seemingly wholly unnecessary wipeout on a harmless corner where allegedly his "gears jammed up." Um, reviewing the footage with the eagle eye of an armchair jurist, isn't it rather more likely he just, well, messed up? Man, was that a spectacular--if thankfully harmless--pratfall! At least he wasn't on Moscon's bike when it completely disintegrated....
Smile Like You Mean It Prize: meantime, bless the hopelessly overwhelmed PR folks over at Movistar, who spent the greater part of their days at the Tour de France this year not touting the GC and stage performances of their riders, but forcing Nairo Quintana, Mikel Landa, and Alejandro Valverde together into a thousand awkward photo shots and videos with agonized grins on their faces like a show full of freezing bikini beauty-pageant contestants killing their feet in 5 inch stilettos. Fine, Movistar, make 'em smile--but did you *really* need to make Landa get a tattoo of Nairo's face on his !@# after that stage win? Cold!
Mr. Clean Award: to the Tour de France organizers for hiring two actual full-time employees to cover up (1) penises and (2) let's face it, they mainly care about penises, painted on the roadway for the delectation of the riders, motos, race helicopters, and fans watching intently at home. Damn, there goes my plan to pay thousands of dollars to fly thousands of miles across the Atlantic to visit the TdF specifically to paint a florid, anatomically-accurate vajayjay smack on the finish line of the Galibier next year--killjoys!
(Swat Me On the) Moon/And Let Me Play Among the Stars Award: and, in the annals of fan !@#$wittery, it would be almost rude not to mention Stage 10, when one enterprising fan (actually, one among several) mooned the peloton *and* the cameras right on the edge of the tarmac, only to be surprised by a distinctly unimpressed (and lucky for him, unidentified) Bahrain-Merida rider, who smacked the offending spectator on the !@# so hard in return it left an actual visible palm-print on the perp. Wow, that's even a better souvenir than a water bottle--just be careful what you bare to the peloton *next* year or you might *really* get hurt!
That's So Money! Award: Think you know how to handle a bike? Well get over yourself, you poseur--the Saganator can sign an autograph in his own book for a fan running beside him *while he was pedaling uphill.* Wheelie my !@#--Sagan, you're gonna have a tough time outdoing yourself here!
You Suck ASO Prize o' 2019: La Course? La f!@# !
Don't Forget the Alamo (Waterloo, Whatever) Prize: Alaphilippe's valiant defense of the maillot jaune. How many press conferences can you have with some asshat asking what it's like to be about to lose the leader's jersey way before you actually do it? About 12, apparently--suck it, haters, this guy really rose to the occasion in style!
Fan !@!#wit Award: Running alongside the lead group in a day-glo mankini? Yawn. Lighting a smoke flare right into the lungs of some poor sucker who's already gasping at 12000 feet? Amateur hour! Jumping over the peloton on a mountain bike, *again*? An inevitable disaster, but not this year. Kudos to the fan who, just edging out the trou-dropping butt-slapped guy, didn't even need a selfie stick to clock Niccolo Bonifazio upside the head smack in the middle of the final sprint with her cellphone camera and send it--but, miraculously, not him--flying. Lucky Bernard Hinault wasn't there to tackle her--do we have to go over the fan etiquette rules *again*, people?
Paranoid Conspiracy Theory o' the Race: first, there weren't photos or film of Chris Froome's alleged "catastrophic injury". Then, there were--but stop right there, buddy, they weren't gory *enough.* Finally, he was shown pedaling with one leg, with knee scrapes that appeared to match up to earlier pics but WITHOUT AN ACTUAL LEG BONE STICKING OUT OF HIS BUSTED CLAVICLE SO CLEARLY IT'S ALL A FARCE SHEEPLE! But that's nothing compared to the epic race-deciding !@#$-up that was Stage 19, where pro-Ineos James Bond villians with humungous weather machines conspired to set up both a pounding hailstorm *and* a viscous mountain-melting mudslide and knock the crucial climb up the Cat 1 Montee de Tignes outta the Tour, render completely meaningless the thoughtful long-range stage tactics of the favored maillot jaune, and catapult the lucky Colombian (and let's be honest, the strongest overall climber in this year's race, despite the lack of a stage win) Egan Bernal to certain victory in Paris on top of a two-man Ineos podium, all to exalt the most notorious pack of oily dirtbags since DiscoveryPostal and be the sole reason the French haven't been able to pull their !@#$ together to win their own Grand Tour in two decades. Damn you Dr. No--uh, Blofeld--um, Goldfinger--that's right, Brailsford you wily bastard!
Snit Fit o' 2019: Rohan Dennis is in the breakaway one day ahead of his wholly expected triumph in the next-day's prestigious time trial. Suddenly, he pulls off to the side of the course--his Tour de France is over. Is it a mechanical? A bee sting? A stomach ailment of Dumoulinesque proportions? No, in the end it sounded less like some kind of physical or mental condition in need of sympathy, help, and treatment, and more like "garden-variety prima-donna !@#hole." On the other hand, Bahrain, you got buckets o' money, and some of the best industry sponsors on the planet. You couldn't get your !@#$ together to pony up a time trial bike and skinsuit he liked *before* the start line? How !@#$ing hard is *that* when this stage has been a primary goal all season? Gentility points, though, for "allowing" him to break his contract by August 1 penalty-free, rather'n simply firing his !@# for violating the standard cycling "don't be a d*ckhead* clause. Well, at least we know one of these two will continue to race next year!
Joie de Vivre Award: Look, emotions run high at the Tour. And when you're a French team with a French rider taking an iconic French mountaintop victory, things *really* get happy. Marc Madiot's (and let's face it, the whole entire team car to boot's) reaction to Thibaut Pinot's Stage 15 triumph on the Tourmalet. Someone grab that guy before he bounces off into space he's jumping so high!
Totally Irrelevant Oh My Word Did You Even See This News? Award: there's a baby Pippo Pozzato! there's a baby Pippo Pozzato! You may now return to your regularly scheduled big-deal race that's going on this month that I can't even remember what it is. There's a baby Pippo Pozzato!
Screw You ASO You Retrograde Neanderthals! Prize: In the face of repeated assurances that women can't handle racing a real Tour de France, there's not a cent to be put towards its realization, and that even if the delicate pile of scary woman-parts *could* do it, no-one would watch it anyway, desellesauvelo rode the entire Tour de France route one day ahead of the men's race, with hardly any support, no whirlwind Tour de France circus-atmosphere glory, in full traffic, and with ginormous crowds wherever they went. And not only did they ride the men's Tour de France--they actually rode *more* than theirs, because the women made it through before the stage 19 and 20s course-shortening landslides truncated the men's race by considerable kilometers and a coupla truly monstrous climbs. Can we cut the Victorian wilting-flower crap and give them--and us--the race they deserve already?!
I'm Not Crying You're Crying! Award: Oh, there's been so many. Guilio Ciccone--the first Italian to wear the maillot jaune in ages--clutching his fuzzy lion mascot *so* very tenderly. The utter exhaustion of Alaphillipe hurling for the cameras in his herculean effort to keep, and honor, his maillot jaune, which *nobody* expected him to keep this long. But *this* was enough to crack even the most hard-hearted cynic to the core. Stage 19. Pinot in tears as rumors fly he's got a wasp sting, later determined to be a handlebar-bashed deep muscle bruise, as he loses minutes desperately seeking help at the medical car, then sobbing as teammate puts his arms around him and holds his bike as he climbs off & gets into the team car. Those aren't tears, you sentimental simp--it's just water running outta my eyes like a dike just broke!
Domestique o' the Race: last but not least, in an impressive turn of events at SkyIneos, defending Tour de France champ Geraint Thomas, apparently seeing the writing on the road after Dave Brailsford wrote him off with the press as a real contender for his own title for a solid month before the race even began, and completely chucked him out the window as even a bidon carrier after the first mountain stage--and after he was easily outclimbed by his wee lieutenant at every opportunity-- sucked it up, played nice, and, after briefly bitching at the spectators for not being respectful enough, turned his attention to Egan Bernal and, to his credit, buckled down and genuinely supported him like a champ. Oh G, glory is so fleeting--glad you handled your ejection from leadership with grace!
Well folks, that wraps up another Tour de France. Now finish that Champagne, claim your prizes, and let's all get ready for the Vuelta!
Sunday, July 21, 2019
It's Yer Tour de France Rest Day Deux Roundup!
We made it past the time trial (except, basically, Movistar). We made it through the first rest day. And now, we've made it through the Pyrenees. So before we hit the (now) race-deciding Alps, it's time to take a deep breath and, in order to better understand where we're going, reflect on where we've been. So what the hell's been going on on one of the least-boring Tours de France in recent memory? This!
1. WHY THE !@#$ ARE WE STILL USING THOSE !@#$ING BARRIERS WITH THE METAL FEET STICKING OUT! Fer chrissakes, guys are getting cut up like deli meat out there!
2. Julian Alaphilippe. He's earned--and honored--the maillot jaune. Can we stop with the doping insinuations, and outright accusations, since he sorta cracked and definitely almost hurled up a lung clinging on to it today? At least let's give the French ten minutes to enjoy their relief from two decades of total humiliation at their own Grand Tour, why don't we!
3. Romain Bardet and Warren Barguil. Yeah, we *know.* But at least one of 'em's had at least one good day, so dang, cut 'em a little slack for once! Of course, the other irks me for all time for making Mikel Landa crash and get caught behind the split, even though he did apologize very nicely for it. And right on Thibaut Pinot!
4. I will unconditionally love Phil Liggett always. And I know, beloved cycling TV honchos around the world, if you didn't have a giant pile of dopers commentating for the sport, let's face it, coverage from damn near everywhere important would be completely silent. But FFS, NBC, putting on some unrepentant assclown who allegedly once cornered Tyler Hamilton outside a toilet to shut him down goes beyond a mere acknowledgement of reality to a complete dope-smack (oops!) of everyone--like, say, the justly legendary Greg Lemond--this guy has deliberately !@#$ed over. Next year, leave Lance out!
5. Rohan Dennis, man. Bailing out of the Tour de France mid-stage--in the freakin' breakaway, no less--the day before a stage he was widely expected to win, with nary a word of explanation to his shocked team, and no precipitating no apparent illness or imminent doping bust, just a disagreement, if evidently a massive one, over his time-trial setup and skinsuit. If it's a symptom of a broader problem, and he needs help, I genuinely hope he (and anyone else who needs it, in this pressure-cooker sport) gets it, and that the team, his compatriots, and the entire cycling world support him in every way they possibly can. But if it was just a truly epic snit by a gigantically privileged overgrown toddler--well, good luck getting a new contract next year!
6. One of those Yates is doing pretty good this Tour, amirite? Or maybe it's both of them. Whatever!
7. Jeeeeeeeeeeez, Nairo Quintana's boring to watch. What *happened* to the guy who once blazingly won the fabulous Giro?
8. The fan who got her phone knocked outta her hand by Niccolo Bonifazio's head during the stage 11 sprint. Do I *have* to repost "What Not to Do for Dimwitted Fans" every ten minutes?
9. Time trials should not decide a freakin' Grand Tour. I'm trying to help you here, Mikel!
10. Oh, La Course this year even exists? I mean, you guys *should* be embarrassed you're basically putting on a half-day crit for a pile of the best cyclists on the planet, but damn, I've seen more impassioned and wide-ranging publicity for my puny hometown's annual styrofoam recycling day for !@#$'s sake!
11. (Not) speaking of the spider-like flailing elephant in the room, a pile of guys who crashed (and crashed out) have looked *waaaaay* more gory than this happy-photo Pollyanna 'barely a boo-boo' bull!@#$ Chris Froome's PR team's been pimping. If there isn't contemporaneous photographic indisputably-dated evidence that *right now* he looks like some barfed-up human mis-digestion from "Alien", Twitter still ain't buying it you fakers!
12. Peter Sagan signed an autograph for a spectator *running beside him during the race while he was riding it*, so if you even halfway think, for even a fraction of a split second of a sub-moment of a nanoparticle, that you're a *remotely* passable bike-handler--honey, you ain't !@#%!
All right, we've made it through first half of the race. On to the Alps--time to *really* get this show on the road!
Monday, July 15, 2019
It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious Giro Rosa Racejunkie Awards!
Still recovering from the drama of 10, count 'em 10, days of smashing women's pro cycling in Italy? Still dragging your !@# after a dozen sleepless nights trying desperately to find a live feed in a language you can understand for a sum that won't make you sell a kidney? Does a certain shade of pink still tease your senses and happily invade yer dreams? Well freak out no further, fellow tifosi, because we're not done yet--it's Yer Incredibly Prestigious Giro Rosa Racejunkie Awards! Prizes, for those so proud or so desperate for attention to claim 'em (I swear): a dashing custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; a passel o' handsome racejunkie stickers to deface yer house, yer bike, or yer, well, face; and, a genuine random promotional tchotchke straight from my local second-hand haunts to display to all yer friends! So on to yer glory, or shame:
Ceeeeeeeeeelebrate Good Times, Come On (Just Not Yet) Award: hey, it's happened to the best of 'em--just ask Erik Zabel. There's nothing in front of you but the finish line, it's the biggest win of your career, you raise yer arms in justifiable triumph...and some wise!@# who didn't get the memo sneaks around you like some twerp cutting in front of you in line at the ice-cream place on a hot hot night. Lucy Kennedy (Stage 3, with Marianne Vos rocketing around her *out of freakin' nowhere*) and Nadia Quagliotto (Stage 4, bested by Letizia Borghesi's brutal bike throw)--I know you won't make this same mistake next time!
!@#$ *This* Award o' 2019: we've got an incredible race here, people--what the !@#$ is with the insane lack of coverage? *Why* am I watching 14 !@#$in' straight hours on some boring men's Grand Tour sprint stage, and I have to bust my !@#--and my wallet, and my data plan--tracking down a real feed for this one? Yes, the Italian commentary, once I got it, was great--but cripes, if we can listen to hours of yammering about some decadent disgraced aristocrat's chateaux on *one* race, we can divert some resources to actual race commentary over on this end!
Video Vanguard Award: on the flip side of this equation, Voxwomen, you *rock*! And Trek-Segafredo, not only do you have phenomenal world champ/sprint goddess/spankin' new DS Giorgia Bronzini on hand, but you're in on this too. Woot woot woot--now if you can crank up the coverage length even *more* next year, you've got your audience already!
We Will, We Will, Rock You! Prize: OH MY GOD ON ONE SINGLE STAGE THE TOUR DE FRANCE IS GOING OVER TWO METERS OF PACKED DIR--aw, shaddup and go home, you babies, between gravel grinding, bouncing over rocks out of the start gate and a pile of uphill cobbled finishes,the women were riding Paris-Roubaix half the entire !@#damn race! Geez, maybe Classics riders as GC contenders isn't so far fetched after all--at the Giro Rosa anyway!
Optics, People! Prize: look, sponsor prizes can be...quirky, whether it's a disturbingly large salami, a pleasingly ginormous St. Bernard, a humungous wheel of local cheese, or, y'know, your very own cow. And no doubt, the Giro Rosa's lovely sponsor surely meant well and acted generously when it gave one lucky stage victor a handsome cookware set. But didn't it occur to anyone it looks just a *little* odd to be giving a female champ a nice big set of "get in the kitchen and make me some pie" when no-one seems to recall a similar gift for the menfolk? Of course, it was a nice present...but you give these women a !@#$in' mop next year, and there are gonna be *riots*!
Do You Hear What I Hear? Award: not so very long ago, comely 2006 Giro champ Ivan Basso looked like he was gonna damn near deck pissed-off two time winner we love Gilberto Simoni for, not so diplomatically, calling him an "extraterrestre" for his, well, very impressive performance (which didn't seem *quite* so unfair when Basso was busted shortly thereafter). So did we really hear Italian icon Elisa Longo Borghini, in the wake of Annemiek Van Vleuten's race-smashing capture of the queen stage to Passo Fraele (after she'd been deprived of her monstrously trained-for goal, the Passo Gavia, by some piddling snowflake race-organizer concern over "landslides"), remark that she was thinking, "Ok, the alien is gone and now the race for human beings begins"? Yep, but apparently she didn't mean it that way--as Annemiek herself jokingly noted the reference the next day. I mean, she *didn't* mean it that way...right?
Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: did you *see*...well, there was that time...uh, that is...wait, am I really seeing the top cyclists of the planet in a cutthroat competition crushing each other day in and day out without sucker punches, sniveling smack talk, and cheap-!@# deliberate line interference only their mothers could love? I mean, not to go all kumbayah and sing-alongs here, I didn't exactly see anyone holding back on the tarmac--but where the hell is Valverde when you need him?
Things That Make You Go Hmmm...Prize: am I the only one who thought that the traditional parade of podium babes looked a little, well, awkward up there this year? And of course, they skipped the iconic kiss-and-lipstick-print shots. So why not eye-candy man-babes in little shorts, or a healthy, diverse mix of equal-opportunity T&A? Or better yet, baby goats? *Everyone* loves baby goats!
Breakout Star of 2019: I don't know race *you* were watching, but for sheer tenacity, major efforts in the breakaways, and relentless grinding of her competitors down to a crying nub, for my money, Soraya Paladin rode a *great* freakin' Giro Rosa. Yes, at 26 she's hardly a total newb, she had a great 2018 generally too, but here, this year, third on Stage 8 from a break, 4th on Stage 10, nearly snatched the maglia azzurra from Longo Borghini, 9th overall on GC--dang, I can't wait to see what she does next year!
And Last But Not Least, Domestique o' the Race: On the penultimate stage, she gutted herself, bypassing, then getting bypassed by, reigning world champ/perpetual threat/actual stage winner Anna Van der Breggen, all to give her excellent teammate Amanda Spratt a spot on the final podium. Not bad to have the time-slaughtering Maglia Rosa causing the carnage for you, amirite? Congrats on winning the whole Giro and all, Annemiek Van Vleuten--but this even bitchiner award is for you!
Well folks, they're short and sweet, but them's mine, and yours if you care to claim 'em--just try not to earn anything *too* embarrassing next year!
Ceeeeeeeeeelebrate Good Times, Come On (Just Not Yet) Award: hey, it's happened to the best of 'em--just ask Erik Zabel. There's nothing in front of you but the finish line, it's the biggest win of your career, you raise yer arms in justifiable triumph...and some wise!@# who didn't get the memo sneaks around you like some twerp cutting in front of you in line at the ice-cream place on a hot hot night. Lucy Kennedy (Stage 3, with Marianne Vos rocketing around her *out of freakin' nowhere*) and Nadia Quagliotto (Stage 4, bested by Letizia Borghesi's brutal bike throw)--I know you won't make this same mistake next time!
!@#$ *This* Award o' 2019: we've got an incredible race here, people--what the !@#$ is with the insane lack of coverage? *Why* am I watching 14 !@#$in' straight hours on some boring men's Grand Tour sprint stage, and I have to bust my !@#--and my wallet, and my data plan--tracking down a real feed for this one? Yes, the Italian commentary, once I got it, was great--but cripes, if we can listen to hours of yammering about some decadent disgraced aristocrat's chateaux on *one* race, we can divert some resources to actual race commentary over on this end!
Video Vanguard Award: on the flip side of this equation, Voxwomen, you *rock*! And Trek-Segafredo, not only do you have phenomenal world champ/sprint goddess/spankin' new DS Giorgia Bronzini on hand, but you're in on this too. Woot woot woot--now if you can crank up the coverage length even *more* next year, you've got your audience already!
We Will, We Will, Rock You! Prize: OH MY GOD ON ONE SINGLE STAGE THE TOUR DE FRANCE IS GOING OVER TWO METERS OF PACKED DIR--aw, shaddup and go home, you babies, between gravel grinding, bouncing over rocks out of the start gate and a pile of uphill cobbled finishes,the women were riding Paris-Roubaix half the entire !@#damn race! Geez, maybe Classics riders as GC contenders isn't so far fetched after all--at the Giro Rosa anyway!
Optics, People! Prize: look, sponsor prizes can be...quirky, whether it's a disturbingly large salami, a pleasingly ginormous St. Bernard, a humungous wheel of local cheese, or, y'know, your very own cow. And no doubt, the Giro Rosa's lovely sponsor surely meant well and acted generously when it gave one lucky stage victor a handsome cookware set. But didn't it occur to anyone it looks just a *little* odd to be giving a female champ a nice big set of "get in the kitchen and make me some pie" when no-one seems to recall a similar gift for the menfolk? Of course, it was a nice present...but you give these women a !@#$in' mop next year, and there are gonna be *riots*!
Do You Hear What I Hear? Award: not so very long ago, comely 2006 Giro champ Ivan Basso looked like he was gonna damn near deck pissed-off two time winner we love Gilberto Simoni for, not so diplomatically, calling him an "extraterrestre" for his, well, very impressive performance (which didn't seem *quite* so unfair when Basso was busted shortly thereafter). So did we really hear Italian icon Elisa Longo Borghini, in the wake of Annemiek Van Vleuten's race-smashing capture of the queen stage to Passo Fraele (after she'd been deprived of her monstrously trained-for goal, the Passo Gavia, by some piddling snowflake race-organizer concern over "landslides"), remark that she was thinking, "Ok, the alien is gone and now the race for human beings begins"? Yep, but apparently she didn't mean it that way--as Annemiek herself jokingly noted the reference the next day. I mean, she *didn't* mean it that way...right?
Punk-!@# Move o' the Race: did you *see*...well, there was that time...uh, that is...wait, am I really seeing the top cyclists of the planet in a cutthroat competition crushing each other day in and day out without sucker punches, sniveling smack talk, and cheap-!@# deliberate line interference only their mothers could love? I mean, not to go all kumbayah and sing-alongs here, I didn't exactly see anyone holding back on the tarmac--but where the hell is Valverde when you need him?
Things That Make You Go Hmmm...Prize: am I the only one who thought that the traditional parade of podium babes looked a little, well, awkward up there this year? And of course, they skipped the iconic kiss-and-lipstick-print shots. So why not eye-candy man-babes in little shorts, or a healthy, diverse mix of equal-opportunity T&A? Or better yet, baby goats? *Everyone* loves baby goats!
Breakout Star of 2019: I don't know race *you* were watching, but for sheer tenacity, major efforts in the breakaways, and relentless grinding of her competitors down to a crying nub, for my money, Soraya Paladin rode a *great* freakin' Giro Rosa. Yes, at 26 she's hardly a total newb, she had a great 2018 generally too, but here, this year, third on Stage 8 from a break, 4th on Stage 10, nearly snatched the maglia azzurra from Longo Borghini, 9th overall on GC--dang, I can't wait to see what she does next year!
And Last But Not Least, Domestique o' the Race: On the penultimate stage, she gutted herself, bypassing, then getting bypassed by, reigning world champ/perpetual threat/actual stage winner Anna Van der Breggen, all to give her excellent teammate Amanda Spratt a spot on the final podium. Not bad to have the time-slaughtering Maglia Rosa causing the carnage for you, amirite? Congrats on winning the whole Giro and all, Annemiek Van Vleuten--but this even bitchiner award is for you!
Well folks, they're short and sweet, but them's mine, and yours if you care to claim 'em--just try not to earn anything *too* embarrassing next year!
Thursday, July 04, 2019
It's Yer Tour de France in Preview, Part Trois: The Sprinteurs, The Climbeurs, and the Puncheurs!
Ok, we got the course. We got the GC (massively wrong most likely, but we got 'em)! So who can we count on for more intermittent, but no less spectacular, excitement during the Tour? These ones!
The Sprinters: CAV'S NOT HERE CAV'S NOT HERE CAV'S NOT HERE! All right, we got *that* out of our system. Neither is Nacer Bouhanni, presumably for having sucker-punched the hotel breakfast buffet for unsatisfactory muesli options, but I don't see anyone bitching about that. So who *is* around? Peter Sagan of course, and as everyone's been pointing out in horror, with baby brother Juraj in national champ victory colors, you'll be able to see him at least briefly in his native Bora jersey on Day 1 before he grabs green for good. He's like the ATV of sprints: a little unwieldy on a total flat, but fun as !@#$ with a little argy-bargy or bounce in the finale. Just *don't* pop a stupid wheelie til you cross the line, willya? Perpetual punk Gianni Moscon, which is bad news for his spindly rivals, but good news for the cattle-prod industry, which just experienced a peloton-wide run on 'em to tape to their top tubes in case a jolt of electricity is needed to fend Moscon off. Also on hand: Elia Viviani, eager to do some damage after his lackluster Giro; Dylan Groenewegen, who has been utterly en fuego this whole year; scrappy Caleb Ewan; Bling Matthews, Alexander Kristoff, Boassen Hagen-Daaz, and, best of all, we love big lug Andre Greipel, who go to hell *and* double-stuff it haters still has at least one more smashing Grand Tour victory in him. Go go Gorilla--didja see his video with his bitchin' customized new gorilla shoes?
The Puncheurs: Is there *anything* a Wout/Van/der/Whatsit can't do this year? Just write the all-caps tweets in advance right now, and save yourselves some effort later on when you're two-weeks impaired by champagne! Former world road champ Michal Kwiatkowski. LL Cool Sanchez, who at only a coupla years younger than Valverde can be counted on to bag a stage victory in damn near anything. And when you look at EF's lineup, you can't help but notice the indefatigable Simon Clarke, who though basically there to support Uran roared back from a nasty injury a ways back seemingly even stronger than before. Does that guy *ever* crack? Van Avermonster. Last year's most combative, Dan Martin. Everyone's favorite potato head Toms Skujins. And yes, Tony Martin's already won the time trial--what *else* did you expect?
The Climbeurs (besides the GC contenders): !@#$ed out of leadership from your team or a hopeless inability to avoid an echelon split or to stay in one piece during a time trial? Too valuable an asset to blow on a pointless day-long 18-man breakaway that'll inevitably collaps as you all start d*icking around 2k to the line? Well now's your chance for glory! First off--aupa grande Gorkaaaaaaa! Rigoberto Uran, who I know is gunning for GC but is really more likely to have one spectacular day amid a sea of really-darn-goodness. Romain Bardet. Aruuuuuuuu--recovering from leg-vein surgery and years of unmet expectations, not a GC threat, but, if feeling well, may go for a redemptive stage victory. Honestly, I hope this glum kid *does* get a few minutes of positive coverage from the Italian press! And, never to be underestimated, Alejandro Valverde, who has the uncanny ability to choke on GC, bushwhack his own teammates outta victory, and still, even in his scarily wasted current form, sneak a stage win like he's just parachuted outta the race helicopter. Numbnut fans--bare yer junk in a too-small speedo if you must, run up the entire Tourmalet in a cow costume--but *please* stay outta these guys' way!
The Absentees: Yes, Cav. But also Dumo and Roglic. And Philippe !@#$in' Gilbert for !@#$'s sake! Also Degenstache. And for those of you either still mourning the tragic absence of Chris Froome, or enjoying his absence but not his injuries I hope you sick freaks, rest assured that he's been completely reconstituted Westworld-style and is resting both comfortably and completely unscathed from his gory recent accident in his apparently completely unnecessary hospital bed. Damn, that *does* seem weird--oh no, now *I'm* getting dragged into the abyss!
Well folks, there's your Tour. Good luck to everyone who inevitably proves me wrong, stay outta trouble please Mikel--and let's get this gaudy show on the road!
Wednesday, July 03, 2019
It's the Giro, It's the Giro, It's the Giro Rosa!: in Preview
Feeling a strange mix of ennui and downright irritation over the Tour de France? Already writing it off as a sordid doping !@#$show? Well look no further. don your pinkest gear, and get ready to scream your Giro-lovin' heads off, *again*, because it's the Giro Rosa, baby! And even in this truncated preview, and 10-stage race, we've got buckets to cover--and thanks to Voxwomen and Trek (and RAI of course for the Italians), it's even being partially televised! So let's roll, before these bad-!@# women roll right over us:
The Stages: I don't know what the hell everyone else sees here, but to me, this is no country for the sprinters...anywhere! Stage 1: We begin in Piemonte with an 18 k, lightly lumpy team time trial from Cassano Spinola to Castellania. Stretch those legs--cause they're gonna need to be flexible from here on out! Stage 2 eases us in with a 78.3k loop which starts up to Colle del Lis, then flattens out til a slightly uphill finish. On the 104k stage 3, don't let the opening downslope fool ya--you hit the tough little climb to Tollegno at 87k to go, with 34k of uphill at the end to Piedicavallo. Oof, now I'm starting to see what we're in for!
Stage 4: welcome to beautiful Lombardia! We've got an easy start, then 1/3 of the way in to this 100k haul a hard climb at Montorfan, with the last 5k on the upswing. And as the great Giorgia Bronzini opines, this is the "easiest" stage in this year's Giro, so enjoy it while you can! As for Stage 5: bring on the pain, honey, we're in the Alps! On this queen stage, only halfway through the race mind you, we start with a nipper to Aprica before finishing the day on this year's Cima Coppi, a mountaintop finish on the iconic Passo Gavia. Ow ow ow ow! Stage 6 gives you a breather, and the time trialists a day for celebration, on a 12k individual tt which, though slightly uphill, is still a course for time trial bikes and accordingly shouldn't send *too* many shivers up the spine of the GC. Relaxed now? Great, 'cause Stage 7 is 129k with 4, count 'em 4 sharp climbs: Monte di Malo (Italian for "oh, this feels *bad*!"), Fara Vincentino, Marostica, and a painful finish at San Giorgio di Perlena. Had enough? Well toughsky-crapsky, darlin', as on Stage 8 we've got a 135k slog in the Veneto, with a sizeable climb to Andreis at 60k, then up to Clauzetto at 95k, then a brief nap til the slightly uphill final 20k. Wait, what sick freak thought *that* idea up? Stage 9: Almost there! Just a pan-flat 125k jaunt til a just plain mean 900 meters of climbing in the last 20k to Monte Montasio. Stage 10, though, brings you home in your snug podium position--assuming a preexisting obliteration on GC like last year's and no help from a few second's gain down below--mercifully finishing this smashing race with a mostly flat run except a jump to Moruzzo around 100k in, a 5k drop to *almost* the finish line except, just perfectly, a short, cobbled climb to Castello di Udine. Just don't get overeager in those corners, o tired ones!
The Players: this ain't no "half the contenders are missing" Tour de France bull!@#$--as always, we have got the absolute cream of the crop for this incredible course. Defending champ Annemiek Van Vleuten completely she-nut-whacked the field with an amazing 4 minute margin over her next competitors, last year's podium bad-!@#es Ashleigh Moolman-Pasio and Amanda Spratt, all of whom are back *and* on some pretty intimidating form this year. Bonus psych-out factor--Van Vleuten's been pretty much camped out at altitude, and scoped out the Gavia for maximum suffer-infliction ahead of time. Still, we got perpetual Van Vleuten challenger/reigning World Champ/2 time Giro Rosa winner Anna van der Breggen, who's got the ever-underestimated Chantal Blaak at her back; total whomper of a climber Cecilie Uttrup Ludwig, Katia Niewadonna--are you all crying yet?--self-proclaimed stage-hunter but also GC threat Elisa Longo Borghini with the home-court advantage, and Marianne Vos to basically make everyone whimper from the second she clips in til frankly weeks after she's already clipped out. And, shout out to American talents Leah Thomas & Katie Hall, who may not get all the press, but can certainly put on all the pressure. Can you all tell I'm falling over with excitement here?
So onwards and upwards...and upwards...and upwards--but don't worry, there's glory to be had at the top!
The Stages: I don't know what the hell everyone else sees here, but to me, this is no country for the sprinters...anywhere! Stage 1: We begin in Piemonte with an 18 k, lightly lumpy team time trial from Cassano Spinola to Castellania. Stretch those legs--cause they're gonna need to be flexible from here on out! Stage 2 eases us in with a 78.3k loop which starts up to Colle del Lis, then flattens out til a slightly uphill finish. On the 104k stage 3, don't let the opening downslope fool ya--you hit the tough little climb to Tollegno at 87k to go, with 34k of uphill at the end to Piedicavallo. Oof, now I'm starting to see what we're in for!
Stage 4: welcome to beautiful Lombardia! We've got an easy start, then 1/3 of the way in to this 100k haul a hard climb at Montorfan, with the last 5k on the upswing. And as the great Giorgia Bronzini opines, this is the "easiest" stage in this year's Giro, so enjoy it while you can! As for Stage 5: bring on the pain, honey, we're in the Alps! On this queen stage, only halfway through the race mind you, we start with a nipper to Aprica before finishing the day on this year's Cima Coppi, a mountaintop finish on the iconic Passo Gavia. Ow ow ow ow! Stage 6 gives you a breather, and the time trialists a day for celebration, on a 12k individual tt which, though slightly uphill, is still a course for time trial bikes and accordingly shouldn't send *too* many shivers up the spine of the GC. Relaxed now? Great, 'cause Stage 7 is 129k with 4, count 'em 4 sharp climbs: Monte di Malo (Italian for "oh, this feels *bad*!"), Fara Vincentino, Marostica, and a painful finish at San Giorgio di Perlena. Had enough? Well toughsky-crapsky, darlin', as on Stage 8 we've got a 135k slog in the Veneto, with a sizeable climb to Andreis at 60k, then up to Clauzetto at 95k, then a brief nap til the slightly uphill final 20k. Wait, what sick freak thought *that* idea up? Stage 9: Almost there! Just a pan-flat 125k jaunt til a just plain mean 900 meters of climbing in the last 20k to Monte Montasio. Stage 10, though, brings you home in your snug podium position--assuming a preexisting obliteration on GC like last year's and no help from a few second's gain down below--mercifully finishing this smashing race with a mostly flat run except a jump to Moruzzo around 100k in, a 5k drop to *almost* the finish line except, just perfectly, a short, cobbled climb to Castello di Udine. Just don't get overeager in those corners, o tired ones!
The Players: this ain't no "half the contenders are missing" Tour de France bull!@#$--as always, we have got the absolute cream of the crop for this incredible course. Defending champ Annemiek Van Vleuten completely she-nut-whacked the field with an amazing 4 minute margin over her next competitors, last year's podium bad-!@#es Ashleigh Moolman-Pasio and Amanda Spratt, all of whom are back *and* on some pretty intimidating form this year. Bonus psych-out factor--Van Vleuten's been pretty much camped out at altitude, and scoped out the Gavia for maximum suffer-infliction ahead of time. Still, we got perpetual Van Vleuten challenger/reigning World Champ/2 time Giro Rosa winner Anna van der Breggen, who's got the ever-underestimated Chantal Blaak at her back; total whomper of a climber Cecilie Uttrup Ludwig, Katia Niewadonna--are you all crying yet?--self-proclaimed stage-hunter but also GC threat Elisa Longo Borghini with the home-court advantage, and Marianne Vos to basically make everyone whimper from the second she clips in til frankly weeks after she's already clipped out. And, shout out to American talents Leah Thomas & Katie Hall, who may not get all the press, but can certainly put on all the pressure. Can you all tell I'm falling over with excitement here?
So onwards and upwards...and upwards...and upwards--but don't worry, there's glory to be had at the top!
Monday, July 01, 2019
It's Yer Tour de France in Preview, Part Deux: The GC Contenders!
All right, we got the course down--on to the general classification contenders! Let's see...there's Chris Froo--naw...Tom Dumou--aw, dammit! So now no matter who wins, it'll be a big pile of "what ifs" from the fans and journalists in Snarkville, and someone'll be bitching about their lack of respect in every interview for the rest of their life. So who's that gonna be? Let's take a look at these guys!
Egan Bernal and Geraint Thomas: Alberto Contador sez Egan's the frontrunner this year, and hell, who would know better? Even Geraint "Jaysus Ineos I'm the defending Tour champion for chrissake!" Thomas has effectively conceded defeat, and admirably chosen to take the high road, instead of smacking that little twerp back to windbreaker duties where he would normally belong. Still, the Tour is gonna be nothing this year if not full of surprises. Will Bernal keep up the team's clearly bull!@#$ pretense of equal status, or stamp any doubt out on the road at the first speedbump? Will G help him or hurt him--or worse, just drift backwards like dandelion fluff, and make no difference at all? Only the tarmac--and Dave Brailsford--will decide. Til then, clutch that crown while you still can, Geraint!
Warren Barguil or Thibaut Pinot: oh, please. They'll give a great run for yer money on the mountains classification. And newly-crowned French road champ Barguil is now the subject of a truly orgasmic French-press (ooo, coffee!) feeding frenzy. Problem: neither of 'em have got the team. Still, I expect some serious stage fireworks outta these boys, and a high enough GC placement to keep the press hounds howling. Prove me wrong, boys--no pressure, but the decades-wounded pride of a nation rests on your tiny shoulders!
Marianne Vo--!@#$ YOU ASO, WHERE IS THE WOMEN'S TOUR DE FRANCE ALREADY? And don't tell me some !@#$ty sprint while the !@#damn street cleaners are still out on the course sweeping up cigarette butts ahead of the men's race counts! !@#DAMMIT!
Jakob Fuglsang: just...what? What? Yeah, I like him too. But eyes on the ball, people!
Nairo Quintana: How many wheels would a wheelsucker suck if a wheelsucker could suck wheels? Well, he's bound to run out of 'em anyway, particularly if Valverde and/or Landa get annoyed enough hauling his uninspiring !#$ up the Tourmalet. If that happens, even *if* Unzue's darling's on form to attack, he's downright screwed. Good luck out there though--and I hope you didn't read what Greg Lemond had to say this morning!
Mikel Landa: Shut up! Can so either! I *know* Movistar won't let him off the leash, what with their bizarre deference to Quintana, and master tactician/recently-terrifying stick-figure Alejandro Valverde just having bagged the Spanish national road championship, the Hour Record, the Hell of the North, Eurovision, a $240 million euro contract with Barcelona, the Westminster Dog Show Best in Breed/Whippets, and the Girl Scout Troop 675 Badge for Most Cookie Sales Lifetime Achievement Award. So since you're outta there next year anyway, Mikel, why not tell Unzue to !@#$ off and make your *own* chances? I mean, remember how well you worked with Alberto that time? Now *stay* outta trouble, *don't* let Valverde get close enough to shove a bidon in your chain, and *use* those painful Pyrenees to set yerself up nice for the Alps!
Alejandro Valverde: I. Can't. Even. Except he probably can. !@#$, why not just bring Lance back to win the whole thing?
Vincenzo Nibali: boy, is he *pissed* about not winning the Giro. That said, he wrecked himself enough to make it unlikely he'll be the top man on the podium come Paris. Famous last words--this prediction'll probably end up like the opening skinnydipper scene in Jaws. Please don't hurt me for doubting you Nibs!
The Yateses: I can't remember which one was popped for doping, and which one won the Vuelta last year. I *do* remember that one of 'em said back in May that the other GC contenders for the Giro oughta be "!@#$ting their pants" in fear of him, to an excruciatingly embarrassing anticlimax. But put one seriously bruised ego and two bros together, and at least one of 'em's likely to place respectably on GC, if perhaps more likely to just bag a couple of stage wins. Wait, which of you guys is your team backing?
Enric Mas and Richie Porte: aw, lay *off* these fine riders already!
Anyhoo, you all know who *I'm* rooting for, so place yer bets accordingly against me and you'll all be damn millionaires. For heck's sake, he just needs Unzue not to !@#$ him over for *one* day! Next up: the Sprinters, the Roleurs, and the Climbeurs!
Egan Bernal and Geraint Thomas: Alberto Contador sez Egan's the frontrunner this year, and hell, who would know better? Even Geraint "Jaysus Ineos I'm the defending Tour champion for chrissake!" Thomas has effectively conceded defeat, and admirably chosen to take the high road, instead of smacking that little twerp back to windbreaker duties where he would normally belong. Still, the Tour is gonna be nothing this year if not full of surprises. Will Bernal keep up the team's clearly bull!@#$ pretense of equal status, or stamp any doubt out on the road at the first speedbump? Will G help him or hurt him--or worse, just drift backwards like dandelion fluff, and make no difference at all? Only the tarmac--and Dave Brailsford--will decide. Til then, clutch that crown while you still can, Geraint!
Warren Barguil or Thibaut Pinot: oh, please. They'll give a great run for yer money on the mountains classification. And newly-crowned French road champ Barguil is now the subject of a truly orgasmic French-press (ooo, coffee!) feeding frenzy. Problem: neither of 'em have got the team. Still, I expect some serious stage fireworks outta these boys, and a high enough GC placement to keep the press hounds howling. Prove me wrong, boys--no pressure, but the decades-wounded pride of a nation rests on your tiny shoulders!
Marianne Vo--!@#$ YOU ASO, WHERE IS THE WOMEN'S TOUR DE FRANCE ALREADY? And don't tell me some !@#$ty sprint while the !@#damn street cleaners are still out on the course sweeping up cigarette butts ahead of the men's race counts! !@#DAMMIT!
Jakob Fuglsang: just...what? What? Yeah, I like him too. But eyes on the ball, people!
Nairo Quintana: How many wheels would a wheelsucker suck if a wheelsucker could suck wheels? Well, he's bound to run out of 'em anyway, particularly if Valverde and/or Landa get annoyed enough hauling his uninspiring !#$ up the Tourmalet. If that happens, even *if* Unzue's darling's on form to attack, he's downright screwed. Good luck out there though--and I hope you didn't read what Greg Lemond had to say this morning!
Mikel Landa: Shut up! Can so either! I *know* Movistar won't let him off the leash, what with their bizarre deference to Quintana, and master tactician/recently-terrifying stick-figure Alejandro Valverde just having bagged the Spanish national road championship, the Hour Record, the Hell of the North, Eurovision, a $240 million euro contract with Barcelona, the Westminster Dog Show Best in Breed/Whippets, and the Girl Scout Troop 675 Badge for Most Cookie Sales Lifetime Achievement Award. So since you're outta there next year anyway, Mikel, why not tell Unzue to !@#$ off and make your *own* chances? I mean, remember how well you worked with Alberto that time? Now *stay* outta trouble, *don't* let Valverde get close enough to shove a bidon in your chain, and *use* those painful Pyrenees to set yerself up nice for the Alps!
Alejandro Valverde: I. Can't. Even. Except he probably can. !@#$, why not just bring Lance back to win the whole thing?
Vincenzo Nibali: boy, is he *pissed* about not winning the Giro. That said, he wrecked himself enough to make it unlikely he'll be the top man on the podium come Paris. Famous last words--this prediction'll probably end up like the opening skinnydipper scene in Jaws. Please don't hurt me for doubting you Nibs!
The Yateses: I can't remember which one was popped for doping, and which one won the Vuelta last year. I *do* remember that one of 'em said back in May that the other GC contenders for the Giro oughta be "!@#$ting their pants" in fear of him, to an excruciatingly embarrassing anticlimax. But put one seriously bruised ego and two bros together, and at least one of 'em's likely to place respectably on GC, if perhaps more likely to just bag a couple of stage wins. Wait, which of you guys is your team backing?
Enric Mas and Richie Porte: aw, lay *off* these fine riders already!
Anyhoo, you all know who *I'm* rooting for, so place yer bets accordingly against me and you'll all be damn millionaires. For heck's sake, he just needs Unzue not to !@#$ him over for *one* day! Next up: the Sprinters, the Roleurs, and the Climbeurs!
Saturday, June 29, 2019
It's Yer Tour de France in Preview, Part Un: The Course!
Look, the Tour's an obscene, decadent, Caligula-esque circus. But this year, for the notable though unfortunate absences of certain riders for whom we wish a speedy recovery if they're not actually just laughing their !@#ses off at their underwater James-Bond-villian modernist lairs far from the nefarious intrusions of antidoping controllers--and equipped with both unbearably-slowly nut-slicing stainless-steel laser tables and shark-infested feeding-freezy trapdoor-tanks in the improbable chance they *do* find their way in--we've actually got a modest shot of this year's race being (1) interesting and (2) possibly even competitive, with fun for snowball's-chance-in-hell GC contenders, sprinters, and puncheurs alike. So what've they got coming to them? This!
The Overall: Welcome to Brussels, home of the Grand Depart! This Tour's got something for everyone: plenty of sprints, some nice roll-y breather days for breakaway artists and the inevitable "next [insert iconic name that everyone desperately tries to think of that isn't Lance Armstrong]", and, of course, eye-candy mountains with buckets of opportunity for Movistar to figure out how they're gonna eat their own young, *again.* On to the specifics!
The Time Trials: Hey perfect mountain goat, want to lose the GC to some musclebound mother!@#$er who can barely climb a mountain on a !@#damn helicopter? Here's your chance! First, yer whole squad gets to screw you over with a mildy lumpy 27.6 k team time trial on Stage 2. Now, you can relax--and for heck's sake gain as much time as you can in the mountains--before Stage 13's 27.2 k bit-o-rise-y-then-pretty-darn-flat individual effort. Just--please watch out in the those corners, so we can all get back to the real race!
The Sprints: We start off the Tour in handsome Brussels with Stage 1 long 194-odd-kilometer leg-stretcher, then pick it up again on Stage 4. Then, a break for actual fun outside the final 5k before we return to Cav's Chance to Blow It on Stage 7, a bucket o' pain til the next sprint finish on Stage 10, and, after the first rest day, another shot at glory (and another fruitless play to rip the green jersey off Sagan) on stage 10. After that, you just gotta stay within the time cut for 6 more stages till the next easy jaunt on Stage 16 from Nimes to shining Nimes. And what would the Tour be without the magnificent finale on the Champs-Elysees? Yap, Sagan, yap--we still believe in you Greipel you big lug, let's cap off this season in style!
The Breakaways: Stage 3 starts off deceptively simply before delivering a nauseating roller-coaster ride for the last 30k. !@#$, I miss Gilbert already! Then, after a rest on Stage 4, stage 5 gives the hill-shy their first real leg nips as the tacticians start !@#$ing around the last 2 kilometers and--I mean, as they carefully assess their chances before going for that big last-minute surge from behind. And geez, with 5 (!) Cat 2s and two Cat 3s, Stage 8's really not joking about "hilly"--better make time for a winery-Tour refreshment as we hit the surprisingly painful road to St. Etienne! Stage 9 gives no chance for rest, though, as the unsuccessful stage hunters try for redemption with a rather hefty 7.2% gradient hump 13k out from the finish in Brioude. If you've blown all of that, though, you've still got a shot on Stage 17 with a likely decisive schlep 10k from the finish line. Team cars, now is *not* the time to drop trou on your breakaway guys!
The Mountains: Sure, the Tour's "mountain" stages basically grandfather in a coupla the Giro or Vuelta's definition of "hilly" stages, but still, there's pain enough! We start off the *real* race on Stage 7 to La Planche des Belles Filles (French for "Plank of the Podium Babes"), with 3 nasty Cat 1 climbs sandwiching a coupla Cat 2s and a throwaway Cat 3. Welcome to the Tour the France, kids! Then, after the first rest day and a flat stage that you all better stay upright on and ahead of any crosswinds dammit Mikel, Stage 12 welcomes us with a gentle valley start before pitching us onto the legendary Peyresourde, then the Cat 1, 7.5% Hourquette d'Anzican before a bit of a recovery descent to the finish. *Don't* try to descend out of your league, you-know-who-you-ares! If you've survived the ITT on Stage 13, and haven't decided to crawl home in mortification with some bull!@#$ 'gastrointestinal distress', Stage 14 gives you a chance for an prestigious victory, or embarrassingly public defeat, up the mighty Tourmalet. Make it through that? Say hello to Stage 15, as we drag you up--really, you drag *you* up--3 Cat 1s including the spankin' new Foix Prat d'Albis, French for "we're gonna grind you up like goose liver." Ready for tomorrow's rest day? After all that wine and pate' watching you saps, I know *I* am! After leaving the lovely Pyrenees, we head into the podium-deciding Alps, with 3 opportunities to helplessly crack just on Stage 18's Col du Vars, the agonizing HC Izoard, and, if you're still not crumbling next to the road sobbing uncontrollably, the beloved (or behated, if you're riding it) Hors Categorie Galibier before a merciful--or terrifyingly exhausting--8k drop to the finish line. C'mon Sagan, you can do this one--your fans will wait all night if they have to! Finally, the short (126k) 'n' nasty, Stage 19, with Col d'Iseran 35k from the end, which would give you hope if you didn't have the Cat 1 Montee d'Tignes to overcome before you hit the hotel. Ouch! Still within spitting distance of your competitors, including your stupid unsuspecting teammate? Well Stage 20 wraps it up with the Cat 1 Cormet de Roselend (French for "stop and smell the roses on your nature break, loser, I'm attacking you now"), a chill stage 2 interval, and, for the last gasp of the Tour--and your lungs--the oxygen-deprived summit up the phenomenal Val Thorens. I just wrapped up the maillot jaune? Great--now get that camera off me while I vomit!
Of course, the Tour *still* blows in comparison to the beautiful Giro and smashing Vuelta, but you all know we're all gonna watch it anyway, if only for Landa and possibly Thibaut Pinot YouTube highlights. Speaking of whom, next up (shut up haters!): the GC contenders!
The Overall: Welcome to Brussels, home of the Grand Depart! This Tour's got something for everyone: plenty of sprints, some nice roll-y breather days for breakaway artists and the inevitable "next [insert iconic name that everyone desperately tries to think of that isn't Lance Armstrong]", and, of course, eye-candy mountains with buckets of opportunity for Movistar to figure out how they're gonna eat their own young, *again.* On to the specifics!
The Time Trials: Hey perfect mountain goat, want to lose the GC to some musclebound mother!@#$er who can barely climb a mountain on a !@#damn helicopter? Here's your chance! First, yer whole squad gets to screw you over with a mildy lumpy 27.6 k team time trial on Stage 2. Now, you can relax--and for heck's sake gain as much time as you can in the mountains--before Stage 13's 27.2 k bit-o-rise-y-then-pretty-darn-flat individual effort. Just--please watch out in the those corners, so we can all get back to the real race!
The Sprints: We start off the Tour in handsome Brussels with Stage 1 long 194-odd-kilometer leg-stretcher, then pick it up again on Stage 4. Then, a break for actual fun outside the final 5k before we return to Cav's Chance to Blow It on Stage 7, a bucket o' pain til the next sprint finish on Stage 10, and, after the first rest day, another shot at glory (and another fruitless play to rip the green jersey off Sagan) on stage 10. After that, you just gotta stay within the time cut for 6 more stages till the next easy jaunt on Stage 16 from Nimes to shining Nimes. And what would the Tour be without the magnificent finale on the Champs-Elysees? Yap, Sagan, yap--we still believe in you Greipel you big lug, let's cap off this season in style!
The Breakaways: Stage 3 starts off deceptively simply before delivering a nauseating roller-coaster ride for the last 30k. !@#$, I miss Gilbert already! Then, after a rest on Stage 4, stage 5 gives the hill-shy their first real leg nips as the tacticians start !@#$ing around the last 2 kilometers and--I mean, as they carefully assess their chances before going for that big last-minute surge from behind. And geez, with 5 (!) Cat 2s and two Cat 3s, Stage 8's really not joking about "hilly"--better make time for a winery-Tour refreshment as we hit the surprisingly painful road to St. Etienne! Stage 9 gives no chance for rest, though, as the unsuccessful stage hunters try for redemption with a rather hefty 7.2% gradient hump 13k out from the finish in Brioude. If you've blown all of that, though, you've still got a shot on Stage 17 with a likely decisive schlep 10k from the finish line. Team cars, now is *not* the time to drop trou on your breakaway guys!
The Mountains: Sure, the Tour's "mountain" stages basically grandfather in a coupla the Giro or Vuelta's definition of "hilly" stages, but still, there's pain enough! We start off the *real* race on Stage 7 to La Planche des Belles Filles (French for "Plank of the Podium Babes"), with 3 nasty Cat 1 climbs sandwiching a coupla Cat 2s and a throwaway Cat 3. Welcome to the Tour the France, kids! Then, after the first rest day and a flat stage that you all better stay upright on and ahead of any crosswinds dammit Mikel, Stage 12 welcomes us with a gentle valley start before pitching us onto the legendary Peyresourde, then the Cat 1, 7.5% Hourquette d'Anzican before a bit of a recovery descent to the finish. *Don't* try to descend out of your league, you-know-who-you-ares! If you've survived the ITT on Stage 13, and haven't decided to crawl home in mortification with some bull!@#$ 'gastrointestinal distress', Stage 14 gives you a chance for an prestigious victory, or embarrassingly public defeat, up the mighty Tourmalet. Make it through that? Say hello to Stage 15, as we drag you up--really, you drag *you* up--3 Cat 1s including the spankin' new Foix Prat d'Albis, French for "we're gonna grind you up like goose liver." Ready for tomorrow's rest day? After all that wine and pate' watching you saps, I know *I* am! After leaving the lovely Pyrenees, we head into the podium-deciding Alps, with 3 opportunities to helplessly crack just on Stage 18's Col du Vars, the agonizing HC Izoard, and, if you're still not crumbling next to the road sobbing uncontrollably, the beloved (or behated, if you're riding it) Hors Categorie Galibier before a merciful--or terrifyingly exhausting--8k drop to the finish line. C'mon Sagan, you can do this one--your fans will wait all night if they have to! Finally, the short (126k) 'n' nasty, Stage 19, with Col d'Iseran 35k from the end, which would give you hope if you didn't have the Cat 1 Montee d'Tignes to overcome before you hit the hotel. Ouch! Still within spitting distance of your competitors, including your stupid unsuspecting teammate? Well Stage 20 wraps it up with the Cat 1 Cormet de Roselend (French for "stop and smell the roses on your nature break, loser, I'm attacking you now"), a chill stage 2 interval, and, for the last gasp of the Tour--and your lungs--the oxygen-deprived summit up the phenomenal Val Thorens. I just wrapped up the maillot jaune? Great--now get that camera off me while I vomit!
Of course, the Tour *still* blows in comparison to the beautiful Giro and smashing Vuelta, but you all know we're all gonna watch it anyway, if only for Landa and possibly Thibaut Pinot YouTube highlights. Speaking of whom, next up (shut up haters!): the GC contenders!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
