Sucker-Punches! !$%holes! Team-Buying Hijinks! Yep, That's Our Dear Late-Season Road Cycling

Cyclist On a Hot Tin Roof: well, it's sure hot in more ways'n one over at the steaming Abu Dhabi Tour, where some curbside argy-bargy between Federico Zurlo and Paul Voss in pursuit of an intermediate sprint led to the offended Voss allegedly punching Zurlo smack in the ribs and his subsequent expulsion from the race by outraged officials. Now, dope all you want, but ungentlemanly fisticuffs, *that* we cannot tolerate! I say, let 'em face off in a post-stage wheel-spoke duel, fair and square, the last man standing gets to ride next day--hey, who *says* sprint stages are boring?

Water World: in other Abu Dhabi news, you gotta give it to Vincenzo Nibali being a cheerful water-bottle-carrier for his sprint-lovin' teammates today (as did Sagan, who still came in second). Well, get used to it Nibs--I hope you don't mind Vinokourov making you do it when he's backing whippersnapper Aru 100% at the Tour!

No Porte in a Storm: so, just as BMC tries to figure out how it's gonna integrate the Grand Tour ambitions of new signing/ex-Froome lieutenant Richie Porte with those of existing GT stalwart/tenacious brave guy Tejay Van Garderen, Porte's helpfully solved *that* mystery--he's "not coming from Team Sky to BMC just to ride the Giro." Screw you Porte you disrespectful asshat, you don't deserve the perfect Giro anyway in a rat-hole bed-bugged pup tent much less a luxury motorhome, go for the Tour so Sky *and* and* Tejay can kick your !@# into 2017 instead!

All I Want for Christmas Is a World Tour Team: meantime, Bjarne Riis and Fernando "Almost Saved Euskaltel" Alonso are now both linked to a reported bid to buy Oleg Tinkov outta his interest in Team Tinkoff-Saxo, which, now that he's left Alberto with virtually no domestique support for the Tour de France, seems like an awful lot of dough to pay only to find one of yer big stars utterly hosed off the podium later in the year. You do get new World Champ the Saganator though--and he's so cuuuuuuuuute in those stripes!

Practical Magic: finally, big points to new USA Cycling prez Derek-Bouchard-Hall, sayin' *nobody* with a doping past gets to coach USA riders from here on out. Uh, you *do* realize this basically leaves you with the food-truck vendors from the local weekend crit to choose from, right? Not that that should enter into your calculations or nothin'--but luckily, most of the likely candidates already made out with quiiiite sweet gigs after their Postal days anyway!

My Fantasy Oleg Tinkov/ Team Tinkoff-Saxo Press Conference

OT (takes podium with entire Tinkoff-Saxo squad kneeling before him): Good morning. I've called you all here today to stroke my insatiable need for attention and to address the recent rumors that, despite a couple of minor early-season victories from my chief riders that have done nothing to bring me the glory that is rightfully mine, something is very wrong here at Team Tinkoff-Saxo. First, let me say, nothing is wrong at all. Instead, we have cannily been distracting you and our fiercest rivals from our inevitable immediate sweep of each of the remaining Monuments, every one of the Grand Tours, and all other races by completely sucking so far this season. Hah, I can see we've already psyched you out, you gullible weaklings!

Second, to extent anything *is* wrong over here at Casa Oleg, it is absolutely and utterly everyone else's fault but mine. !@#&, what's the point of throwing more money than God at everyone who looks good on paper in the cycling world if you can't unjustly blame them for the way I'm handling the team? At the same time, until my minions can find a way to completely screw him financially and professionally, I also want to express my complete support for Bjarne Riis. ALRIGHT I'VE SUPPORTED YOU, NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT OR I'LL REALLY "SUSPEND" YOU, YOU INCOMPETENT IDIOT!

Finally, I am here today to announce my great and dazzling plan to fix this team. Henceforth, *I*, Oleg Tinkov, will be the *sole* rider in every race. Therefore, I will be my own team captain, superdomestique, sprinter, lead-out train, and bottle-carrying workhorse. I CAN CLIMB THE !@#$ING ALPS BEFORE THAT ALSO-RAN CONTADOR CAN EVEN FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET HIS BIB SHORTS ON IN THE MORNING, I WILL CRUSH YOU AT THE TOUR DE FRANCE FROOME YOU OVERHYPED PIECE OF !@#$!

This of course leaves you wondering what will happen to those team members who are still under contract until they generously agree to rip them up or I break their knees off. Be assured, each team member will be assigned roles fully in keeping with his million-euro superstar status and particular talents. Peter Sagan, being so fast in the sprint, will fetch me my coffee from Starbucks first thing each morning. (Sagan runs up to him with small cup) I SAID *FOURTEEN* SHOTS OF ESPRESSO, YOU IGNORANT WORM! (throws it in Sagan's face) Alberto Contador, with his peerless stamina and climbing ability, will be in charge of carrying my luggage up to and down from the 14th-floor penthouse suite of my hotel each day until he proves to me he's sorry for making me look like a total asshat in front of everybody. And of course Bjarne, with his great tactical expertise, will be in charge of keeping everyone's dirty cycling clothes properly sorted, washed, and returned to their owners in neatly labeled laundry bags by 4 a.m. each race-day morning. DOES THAT EXPENSIVE RAPHA SOCK LOOK LIKE SOMETHING I WOULD DEIGN TO LET THAT BLOCKHEAD PETER WEAR WHILE HE STILL FAILS SO BADLY? HE'LL WEAR UNBEARABLY ITCHY SACKCLOTH KIT UNTIL FLANDERS IS MINE, MINE, MINE!

This concludes our morning press conference. Thank you for coming and I am truly humbled by your attendance. NOW KEEP YOUR EYES GLUED TO MY TWITTER FEED UNTIL I POST A PICTURE OF MYSELF LEAPING SAFELY BACK TO EARTH FROM THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION WITHOUT SOME WUSSY LITTLE "PARACHUTE" OR "OXYGEN" FIFTEEN MINUTES AND FORTY SECONDS FROM NOW, YOU COWERING LIFELESS LEECHES!

!#$!, What's the Return Policy on a 6.3 Million Euro Pro Cyclist Again? Oleg Tinkov Freaks Out

Desperado: yeah, it's lookin' desperate over at Rancho Tinkoff all right, as rakish-n-almost-resultsless Peter Sagan blows Oleg's--uh, his own--first big goal of the season at Sanremo with an indifferent 4th and, at the start of his second pre-Tour showdown with Chris Froome at the Volta a Catalunya, Giro-Tour double hope Alberto Contador sez he's got a baaaad cold, so don't expect too much outta him either. Translation: the team is !@#$ed, Oleg's got no idea what to do about it, Bjarne's sacked, and Oleg's now gotta figure out some non-mutilating way to inspire his high-paid starlets but quick. !@#$, Oleg, if Alberto can't handle one cold day at Tirreno this year, what the hell do think a full-on blizzard at the Giro is gonna do to his Tour chances? Dammit, am I the only one thinkin' that if the season gets on this way, we're just gonna have Froomey and Nairo for the final maillot jaune in Paris, and that freak Valverde is gonna nail the 3d spot on the podium *again*? Fix this Oleg--I don't know if we can take this !@#$ much longer!

Degen-Stone-Kolb-Killer: meantime, the glow hasn't quite yet faded off the fine John Degenkolb's Milan-Sanremo triumph, and with this smashing run to the line after half the faves went down on the Poggio, it's easy to see why. Nice job big guy--and Cav, feel better next year!

Electric Avenue: and, after a scathing report excoriating the biopassport as a handy doping baseline (told ya), TUEs as total bull!@#$, and new-gen doping pounding the crap obsolete testing equipment, UCI's taking serious action: testing 36 *bikes* for mechanical doping at Milano-Sanremo. For !@#$'s sake, you oughta be looking for the needle marks on the riders' !@#es, not the wiring in the !@#$ing top tubes! And we *don't* need you clowns giving certain riders who creep the hell outta the whole lot of us any freakin' ideas while we're at it...

The Lament of Alberto Contador

Once I was a rising star,
Heralded both near and far,
As they said, in bike parlance,
"I think that kid is the next Lance."
For several years I proved it true,
Bagging wins upon Ventoux,
Taking Vuelta, Tour, and Giro,
Spanish cycling's doe-eyed hero.
Then came my turn with Johan Bruyneel,
That duplicitous deceptive eel,
Ripping off my captain's pants,
And handing them straight off to Lance.
Tho' I then smacked him down and all,
I got popped for clenbuterol,
Which I quickly blamed, for all to hear,
On some stoked-up crackhead steer.
So I was banned, if not for long,
Soon I rejoined the cycling throng,
Tried my best in all the races,
And put my body through its paces.
I could not ride as once I had,
My Grand Tours, once great, were bad,
Pounded by some gangly geek,
Like a two-bit last-chance domestique.
I still enjoyed my job with Riis,
Sure, I bit, but rode with peace,
And knew deep down in my heart,
I'd once more play the winner's part.
But boss Tinkov was not impressed,
Even though I did my best,
Tweeting I was overpaid and lazy,
(Which frankly beats just bat-!@#$ crazy)
Ensuring with every dope-slap tweet,
I was both in mind and body beat.
So here I am at this event,
With Oleg on World Tour domination bent,
Standing stock-still like some frightened schmo,
Cowed by Oleg Tinkov's dough.
Now I'm stuck here til 2015,
When my bud Alonso starts his team,
Til then I better freakin' win,
And turn Oleg's wrath into a grin!

Baby Got Back (To Belgium, That Is)!

It's Kuurnage, Kuurnage I Tells Ya!: yes, the early season perma-snoozeathon of perfectly flat roads (though some pretty exciting sprint finishes) is over, the fast men are kickin' back, and it's time for the hard-men o' the cobbles to come out to play at Omloop Het Nieuwsblad and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne this weekend and the upcoming big-!@# Classics, which means (1) Tom Boonen is ready to !@#$-smack every wanky naysayer who dissed 'im last season (this includes you, Lefevere!); (2) Thor Hushovd's finally gonna take Roubaix (shut up! go to hell! bite me!); and (3) Philippe Gilbert's gonna leave pretty much everyone else in the peloton crying into their beers like guys when that pilot "Goose" gets killed in "Top Gun." Me, I love underdogs, so I'm rooting for Tommeke--that is, at least til he starts seriously winning again!

Well I've Had/The Time (Trial) of My Liiiiiii-iiife: and, it's exceedingly bitchin' to see smashing comic-con fan-boy/aero-king Dave Zabriskie tearin' up the tarmac at the Tour of Langkawi, which so far as I can tell means just one thing--yap, yap, one of the best riders of his generation, yap, legacy, yap, papa's gonna be gettin' himself a whoooooooooooole lot of new action figures! You go, Dave--and nice ride! >

Mario "The Chest"'s Words o' Wisdom: man, not only does one of the most legendary sprinters of all time look mighty dashing in his birthday suit (and, y'know, is one of the most legendary sprinters of all time), Cipo also generously provided some surprisingly sage advice for disgusting worm-weasel/aspiring barkeep Riccardo Ricco' on a companionable ride together: get a respectable freakin' job already! Oh my god, I didn't realize my Dad was Mario Cipollini! Anyway, no word from the boss on whether Ricco' is gonna drop his quest for revenge, redemption, and new and exciting ways to poison himself doping--but I ain't gonna let that little clown mix *me* a drink if I ever happen into his little pub, that's for sure!

Show Me the Love!: finally, let's all have a colossal contemporaneous moment of silence and general karmic flow of good wishes for poor Saxo-boss Bjarne Riis as he gets ready to go before the power-drunk blood-lusting hypocrites at UCI to grovel for his ProTour license, not because he clearly acted like a monster tool by driving away the perfect Jens Voigt to the horrid RadioSkank, but because by betting the entire farm (get the "cow" reference? what a knee-slapper!) on Contador, he's just about hosed a whole lotta awful nice domestiques, mechanics, and assorted other team minions outta the rewards, and dubious glories, o' the highest ranks of the sport. Dang, Bjarne, that kid hypnotize you with those pretty long eyelashes or what? Snap out of it!

Bjarne Riis: the Smell of Fear

But We're Nice! Really, Really Nice!: yes, in keeping with the ol' CSC tradition of dropping unarmed squad members dressed in penguin suits onto ice floes filled with starving polar bears, Bjarne Riis is still sending his boys to boot camp this year, but this time with an added bonus: they get to do charity work, too! Now, we here at racejunkie are never ones to question, much less openly besmirch, the untainted kindness, selflessness, and generosity of do-gooders. In fact, we downright admire it. Which is why I have no doubt whatsoever that Bjarne Riis' sudden departure from 20 years of training-camp rigidity has nothing whatsoever to do with, say, a gasping, heaving desperation move to make him and Alberto Contador look good totally coincidentally just as Contador, and ergo Bjarne, look like they're totally f!@#$ed. Anyway, at least someone benefits from the charity work--bummer for Bjarne if it ain't him, too!

Oh, Laaaaaa-aaaaaaaance! Laaaaaa-aaaaaance!: oh yeah, game on sucker--467 years after he officially retired, the Janster is finally about to be officially busted and, apparently, is ready to talk. So who else is ready to draw back the curtains on that brief, dark era of drug-stoked devilry, now that out of the entire peloton only (1) US Masters riders and (2) minor Canadian pros are still doping? Y'know who'd be really doing a service to the sport, is--hey, do I hear crickets chirping?

Tour Wars: meanwhile, Alberto Contador and Cadel Evans have both announced their goals for next year (if Alberto has a next year, but anyway): it's all for the Tour de France, baby, and each one's convinced the other one's goin' down. Well, they might want to run that by the Schlecks and Ivan Basso (tho' for my money Ivan's really gonna focus on the Giro), but either way, between Saxo Bank's broke-!@# lack o' backup, and BMC's astonishing potential to eat their own young in a monster clash of conflicting objectives, looks like the Tour's gonna be worth watching in 2012. Go Cade--uh, Alber--uh, Iva--oh, heck, good luck everyone, just stay the hell outta Samu's way on the uphills!

It's the 1st Annual Mario Cipollini Gratuitous T&A Award!: y'know, when I post, as a public service, a pic of Pippo Pozzato holding a saddle over his works, or, say, a soft-core Tom Boonen video, I am sometimes asked, in the noble interests of equality, "racejunkie, why don't you post a photo of Ivan Basso's hot sister?" Well, never let it be said I don't love you all, because as if women's cycling weren't already degraded enough this year, I hereby bring you this very informative wheel pic from 2009 Italian national road race champ/2011 Tour o' Qatar speedster Monia Baccaille:

Mario "the Chest", keep your eyes open, you've got competition!

Uh-Oh, *That* Don't Sound Right

Y'Know That Prickly Feeling You Get on the Back of Your Neck When Something Creepy's About to Happen?: yeah, well, no matter how well-intentioned, an inspiring article about the Schlecks' efforts to improve their notoriously sucktastic time-trialing and descending skills just starts to read a weeeeeeeeee bit creepier when it's subheaded something like "Weaknesses Being Targeted by Spanish Experts." Sorta like "Tom Boonen's Birthday Party Being Planned by Top Belgian Disco Owner!" Anyway, I'm sure Johan Bruyneel's got his top do--folks on the problem, and if only so Cadel and Contador don't totally make 'em look like asses against the clock next July, I'm genuinely rooting for the brothers to triumph in their new disciplines-o'-choice. Hell, with "experts" on hand, how can they fail?

Go Big George!: meantime, I see big George Hincapie's teaming up with BMC to support a squad's-worth of upcoming young cycling talent, and while BMC handles the tedious logistics of equipment, lodging, and morals clauses, Professor George is scheduled to teach such classes as "How to Win a Race Even After Your Bike's Spontaneously Exploded," "Econ 101: How Much Do You Have to Pay a Guy to Make Him Wash Your Bike Shorts?" and "What To Do When the Narcs Come a-Knockin' For Your Friend." Me, I'd be delighted to see any of these whippersnappers open up a can of whup-!@# on the peloton--I mean, am I the *only* getting bored with the sheer inevitability every time Gilbert lines up for a race?

!@#Dammit, Bjarne, What Part of "Pimp Yourself If You Have To, But Get This Guy" Don't You Understand?: okay, no more excuses: Geox is *over*, and Juan Jose Cobo needs your help--or more accurately, you need *his* help, because if you *don't* dredge up Contador some more talent in the next two or so weeks, *and* he chokes the Tour as a result, I guarantee you Captain Cool'n'Rational is gonna whang you over the head with his two-ounce bike helmet 'til you start to cower with annoyance and screech for mercy from the onslaught. Heck, don't you *want* a backup plan in case your boy goes down for cattle-doping? Come on, offer him *something*--your Tour trophy, your eternal soul, *anything* worth a few euros'll do!

Yer Burnin' Cycling Question O' the Week: #whatthehellwascontadorthinking?

'Cause This Sure As Hell Wouldn't've Happened to Armstrong: so let me get this straight: Contador--yes, even our brilliant wee Contador--needs some more support in the mountains next season, Saxo boss Bjarne Riis has known for a *year* he's gonna need some more support in the mountains, the !@#damn 2011 Vuelta winner, Denis Menchov (hint: both these guys are decent climbers), and their support riders are all out of a job with Geox's implosion and willing to ride without saddles next year to get a new gig, and one of the winningest riders and winningest team bosses of all cycling history can't scrounge up enough dough between 'em to buy *any* of these guys for next year? What the hell is *wrong* with this sport? And no offense, Alberto--because your tactical sense has certainly grown all up of late, and no-one can blame you for bailing for *anywhere* much less Bjarne and a really very fine stable of talent after the last couple seasons you've had--but this domestique debacle would *never* have happened to Lance. Of course, Lance is the kind of guy who (allegedly!) corners ex-minions outside of bar-room bathrooms like high-school-bitch on dork at Homecoming, so I imagine one might reasonably stick with him for life or else--but dang, you can't even sell off the diamond-encrusted fuzzy dice from yer sportscar to raise a few euros for one of yer ol' pals to have yer back? Hey, Samuel Sanchez sez he'd like to work with you--sure, they got no money either, but maybe you could still ditch Bjarne for Euskaltel!

News From the Department of Total Pointlessness: and, say what you want about Jan Ullrich--'cause you can sure as hell say it about everyone else he rode against, including a few guys who've still got starring roles in the peloton--but to me, at least the guy kept to his twisted code o' silence and didn't fake a bunch of bull!@#$ crocodile tears in saccharine crap remorse for publicity points, and since he's spent the last five years in a tailspin and only just emerged back on the charity circuit, I'm inclined to say it is completely useless at this point for the selective hypocrites at UCI to continue to try to prosecute his !@#. Their reasoning? Apparently, they'll look even more randomly vindictive--or enabling, depending on the rider--than they already do, if they don't. Now *that's* the way to clean up the sport, Pat "Dick" McQuaid--anyone else you wanna yank outta retirement to make an example of? Didn't think so!

Gee, We Oughta Just Start a New Cable Channel For This !@#$: speaking of which, as technological mastermind Floyd Landis goes on trial in absentia in France for computer hacking--for which, if I interpret L'Equipe correctly, the penalty is a year's diet of Wonder Bread, Cheez Wiz, and rotgut foreign sparkling wine--I see associated drug-weasel Joe Papp has been sentenced as well, and I gotta say, if this trend continues, certain riders are likely to openly stick their IV bags right on their handleb--um, repent unprovoked and voluntarily ban themselves 'til their careers would've been over already anyway. The proof--there's been nary a doping poz this season, except for a freak group of renegade Canadians, so it's obvious these hard-line tactics are working. Congrats to all--now, pay no attention while I suddenly start having play dates this winter with Ferrari!

Back In My Happy Place: finally, as I offer my fondest wishes for future employment to the thanklessly ditched loyal-Lanceista Ekimov outta the Johan Bruyneel ranks, compliments to talented youngster Brice Feillu for finding a home after the LeopardSkank merger debacle, which means that between them, Geox, and HTC's collapse, there's only a mere 6000 or so worthy pro cyclists still left without a contract next season. Y'know, far be it from me to suggest that a dedicated cyclist consider crossing over to another sport or nothin'--but heck, if any of y'all are desperate enough, I hear that say the Mets could use a hand (that's *any* hand) next season!

Don't Do It, Bjarne!

The Chicken Dance: no, it seems, gyrating suggestively (if scrawnily) in Bedazzlered floral disco outfits *isn't* enough to fulfill a guy who was on the cusp of winning the Tour de France when the same folks who let him ride it for three weeks knowing he'd missing doping controls suddenly got all outraged and pulled 'im out, as Michael Rasmussen not only keeps whining to get back on the bike with a real squad, but he's actually found, though the team director at issue coyly won't confirm it, a high-caliber buyer in--gnurk!--Bjarne Riis. Oh, Bjarne. Between Alberto and, well, damn near every cool rider on the planet, we know you've suffered some terrible blows of late, but to pick up a dope fiend like the Chicken--who the hell do you think you are exactly, Liquigas?

Men In Black: meantime, pity poor Armstrong ever-acolyte/foot washer/darn fine cyclist actually Yaroslav Popovych, who in being subpoenaed to testify at Jeff Novitsky's Lance Crucify-a-thon was apparently hunted down by the federales like Ted Nugent on elk. Geez, mount his bike helmet on the wall in yer living room like a set of antlers and you've really got a prize there! Me, except for that whole petty "justice" thing, I completely fail to see the point. I mean, didja even *think* you were gonna get anything helpful out of this guy?

Blood Simple: and, while we're feeling sympathetic to people making huge sums of money by screwing other riders, Alejandro Valverde's lost his latest appeal to the narcs, and, barring yet another last-ditch appeal, won't be gracing the peloton again til 2012. Which is a shame, come to think of it, as I always did look forward to him imploding and surging erratically before he started gettin' that !@#$ he was taking right, but if I can actually watch a race again and feel fairly confident that the guy winning it hasn't supplanted his entire bloodstream with 8-odd pints of liquid cheatin' dirtball, I'm more than game for that. Oh, Alejandro, if only you'd copped to "attempting" to cheat...or claimed it was your grandma's EPO...or blamed it on hard-core drug-addicted livestock...

Tyler Farrar Kicks !@#: in other news, am I the only one looking forward to watching US sprint king Tyler Farrar, whose admirable Tour de France was barely even sidelined by his suckmaster catastrophic wrist-crunch, whomp certain other sprinters next season? He welcomes his new teammates politely, he looks forward to sittin' down and amiably figuring out the schedule with potential rival Thor...the man is just complete opposite of the tiresome braggarts we're so accustomed to amongst the speedsters. Y'know, Cav, I truly treasure every Vinokourovian wingnut moment your mouth explodes like some foul gaseous volcano at the unsuspecting press. But while you *are* to be fair very good at giving credit to your teammates, if you're lookin' for class, take Tyler's. Or maybe just keep making obscene salutes as you cross the line, and have it out with Tyler on the road!

Woo-Hoo Norway!: finally, congrats to the fine country of Norway for being the bitchinest place on earth according to a new U.N. report, an honor due entirely, no doubt, to the fact that we love Thor Hushovd is the new-crowned world road race champion. Health, schmealth, happiness, schmappiness--really, what does any of that silly crap matter for a populace when you've got Thor?! Here, let's gratuitously review:

UCI See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Heaven Can Wait (And Wait, And Wait, And...): yep, those of us with an actual "doping bad" philosophy can get our collective panties out of their bunch--after those party-poopers at WADA ripped UCI for their Tour de France performance for (1) failing to carry out enough doping controls on certain favor--I mean, suspicious riders and (2) timing the controls so cyclists could flush the drugs out of their systems and (3) stomping through team-hotel lobbies with an oompah band to give the riders plenty o' time to hide their stashes yank the IVs out of their arms and snort a pile o' masking agents, UCI, in an unprecedent attack on the scourge of dangerous, traitorous doping in the peloton, has sworn to--yes, *study* the situation! Geez, you cowardly clowns, why not just give up the pretense and have Pat "Dick" McQuaid walk down the start line every morning with a musette full o' syringes whammin' 'em into each rider's !@#? Sure beats all this cloak-and-dagger fuss--and hey, who *doesn't* want a level playing field clearly guaranteed?

Riis' (In) Pieces: as if losing the Schlecks, Fabian, Jens, and Stuey weren't already crap news enough for one season--not to mention vague rumors about some obscure rider named "Contador" or something--poor Bjarne Riis was apparently kicked in his works yet again when he unsuccessfully tried to salvage next season by signing on reliable Tour de France stage winner/general Classics strongman we love Thor Hushovd. Damn, I know he was a complete tool to Sastre and won his own Tour de France drugged up like Keith Richards and all, but even I'm starting to feel a little twinge of mercy for this guy. I mean, freakin' Johan Bruyneel gets a two-month vacation with a special exception for the Tour Down Armstrong next season and *Bjarne* gets tossed into the deep-fryer for the whole year? Tylenol, take me away!

Live (Dope) Free or Die: finally, erstwhile dopemeister Danilo "Strawberry Shortcake" DiLuca's return to the peloton appears to be a bit on the rocks, as the Giro director expresses reluctance to take our reformed boy back into the race, and the Italian squads seem even to be more squicked out by Danilo than that odious little snakeling Riccardo Ricco'. Geez, it's not like Danilo hasn't done the Ivan Basso pin-up thing--he's posed on a zebra-striped throne in his birthday suit and walked the runway for Dolce & Gabbana, right?--I *told* you to copy the guy's entire playbook and start kissing babies for charity too, DiLuca you blockhead!

We've Got a Plan B, Baby!

Unfortunately, It's Gonna Be Ugly: yes, Saxo-Whatsit boss Bjarne Riis has assured his local newspaper that he's got a "Plan B" in effect in case that little Contador thing blows up on 'im, and, while he won't yet divulge the details, it involves, one imagines, slumping on his living-room couch sobbing amidst a pile of 50-odd empty beer cans and begging the Schlecks to take him on as a bottle-filler on their new squad next year. Sounds like a plan, Bjarne--I'd have a "Plan C" though in case the bottle gig falls through for ya!

Gone In Sixty Seconds: meantime, I see Contatwerp's been whining to El Mundo that he's so disappointed in the whole process that no matter how his case comes out he may well quit cycling entirely, which, apparently, is Spanish for "I can't believe no-one's buying my 'asthmatic cow' defense" and "like the other clowns on that podium were clean, they just weren't stupid enough to transfuse their doped-up blood from the Tour de Suisse." Wah, wah, Alberto--even if you *are* busted unjustly, you're still a Munchkin gazillionaire set for life, go cry over your pina colada on the beach-side lounge-chair of whatever private tropical island you're gonna buy to retire to--and if you *do* get itchy to get back in the saddle, just spruce up a coupla orphanages full o' hungry waifs, bat those pretty eyelashes with the tears wellin' up for the cameras, and you've got yourself a multi-million-euro contract with Liquigas!

I gotta say, though, I really *am* sorry about Contador--not sorry if he did it (though it's terrible his career is wrecked if he didn't), but sorry that (1) anyone who pissed off Lance Armstrong so much should go down and (2) we all can't watch a beautiful performance without smirking that the rider's got a permanent IV port surgically implanted in his butt. Oh, those innocent, halcyon days when the cheats just scarfed plain ol' amphetamines like Pez at the start line...

Your Quote o' the Day (from retired Italian sprinter Pierino Gavazzi): "Today if you don't dope it's like going into battle with a bow and arrow against a bazooka." Geez, I sure hope not--I'd honestly like to think there's *some* potential for the cleansters to win, wouldn't you?

It's the Giro di Lombardia, Tifosi! finally, in actual cycling news--and isn't it nice to have some?--there's one more major road race to go this year at the beautiful Classica delle Foglie Morte, and before we devolve into our usual end-of-season contract hijinks, smack-talkin' rider skirmishes, and doping pozes, let's take a preview of the brutally nasty end of the routeand a moment to mourn (1) Cervelo Test Team's last race (woo-hoo Thor!) and (2) the post-race retirement of tireless domestique/pretty damn good racer for himself too Chechu Rubiera. Now onto the Ghisallo--Gilbert, forget Paris-Tours, this baby is *yours* again!

The War of the Wankers

All right, you heard it: Saxo Bank boss Bjarne Riis kicked Andy Schleck and Stuey O'Grady out of the Vuelta for going out for a beer after work. So let's cut to the chase: either Bjarne and Andy oughta man up and talk things out over coffee so they can end their relationship on civil terms, or they should grab a !@#damn ruler, head to the men's room, whip 'em out in front of a neutral party and settle their stupid manhood dispute once and for all. Andy--if you're putting yourself in the running as the Next Lance Armstrong in the self-involved suck-my-dirty-bike-socks-you-peons arrogant-jerkface sense, you're the dead-on favorite for the win. Bjarne--if you think you *don't* look like a bitter petty crybaby punk-!@# just trying to punish Andy for leaving you next season, you're an idiot. O'Grady--you're a god and I'm a hypocrite, so you're off the hook entirely on this one. Either way, you've both completely !@#$ed over your OWN LEGITIMATE VUELTA GC CONTENDER--for whom a podium finish was still possible, at least until yesterday--and acted like a couple of overtired spoiled toddlers shrieking it out over a broken freakin' Tonka truck in the sandbox. Classy! Now Bjarne, head back to the team bus and try to salvage your squad's last hurrah with *some* dignity!

Don't Do It, Alberto! And, There's No More Doping in the Peloton

What the Hell Are You Thinking, Contador?: yes, the speculation on where wee starlet Alberto is gonna land continue, and while the child gets enormous bonus points for not stupidly extending with Astana as his bro had suggested, what the !@#$ is he thinking about oozing around with Bjarne Riis next season? Look, I love CSC/Saxo Bank/Whoever Bjarne's Hinting About. And to be sure, with a multiple-Grand-Tour winning leader and a still-solid domestique selection even if the Schleck boys decimate the ranks next season, it's surely a better choice than that crazed puppetmaster Vinokourov. But (1) am I the only one who remembers how relentlessly crappily Bjarne treated poor we love Carlos Sastre after Carlos WON HIM A TOUR DE FRANCE for heck's sake, so what makes Contador think he'll get any slack if he ever has another off-day in his life; and (2) is there a reason Alberto doesn't already have a gigantic "I HEART CAISSE D'EPARGNE" tattoed in day-glo ink on his buttocks? As it happens, I adore the brilliant LL Cool Sanchez, and indeed, still think he can win the Tour de France one day. But at the moment his heart--and legs--seem to be with the noble one-day or shorter stage races, and you already know that if he promises to work for you, he will. Geez, Contador, you want a permanent, talented, endlessly-well-paid supply of nut-busting Spanish backup or not? Sign, you nit--sign!

RadioSkank Hits the Skids: man, if Lance "All the Dopers I Hired Totally Coincidentally Only Started Doping After They Left Me" Armstrong weren't having a crappy enough month, now fine young Chinese protege Fuyu Li's B-sample test for Clenbuterol has come up positive, and somehow, loyalest-pal-to-his-domestiques-ever Lance doesn't seem to be swooping to his defense yet. Y'know, not to suggest Joh--I mean, Fuyu's a *total* blockhead or anything, but isn't this the same asthma crap half the peloton easily gets a Therapeutic Use Exemption for to snarf a gas-tank's worth of every day just for politely breathing in-and-out once for the UCI enabler-tools at their annual physical? Damn, boy, if you're gonna do it, do it like a *pro*, not some junior-high-school dumb!@# trying to hide the 5 beers he just drank from his parents by popping a couple of Altoids!

The Collapse of the Roman Empire: in Italian doping news, meanwhile, as Davide Rebellin gets ready to pony up his Olympic medal in shame, erstwhile 2009 King of the Mountains playboy Franco of the Euromullet Pellizotti, having earlier been dissed by his own national federation, now has to beg the Court of Arbitration for Sport not to dethrone 'im on bio passport irregularity grounds, meaning that, one imagines, not only is this pretty serious !@#$ if the Italians are actually nailing one of their own instead of still shrieking on about Valverde, but somewhere, Ivan Basso is popping champagne. Whoops, there he is already!

Yup, That's Nero Fiddling, Alright: over at Lampre, of course, who never met a dope fiend they didn't like unless he couldn't win 'em a race without getting caught for it, long-term miscreant Michele Scarponi--who has, in what I'm sure is simply a miracle of genetic superiority, gotten exponentially better as he's aged since his most recent bust--is heading for Lampre as its premiere three-week racer, as adorable Classics man Damiano Cunego finally embraces his destiny and slinks off for a team that won't put all that pressure on a boy who, after all, has openly sported a "no doping" tat on his arm for all to see. Apparently already determined: the fate of green jersey champ (shut up!) Alessandro Petacchi, who just won a race this weekend even as he sensibly clams up for the cops in his own investigation for prohibited substances. Lampre's loyalty to its beseiged racers is really quite admirable, don't you think?

And Finally, A Word From The Racejunkie Like Anyone Gives a Rat's !@# Department: Samu Sanchez rode the Tour to 4th place with a fracture, and dear little Carlos Sastre sez he's gonna ride the Vuelta a Espana. Y'know, it's in Spain, it's three weeks long...would it helped if I mentioned Mark Cavendish is gonna ride it?...