Your General Roundup o' the Week; and, Watch Out, Alberto!

Thooooooor!: so, nouveaux climbing freak Thor Hushovd's lookin' mighty bitchin' ahead of the Worlds, bagging a victory at the Thor of Britain as reluctant Belgian leader Philippe Gilbert predictably whomps the field in his own latest race: Yer clearly getting past those sniffles you had that were a direct result of Jonathan Vaughters horribly screwing you out of your Worlds prep at the Vuelta--Thooooooooooooooooooooor!

So Longo, See Ya, Wouldn't Want to Be Ya: meanwhile, in the latest la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you news, perpetual French champ/inspiring ageless national icon Jeannie Longo's husband is getting busted for allegedly procuring EPO from tireless drug pimp Joe Papp, and Jeannie, of late in hot water herself for evading doping controls (like that stopped UCI from, say, letting Michael Rasmussen nearly take the Tour de France before they decided to get upset over it), has reluctantly withdrawn from the Worlds to avoid getting blood-tes--um, to stand by her man. Aw, I'm not worried--I'm sure that !@#$ was her grandmother's/her dog's/mislabeled baking soda/just a little something to give the neighborhood school kids an early-morning energy boost in their juice boxes!

That's Rich: since you just can't get enough of disgusting bottom-dweller Riccardo Ricco', I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that our hero has now sworn under oath to the Italian narcs that he never, never, never, never blood doped from his fridge, because, in fact, he did it from a bag stored in his coole--wait, am I reading this right? Anyhoo, lest you're tired of watching people actually summit *after* the rest of the peloton's had time to sign in at the start line on race day, Riccardo is promising that, like a season-ending saddlesore or an unpleasantly itchy reaction to that new chamois creme, he'll be back. Lookin' forward to it--especially since your compatriots you ripped off so many victories from must loooooooooove you so much!

Yep, I *Still* Feel Dirty: finally, it's with that warm and fuzzy feeling only truly oleaginous hypocrisy can produce that I report that Alexandre Vinokourov is back on the bike, training for Lombardy and, I presume, ready to bushwhack Alberto Contador with a buncha steel-toe-booted goons should this rumored marriage between Saxo Bank and Astana come to pass by the end of the season. If they go mano-a-mano, I know who I'm betting on--and it ain't the little twerp with the 65 Grand Tours to his name!

Tell Us How You Really Feel, Cav!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't !@#$ With Liquigas!; and, Don't Do It, Carlos!

Throwin' Gas on the Fire: boy, if you're gonna suggest that--no way, dude!--lots of cyclists dope, and don't even mention a particular team in a particular nation much less any actual names, you sure better hope that the wingnut paranoid conspiracy theorists at Liquigas ain't readin' the newspaper, because the home of ex-attempted doper Ivan Basso (who did rather charm me against my better judgment with this year's please-let-it-be-clean-as-everyone-sez-it-is renaissance Giro d'Italia win so I better *not* be freakin' disappointed *again*) and bio-passport-busted Franco Pellizotti is outraged, outraged dammit! that apparently the whole entire giganto interview was somehow solely and completely directed at them, and are suing the omerta-smashin' Italian narc Ettore Torri for a sweet 5 million euros. Geez, you actually *haven't* had a real doping poz this season, so why the hurt feelings Liquigas? I don't know about you folks, but if *I* were UCI sittin' on a bucket o' Liquigas blood and urine samples from this season, *I* might start suddenly getting interested in what the fuss is all about...

Don't Do It Carlos!: speaking of Italians who never, ever, ever dope, I see Danilo DiLuca is reported to be on the verge of signing with dear little Sastre's new squad, Geox, which makes me rather inclined to remind you, Carlos--totally without the intent of encouraging sabotage or anything similarly illegal or just plain sneaky--that if you can't get out of that contract on a "do I have to ride with this dirtbag" clause, I imagine riders have an awfully hard time riding if, for example, their bikes mysteriously go missing at the start of every race, and eventually they might just quit the team in frustration. Not that I'm suggesting anything--I'm just hypothesizing here!

I'm Lookin' for Pound Notes, Loose Change, Bad Checks, Anything: speaking of euros, (literally) poor speedster Mark Cavendish is horribly oppressed by the Man again this week, as HTC isn't showin' him the love or, more importantly, the humongous additional amounts of money our sweet little victim deserves. I'll give it to him--he's the fastest man on earth, his total lack of self-control makes him a terrific media darling, and goodness knows if anyone in the peloton deserves a first-rate paycheck--besides Jens Voigt of course, who is a god and should be paid in actual diamond mines--it's Cav. But d'ya *think*, dear child, there are more sympathetic poster boys for abject tragic life-wrecking poverty than yours in the world? Nope, didn't think so--but you'll probably still get a healthy raise out of your whi--I mean, noble plea!

Jeannie Longo Rocks, Again: over in racing news, while it was really an incredible Giro di Lombardia--and Belgian bomber Philippe Gilbert's sheer hard-man bad-!@#itude continues to amaze--51-year-old time trial ace Jeannie "Don't I Make Fabian Cancellara Look Like a Wuss-Puppy?" Longo snagged her umpteenth TT masterpiece this weekend against the helpless usual jailbait-in-their-prime at the Chrono des Nations. Oh, and congrats to still-repentant ever-weeper St. David Millar too for his record-breaking win. Hey--stop cryin' there, ya big baby, there's no paparazzi around!

Let's Talk About Saxo: and, in an era of relentlessly simpy sponsor bail-outs, big points and a warm hug to Saxo Bank for announcing they're stickin' with Bjarne Riis no matter how some piddly little Contador matter comes out. The caveat: any clown caught eating Spanish steak or doing any of the !@#$ Bjarne did during *his* career will be summarily whomped upside the head with a lead-filled safe deposit box. Ah, well, you can't get somethin' for nothin' anymore!