Get Tom Boonen Back on the Blow; And, Where the !@#$ is Jens?

Party On, Tom!: okay, maybe I've suggested this before, but it bears saying again in no uncertain terms whatsoever: we've all faithfully supported the good-boy bull!@#$, but Tom Boonen was a better, luckier, gutsier rider when he was accepting suspect cocktails from strangers and snorting up mystery crystals at parties, and it's time he gets back to the job. Sure, it's the wisdom and maturity of age creeping up on him, his new-found fear of sprints, the natural caution that a series of crap season-screwing injuries is gonna have on you--Tom's clearly lost his joie-de-whup-ass, and that emasculating wanker Patrick Lefevere over at Quick Step better quit slagging our boy in the press, assess what's psyching him out, and !@#damn stuff him full of Ecstasy every night like a teenager if that's what's gonna make him happy. Now plug your ears from that hideous Euro-club techno-!@#$, Patrick, and get the real Tommeke back already!

Come Back, Jens!: first, aaaaaiiigggggghhhhh-it's true! Leopard-Trek is merging with RadioSkank! What the hell does it take to keep a sponsor *in* this business, anyhow, a Tour de France victory--damn, the French squads would've all croaked a generation ago! Second, why the !@#$ isn't we love Jens Voigt mentioned among the "nine riders" moving to Johan's House of Hell? I get he doesn't have a longer contract with Leopard-Trek--who gives? Is he retiring, in which event the entire peloton is gonna suck for decades to come? Is Johan stupid enough not to offer him at least a lousy year's gig, not that Jens working for anyone else--say, a pimp--wouldn't be preferable? Has some Michael Ball-esque Lance Armstrong wannabe wisely decided to hand Jens gazillions of no-strings dollars to start his own squad of fellow gods? Jens, you *can't* let this be the end--even if you should become a DS, no-one existing is worthy of your legacy!

Yer Vuelta a Espana Rest Day Round-up: all right, so a clearly back-on-form Igor Anton is gonna obliterate the field for a stage win in the last week--yeah, stuff it!--Wiggo, I think, has no-one to apologize to ever after impossibly sticking it out on the 23% gradients of the Angliru to hold on to 3rd, if the spectators keep messing with the climbers' lines some pack of citizen-vigilantes're gonna have to start whacking 'em out of the way with a stick since the cops ain't getting it done, Cobo looked so relaxed I thought he was taking a nap at 100kph, and, despite Nibali's brave declaration he's gonna fight it out for numero uno to the end, we're sure gonna have a surprise in Madrid because the only GC contender left out of the original bunch is the freakin' lanterne rouge at this point. Still, there's the Basque country left to come in the final week, along with Euskaltel's inevitable group o' victories. Yeah, I said it--venga Euskalteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!

Oil and Water Don't Mix: last but not least, to no-one's surprise that oily little weasel Riccardo Ricco' has definitively been found to have besmirched faithful last-chance trainer Aldo Sassi by having not only blood doped but having done so like a world-class moron, which means Ricco', no longer troubled by such oppressive burdens as, y'know, riding a bike for a living, is now free to pursue his fallback career as a total !@#ho--um, bartender instead. Well, Riccardo, you open your new booze-house to cheating unrepentant dirtbags-on-wheels, and you got yourself a million-dollar biz and a regular "Cheers" without the laugh-track--good luck and good riddance, snake-boy!

No, Jens, No!

From the Department of Unholy Matrimony: look, bad enough I had to watch we love Chris Horner become BFFs with Lance Armstrong--now *Jens* is gonna become a denizen of the devil's playground 'cuz of a rumored merger between Leopard-Trek & RadioSkank? Aiiiggghhhhhh! First, can poor Andreas Kloden *get* any more dope-smacked? Sure, he's been unjustly demeaned and downtrodden for most of his incongruously illustrious career, but when the Schleck brothers get ahold of 'im, forget doing *their* laundry, he's gonna be washing their soigneur's sister's in-laws' dirty underwear every night *and* bringing 'em breakfast in bed every morning. Oh Klodi! Second, though I'm clearly a soulless monster to be annoyed with Frank'n'Andy this year if Jens loves them, the thought of Jens finishing his career in RadioSkank team kit is a flat-out gackfest. Don't do it, Jens, please--if there's ever been *any* time to unleash your immortal powers on the peloton, destroying this crap disaster deal is it!

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes: In other team sponsorship news, I see from its formal 2012 UCI filings that Astana will be known henceforth as Team "Don't !@#$ With Me You !@#$ing Maggot, I Am Alexandre !@#$ing Vinokourov!", and, effective immediately, the DS, soigneurs, masseuse, towel boy, mechanic, team car driver, chef, team-bus maintenance guy, team leader, domestiques, Kazahk U-23 development squad, agent, PR firm, legal counsel, component maker, and official bike manufacturer will each be some guy listed as "A. Vinokourov." Here, new security guard "A. Vinokourov" clears the scene at the press conference. Lookin' forward to next year, Team DFWMYFMIAAFV!

A Helpful Tip From Paul Martens: y'know, as a gentle lady, I can only posit the masculine discomfort, but if *I* were Pat McQuaid, and *I* were surrounded by 180 guys hot off the bike with distinctly unhappy gentlemanly areas who also have access to large, heavy swingable objects like bicycle stands and giant wrenches, I might heed the sage tweeted words of new fave rider/Rabobank tough guy Paul Martens: "I wish the UCI comissairs would do a 47k tt with the new rule that the saddle must be horizontal #deadballs !" Y'know, Pat, I'm sure Paul is a friendly, reasonable man and all--but it's not like he can't find you after a bike race while you're preening about for the press corps, you think you might ease up on those specs a bit?

No Rest for the Weary: last but not least, despite Igor Anton having finished sometime next year in yesterday's individual time trial, I remain deeply in denial over Euskaltel's Vuelta GC prospects, & fully committed to my stance that Menchov'll be lickin' at least Mikel Nieve's bike shoes clean for him by the time of the final podium in Madrid. Come on Mikel, even a single stage win'll do it! As for Purito Rodriguez, I'll irrationally deny wise and valued reader Paul's peremptory (if wholly correct) thwap and point out that Brad Wiggins is bound to crack in the mountains sometime, Nibali's gonna be awful sleepy after that good ride yesterday, and, in fact, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy do exist, which I can totally prove because they all just busted out a nice rose' with me last night at dinner. Don't screw with my happy place, people!

Oh, Yeah, Baby, It's Team Schle--um, Leopard Trek!

Which Don't Explain at All Their Boring As Hell Team Kit: yep, as no doubt every damn one of us gets ready to unleash an entire season's worth of uber-lame cat metaphors at every irrelevant opportunity, Frank 'n' Andy've formally announced their new Leopard-Trek squad, so cower, suckers! Sadly, for a sport that routinely dresses up its macho-men to look like the Little Mermaid, they've shown no sartorial stones whatsoever, bagging what could've been a truly gratifyingly eye-scorching leopard-hooker team kit in favor of a sedate white-blue-and-black. Dammit, first the argyle's gone from Garmin, now this? Anyway, here's the press conference:

and the bike porn:

The first big test of Team Leopard: an injured-as-usual we love Stuey O'Grady still beats the crap out of everyone at the Tour Down Under later this month. Do 'em proud, Stuey!

Dead Cows Tell No Tales: meantime, the Spaniards have announced they need extra time to dig through the massive wad o' documents in the Alberto Contador case to find an iron-clad, WADA-proof justification for letting that guilty little rat Contatwerp off the hoo--I mean, to reach a fair, thoughtful, and just determination in the controversial yet reasonably-disputed Tour de France doping matter. Lookin' forward to that objective decision, boys--but probably not as much as your golden idol Alberto is! Lucky for him his tainted dinner's no longer around to swear a cloven foot on a stack o' Bibles that it got off the drugs months and months ago thanks to his concerned barn-mates' last-ditch, tv-crew-recorded "Intervention"....

Hear, Hear!: over in racing news, the pro cyclists' union has released a key poll of its members in favor of continuing the use of race radios. Me, I'm conflicted--sure, it turns the riders into puppet automatons jerked around on strings by the brain trusts in the team cars, and kills the excitement and unpredictability of the riders actually thinking for themselves to shape a race--but really, can't we all think of at least one or two guys for whom that might actually be a benefit? Ah, well, thrills, shmills--so long as Jens gets let off the leash whenever he wants it, you can keep the dog collars I suppose!

Free Franco o' The Euromullet!: finally, I see former King of the Mountains Basso-rival Franco Pellizotti is at last ready to sue the pants off everyone for completely screwing his 2010 and 2011 seasons, and considering that clearly he has the flowingest locks in the peloton, in addition to being let's face it the least of that smashing seedy entity's problems, I say, unless you can prove something other than that you were really, really, desperate to nail anyone higher-level in the UCI rankings than--um, who *have* you nailed so far?--and until you can show he actually *is* on the juice, you really oughta let 'im ride. I mean, that writhing little ferret Riccardo Ricco' gets a team gig, and Pellizotti's left out to dry? You *suck*, UCI!