Okay, cycling. You know what you did. And you oughta be ashamed of yourselves! But even if you're not, what better way to start off the New Year by making a buncha impossible-to-live-up-to resolutions whose failure to complete will cause you relentless guilt and self-loathing the entire next season? So if you don't know what's good for you, *we* sure do, so riders and assorted other cycling folks, listen up!
1. Julian Alaphilippe: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I outsmarted the lot of you at the World Championships for the second year in a row while you all !@#$ed around fighting for the podium behind rather'n work together to actually reel me in so you could go for the top spot. So I'm good!
2. Mikel Landa. I know what I have to do, and I am gonna do it. That's right, I'm gonna wrap myself up in 50 miles of bubble wrap every time I leave the house, and I am gonna *stay* upright in one piece!
3. Bahrain Merida: in a related resolution, we are going to freakin' cattle prod anyone who gets within 100 meters of Mikel, and any piece of road furniture that dares to exist in his presence we are gonna blast outta the way with a !@#damn cannon. We'll try to warn the rest of you first though!
4. Toms Skujins: I am going to start an all-potato food truck to follow me around for sustenance--and also serve my fans--all season. Frites, baked, smashed, mashed, roasted, au gratin, skins, hashed, gnocchi, and latkes. Someone else can take care of the beer truck!
5. Giro Donne. I am gonna air *every* stage, *live*, for its *full length*, this year and every year thereafter, including to the US. We'll take up the issue of adding another 11 stages next year!
6. Elisa Longo Borghini. Given the above, isn't it obvious?
7. Euskaltel. We've conquered the breakaways, we've earned our spots back in the Grand Tours which we never should've had to do anyway, and in 2022, as befits the best climbers on earth, we're bringing home and sealing the deal with the impossibly high mountain finishes we're known for. Giro, Tour and Vuelta--watch out!
8. Mark Cavendish: I'm going to win the green jersey at the Tour de France, just to stick it to Pat Lefevere. And no, you don't get a podium pic with me after the way you b*tched about me all year!
9. Any and All World Tour Teams. What the !@#$ is this travesty? We're gonna #HireSimonClarkeDammit! Hell, even Ineos--that's how desperate the fans are to have him back another season!
10. Remco Evenepoel: I'll shut my yap complaining about my teammates. I can just take the Worlds without slagging 'em anyway!
11. Anna Kiesenhofer: all right, so you're all gonna be on the lookout for me now. I'm going to hide discreetly amongst the Belgians, then take half the races I enter next season anyway!
12. Alexander Vinokourov: I don't need to resolve *anything* after my intra-squad coup last year. Bow, peons!
13. Movistar: we'll ride *for* our GC guy this year, and *not* do everything we can to shepherd some other schmuck's team to victory. And while we're at it--we get that that trident !@#$ *never works!
14. Last but Not Least, the Fans: We will restrain our signs, leash our dogs, retract our selfie sticks, extinguish our flares, refrain from throwing disgusting bodily emissions on the riders, and for FFS, cover up that hideous TMI neon banana-hammock when we're charging alongside the leader on Mont Ventoux so we don't burn the GC's, or the home viewers', retinas out. We're serious--that last part of the resolution is non-negotiable!
Well, I guess the rest of you get off the hook easy this year. But don't think you're out of the running for 2023!
Yeah, let those hoity-toity celebs toast each other at their televised Oscar soirees with golden trophies hand-stitched couture gowns goody bags dripping with diamonds and snowballs of blow while they try to dodge the grotesque attentions of some even richer guy who looks like Jabba the Hutt--we here in the world of cycling have our *own* awards, thank you, and damned if they're not better! Prizes, for anyone so desperate as to actually pick theirs up (no, really, I promise, just ask!): a dashing custom-embroidered racejunkie cycling cap; a passel of spiffy racejunkie stickers to deface your bike, your car, or your face; and whatever trophy-looking tchtochke I can dredge up at the local second-hand store. So jot down yer speeches, plaster on that fake smile for when the camera hits you when you lose, and let's get this soiree rollin'!
Delusional Tweet of the Year: okay, we've got *lots* of competition here, including from me, but pro Phil Gaimon's "I think it's the sign of a clean rider and a real sportsman to go [for the Giro-Tour double]. Good luck Froome" absolutely takes the cak--well, the Kool-Aid. Delusional, but also so sweet!
Suck Retirement of 2017: Look, I bawled like a baby over Tom Boonen. And I hereby state that I stand unequivocally by everything--*everything*--I've said about Alberto Contador in this execrable e-rag the last ten years. But in an era where--totally coincidentally as a style choice I'm sure--Froome rides with all the pizzazz and humanity of an electric clock, Alberto was always a one-man attack-o-rama. Knock him off his bike (eejits!), cram a month's worth of pollen up his nose during the worst of allergy season, whack him with a stomach virus, you could *always* count on Berto, the second he had a drop of gas in the tank, to liven up the race. Even better: when he finally lost his !@#$ and unloaded on crazed ex-team boss Oleg Tinkov. We'll miss you, ya wee thing!
Ain't No Mountain High Enough (Well, Maybe This One) Prize: speaking of whom, Alberto Contador's smashing farewell victory at the Vuelta on the legendary Angliru. Now pick up your prize Alberto--that is, if even you've got your legs back yet!
Heartbreak of 2017: Oh, Samu!
Cyclist Slap Fight o' the Year: now, normally Bouhanni's delivered a fine sucker-punch to a rival for, y'know, existing in the same planet, but this year, kudos to Astana's Andriy Grivko who settled a little argy-bargy in a sprint finish at the Dubai Tour with a vicious right hook to Quick Step speedster Marcel Kittel's eye socket, leaving Marcel, who merely viewed the jockeying towards the line as ordinary, with a long bloody cut on the eyebrow as a result. Quoth the apologetic Grivko, as he headed off into his ban, "!@$% you you !@%ing !@##$%"!
Total Useless Piece o' Crap o' the Year: UCI. Let's be real, those clowns couldn't find a motor if you lifted the hood of an F1 car and jammed 'em head-first into the carburetor. But if you're a Colombian popping 10-year-old CERA outta Riccardo Ricco's refrigerator or a Master's racer in !@#-end of Nowheresville who took a hippie-store fish-oil supplement, ya might as well slap on the ol' handcuffs now, punk. Clean sport all 'round, hooray!
Superdomestique o' the Year: Mikel Landa. I mean, not like the most *willing* superdomestique, but clearly the highest quality o' the lot. Cause enough anarchy at Movistar in 2018, Mikel, and hopefully we won't have to see you up for this category in 2018!
Love, Love, Love Award: Nairo Quintana's warmest welcome to new teammate Mikel Landa. IT'S MY TOUR YOU PIECE OF !@#$--it's great to have you on the squad, now lick my feet you worker-bee dirtbag!
Crash o' the Year (Game Changer): Okay, Alejandro Valverde wiping out horribly on an inexplicably slick and crappy Stage 1 Tour de France opener *really* sucked. But !@#dammit, can Alberto Contador get a freakin' break? The boy's like a human domino. His Tour *and* his Vuelta both over before they really began. We're so sorry Alberto--we knew you could've beat that spindly wretch and his team of androids without 'em!
Crash o' the Year (Fan !@#$wit Edition): So, he may not be exactly a household name. But Austrian racer Marco Haller had pretty good reason to go ballistic on the stupid fan who wrecked his--hell, and a half a dozen other countries'--World Championship hopes by carelessly hooking 'im with a fluttering jacket and piling a ton of guys to the tarmac. Now, I may not be able to understand German--but I'm pretty sure he wasn't saying "Danke!" there!
Crash o' the Year (Totally Freakin' Avoidable): All right, race organizers have been to know to occasionally, y'know, not block off a noticeable piece of road furniture here and there. But a !@#$in' *automobile*? Yep, that's the gift the Tour of Britain left for Orica's Michael Hepburn, as he took a sweeping left-hander into the unexpected vehicle's back windshield, leaving him, surprisingly, among the least bloody of the pile o' resulting human debris. What the hell, are you clowns trying for a new Slalom jersey category in road races this year? STOP LEAVING !@## IN THE ROAD!
Get Yer Motor Runnin'/Head Out on the Highway Statuette: So who's got the moto--uh, mojo--that just won't quit after a brutal day's mountain stage? Yep, it's this incredible ride from presumptively exhausted Froome superdomestique Wout Poels, jetting away from the competition on a 28% gradient with, notably, no discernable involvement from his actual legs. Damn, I wanna hire his mecha--uh, barista!
Like the NFL, But Cycling: You wanna ~!@# with Tony Martin during the World Road Race Championships time trial? Not when the Norwegian police catch you running behind 'im you don't! Spectacular tackle by the cops. New England Patriots, I know you're gonna win the Superbowl and all--but ya might win it faster hiring these guys to do your dirty work!
Complete !@#hole of 2017: Y'know, I'd really just like to give this to Chris Froome on principle, but to be fair to Froomey--shut up, I can so be either!--this one's an absolute lock by racist !@#$face Gianni Moscon, who attacked innocent Kevin Reza with a racial slur, slugged him, then "apologized" by bitching about the mean press coverage he deservedly incurred. Bonus Team !@#$wit Award: Team Sky, which promptly "punished" Moscon by giving him an internal "Young Rider" award. Now *that's* deterrence, you Keystone Kops!
Karma's a B*tch, B*tch Prize: Chris Froome. Remember how you basically told your team captain Brad Wiggins to !@#$ off while you pedaled away, and nearly tanked his Tour in search of your own glory? Yeah, well you don't get to complain about what the clearly superior Landa so openly wanted to do to you. Didn't like it so much from this side of the col, didja jerkface?
The (Lost) Age of Innocence Award: so Richie Porte generously helps now-non-teammate Chris Froome to Grand Tour victory, and expects Captain Praying Mantis to return the favor. So fair, so trusting--but I bet you ain't gonna do *that* again!
The Last Gasp of American Exceptionalism Prize: yeah, I know. Shut up. But thank goodness for amazing Ronde champion Coryn Rivera--and what a *year* for this incredible star!
Race Organizer Bone-throwing Inadequacy Award: the women's peloton has never been stronger. The crowds have never been bigger. Even both puny minutes of TV coverage you've been sticking on the !@#end of Nowhere Channel have managed to garner great ratings. So what do we, and more importantly, the deserving peloton, get in recognition? WOW, A ONE-DAY TOUR DE FRANCE! Well bleach my bloomers and snap my bra strap, WHAT AN HONOR! Wait, now I have to stick around afterwards and wrangle the boys' teams' dirty laundry? Thanks, ASO--even better!
Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away With(out) Me Award: Philippe Gilbert's daringly huge--and smashingly successful--53 kilometer breakaway to steal the retiring Tom Boonen's potentially 5th victory at Paris-Roubaix. Fire *me*, Quick Step? Take *that*, !@#holes!
Enjoy Your Retirement, Please! No, I Mean It! Statuette: He was a cyclist. Then he was a knight. Then he wrote a book so you'd pay attention to him. Then he complained to every microphone he could find about how no one would leave him alone. Then he wrote another book so you'd leave him alone some more. Then, he decided to become a *rower*. Brad Wiggins--enjoy your dotage in peace, please--for the rest of our sakes!
Jaysus Someone Shut Up That Whinging Crybaby Award: hey, Cav. We know it's tough having gone from winning every race you rode in while you berated fellow riders for their pathetic victories in only "!@#$ races" to being out-supermodeled by Peter Sagan, but jaysus, can you quit bitching about him not causing you crash at the Tour de France? He got kicked out for no reason and you *still* didn't win the green jersey, so what's yer prob for chrissakes?
Dark Horse Award: Smashing new road race champ Chantal Blaak. Oh, c'mon, like you saw her in World Champion Stripes when all she was supposed to do was wait for her exhausted team leader--hell, even *she* didn't see herself there til she got there!
And Finally, Yer Punk-!@# Move o' the Year: hoo-boy, have we got a bunch to pick from this year! Usually, this one goes straight to Alejandro Valverde for some egregious act of treacherous backstabbing, but for 2017 we got hot competition from (a) a racist jack!@#; (b) (the same) reckless-to-the-point-o'-terrifying-injury-causing jack!@#; and (3) a whinging crybaby over being called out for being a jack!@#. Congratulations, Moscon--you just keep on "winning"!
Well riders'n'fans, them's my 2017 awards show, so in honor or in shame, come up to claim yer prizes with your arms raised in triumph--and to those of you who know what you did, let's *hope* I don't have to give you another prize next year!
Well, with the dullest course in living memory on the books, the Tour de France's been surprisingly (if daaaaaaarn intermittently) sprightly the last few days, so as Team "You Suck!" Sky dodges the traditional rest-day press conference like a bunny fleeing a wolf-pack, what've we learned so far, fellow tifosi? This stuff!
1. Shut it Froome. I don't even know what you just said. In fact, I don't even know if you've actually been interviewed. Just shut it!
2. Now, reasonable people can differ reasonably--even on the brutish playing field of a pot of tea and crumpets in the parlor--as to the etiquette of a rider attacking the race leader when he's got a mechanical or, if you're one of Froome's GC rivals apparently, ever, under any circumstances, at all. But if Sagan deserved to get his !@# kicked outta the Tour for the sin of Cav riding up under his handlebars from behind and crashing himself out, Froome absolutely sure as hell deserves to get his !@# kicked out of the Tour for intentionally plowing Aru into the spectators with his spiky insect exoskeleton. A punk move I get--deliberate revenge is bull!@#$. Is it me, or are ASO's tender feelings too hurt from the Sagan backlash to play fair enough to punish an !@#wipe who *really* deserves it?
3. Mark Cavendish may have a long and glorious history of being a petty, whinging wanker, and I get the deep and actually rational sense of injustice of the swooning Saganator fan-base over what happened, but anyone who aims their ire--and for !@#$'s sake, even death wishes!--at Cav's wife and kids is a total despicable scumlord. Perspective, you vicious freaks!
4. Trek-Segafredo--you're lovely for buying up Contador with a nice contract, and I do believe you mean so well by him--as evidenced by, if nothing else, the fact that his own teammates aren't openly trying their damnedest to throw their own team captain to the wolves in their own self-interest. But totally aside from Contador's own legs and creeping age, to beat those soldered-together nuclear-powered robots at Sky you *have* to have an *entire* team 100% climbing-ready to escort him in the mountains. What, you need more money--I've got the $50 bucks I couldn't give away to crowdfund Euskaltel burning a hole in my pocket, anyone else in?
5. It was nice to see the remaining GC contenders stepping up to superdomestique Chris Froome for his 2017 maillot jaune today. At least you know Contador, however and whyever hampered, will try to attack when he's got the legs no matter what. Really, WTF was *that*?
6. ASO, any bike race is always dangerous, but this Tour is *carnage*. Valverde. Porte. Thomas. About a dozen other guys so far. Can you *please* try to minimize the inch-wide descents, unpadded corners, and curlicue finishing "straights" for next year, for safety's sake? Honestly, we *don't* need or want the 'spectacle' of people getting hurt and wins-by-attrition! What is this, !@#$in' "Rollerball"?
7. Oh, FDJ. Such fine and deserving talent, but *four* riders outside the time cut today! Maybe you could call Dave Brailsford and talk, y'know, nutrition or something?
8. Speaking of whom, !@#$ you Sky for screwing Mikel Landa for the Vuelta! He looks like a sullen toddler stuck in his "time-out" corner out there. Can you *please* let the guy off the leash and give him a cookie or something?
9. Andre Greipel will so either. He's just, y'know, conserving energy and nicely giving fellow countryman Kittel a few stages to shine. Is too! PS Class for setting things to rights with Sagan after the incidente!
10. Two Grand Tour career starts, two Grand Tour career stages--the Vuelta first, of course. Who *doesn't* like to say "Calmejane"?
11. White shorts. Just--no.
12. Yes, Robbie, the mechanics of on-the-fly nature breaks are fascinating. Can we *please* stop discussing them now?
12. Where the !@#$ is our TV coverage of the Giro Rosa?! *Tell* me what sponsor !@#$ you want me to buy to make this possible!
13. Oh Nairo. Even without Valverde around to bushwhack you, you should've known this was an exercise in total futility before you started. Be honest--is this why you rode the noble Giro, to give yourself an out here?
14. I've said it before, and I'll say it again (which is why it's lucky no-one reads this rag anyway): high mountain stages with downhill finishes are a *total* *!@#$in'* waste. We *know* who can descend--even if they run into trouble. What I want to know is, outside of Froome and his mo--uh, "mojo"--who the hell on a stage can climb to victory?
Well, them's my sum-up. Landa, plot your escape, Nairo, plot--well, *something*, for chrissakes, and Alberto, whatever's gone sour, we trust you'll be back to smack down your rivals and remind them who *earned* 9 Grand Tours another day!
You got yer course, you got yer maillots jaune, *now* what do you need? That's right, yer climbers, (yawn) sprinters, and yer adorably-doomed breakaway artistes and general stage hunters! So who to look for:
Sprinters: if you ain't here, your mama probably is! Sagan. Kittel. Bouhanni. Cav, if, despite Cav's wholly unwarranted recent-smack talk, will be lucky if Mark Renshaw don't accidentally outshoot his own captain. Best of all, woot woot woot--Gorilla's in the hooooooouse! Dang, isn't it *enough* that Sagan's gonna win the green jersey for more consecutive years than he's actually been alive, he's gotta take like 10 stage victories too? We're running outta goofy stage-win dances for this kid--Andre Greipel, primarily because of your general awesomeness but also just to give Peter time to re-choreograph, I'm *really* rooting for you here!
Climbers: bizarrely, despite the obscene lack of, y'know, MOUNTAIN STAGES at this year's Tour, there's a bunch of 'em, if the poor wee lightweights don't get blown off the course somewhere in Dusseldorf never to be seen again. Anyhoo, aside from the GC, who've we got? Yep, lots of team-captain's superdomestiques who'll have to wait til and only their GC boy cracks before they'll be let off the leash, and a handful who've already been granted their own chances at bat. Landa and Nieve, both hopefully looking to screw over Froome to save their own careers for 2019. Wee darling Esteban Chaves, who'll so enrapture his competitors with his aw-shucks adorability they won't even notice he's beat them til he's 45 k up the mountain. Our smashing ex-Carrot Izagirres, rumored to be riding together again next year. The Yates brothers. Alejandro Valverde, whose loyalty, one suspects, is just one deep breath from Nairo away from ditching his twee boss entirely and leaving him at the !@#-end of the Hautacam before Quintana's even got his chamois straight. Hell, even that much-hyped-but-oft-dismissed Carlos Betancur, who seemed to reach a crucial epiphany when he *just* heard for the *very first time* last week that an all-donut diet and giant tractor-tire of a beer gut *isn't* in fact the winning formula for flyweight climber success. You go Carlos--no, we mean it, now that you can, try *going*!
The Breakaways and Stage Hunters: frankly, who *isn't* her whom we love? Sure, sweetly hopeful newbies and the regular denizens of the (cycling) Atlas Obscura'll all be here, but we've also got such experienced wheelmen as the ageless Sylvain Chavanel--armed, I hear, with a Taser for the next !@#$wit who lets his dog plow into his wheel--Phil-Gil, and Tommy "the Tongue" Voeckler, particularly looking for glory in his last (!) Tour de France, everybody's favorite stoner little buddy Taylor Phinney, Cannondale teammie Andrew Talansky, Greg "!@#$ You I'm Not a Wheelsucker" van Avermaet, and, of course, the mighty Degenstache, who better shut the hell up buckle down get over himself and ride himself ragged for Alberto Contador in the mountains and on every other stage, you hear me?! So go forth and break away, or at least surprise the pack with a 3k-leap to the finish line a la' the wily Gilbert--just don't start !@#$ing around looking at your companions the last 300 meters before the line like you nimrods usually d--they're coming you fools, I tell you!--just stop i--stop it!--aw, *!@#dammit!*
Look, there's a looooooooot of non-GC talent out there, but one of those stages could be yours, boys--so keep your dope at undetectable levels, don't say anything moronic and embarrass the sponsors on the eve of the race, and for !@##'s sake, Nacer, wear a glove if you're gonna sock anybody!
Race to the..What the !@#$ Is This?: yes, Paris-Nice is off, and while it may be the race *to* the sun, it sure as hell ain't the race *in* the sun, as mud, rain, snow, and freezing treacherous glop besets the peloton for a messy--and mercifully finished--Stage 1. Not liking the cold: big Belgian bad-!@# Tom Boonen, waxing philosophical and still, despite an injury-delayed return to top form, gunning for Roubaix. Just take good care of him the next few weeks, Quick Step--Lefevere, if this boy so much as gets the sniffles and it affects his race when it counts, it's *your* damn fault!
Babe in the Woods (Well, Off the Podium, Anyway): and, legendary cyclist and Tour de France podium babe extraordinaire Bernard Hinault--whose frequently violent defense of the sanctity of the podium ceremony gives a whole new meaning to the word "puncheur"--is stepping down from his duties of congratulating the day's champion and keeping the celebrations clear of social activists, publicity-ho rabblerousers, and general miscreants, typically, in recent years, by landing on 'em like a ton o' bricks. Here, he takes down a spindly tax protester just last year: We'll miss you Bernard--but I bet your victims won't!
Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All Abou--RIDE, YOU GUTLESS WEENIES, RIDE!: meantime, after Oleg "Dynasty" Tinkov got into an extended twit-fight with Jonathan "Hipster" Vaughters over whether gaudy Trumpesque gilded champagne-swilling extravagance is superior to smugly downscale faux-rusticity--thereby engaging in precisely the sort of substantive discussions about cycling the lack of which is purportedly driving Tinkov out of the sport at the end of the season anyway--Oleg immediately got right back to the business of, y'know, rallying his troops to start winning *bike races* by, as shown in this clip, encouraging his Team Tinkoff boys from behind as they trained this afternoon. Damn, Oleg, you're no braggart after all--you really *are* a better athlete than they are!
You Spin Me Right Round, Baby: finally, while I frankly can't typically tell the difference between an omnium a cadmium or a millenium, I do gather that (1) Mark Cavendish did something to help his teammate and himself yesterday that was wholly within his rights to do and (2) Elia Viviani, who apparently didn't like how this affected *him*, threw a colossal snit over it. Jaysus, you sprinters are annoying enough constantly crying about each other after every !@#damn *road* race--can we at least agree to let the track rest in obscurity as a pure, quiet space in this broader clash of unbearable egos?
Cav Gets Huffy (the Mood, Not the Bike): well, I guess Cav's decided to call bull!@#$ on accusations he's "gone soft", because this week, as Marcel Kittel stormed to two stage victories and the overall at the Tour of Dubai after a miserable 2015, and Cav started to look all last-March Peter Sagan with all the "almosts", the Manx Missile finally lost patience and (gently, for sure) head-butted a fellow sprinter unsportingly getting in his face in the final dash to the line. And, over at the Herald SunTour, some rather unpleasant words were exchanged between Sky's Peter Kennaugh--just losing the overall GC on the final day to deeply irritating teammate Chris "Pterodactyl" Froome--and whiny domestique Pat Shaw from Avanti over Sky and Kennaugh in particular allegedly riding like total wankers on the final day, among them maudlin pet names like "selfish"--whoa, I'm way too much of a delicate lady to repeat *that*! Hey, if you can't beat the guy on the bike, you can at least use up all those words you learned in the schoolyard in third grade--*that'll* teach the snotty bastard!
Quick-Slap: Over at the Tour of Qatar, the organizers have decided not to invite back INeverRememberWhoTheNewFirstSponsorIs-QuickStep for 2016, not because the other teams have been bitching for years that their own guys can't take out QuickStep in any of the sprints and it makes them look bad, but because the squad's preening prima donnas not only insist on delaying the podium ceremonies by demanding to change out of their cycling shoes and sit for a minute after wrenching their guts out in the life-threatening heat, but they were also (inexcusably, to be fair) rude to the woman sent to tell them nicely to get the lead out (the element out of their !@#, not the sprint term), *and* they were seemingly causing all kinds of unseemly ruckus in the hotel, presumably by lighting stink-bombs in the stairwells doing cannonballs off the hotel pool diving board and splashing the well-bred guests and pulling the fire alarms to elude the 3 am doping controls. Oh, lighten up organizers and let 'em back--and let's get this party *started*!
Seeing Red (Though Maybe Not for Long): meanwhile, some punk little assclown over at Katusha has now put we love dear Purito Rodriguez' early season in doubt, as this nobody kid Vorganov gets popped for some weird drug that's apparently banned in most of Europe anyway but is (or has been til quite recently), it seems, available from our fine friends at Amazon, potentially opening Katusha up to a 45-day ban for the whole squad as it's their second offense in recent months. Holy crap, PEDs *and* Free Two-Day-Shipping with an Amazon Prime membership? Doping scumbags, sign me up! Honey, did we *not* just cover "If you're gonna dope, at least don't dope and suck" in our *last* post? And Vino, you and the rest of Astana management get back to admiring your gold-plated bicycle, and get that !@#$ing smirk off your face!
Motorin'...What's Your Price for Flight?: finally, when you start calling out dear ex-Euskaltel Ion Izaguirre for motor doping for having his wheel seemingly continue rotating for some time after a crash, all I can say is, go to hell for slandering a former Carrot, after nearly 10 years of blogging I'm damn well running out of defenses for riders I like, and even if he is which he isn't, what, you want him ending up in the !@#damn emergency room with some fridge-spoiled Riccardo Ricco' death-drug-cocktail, if anyone *has* to be enough of a thieving weasel to cheat I'd frankly rather them raiding the local hardware store for some wires and a cheap-!@# soldering gun where the worst damage they could do to themselves is a minor electrical shock versus damn near croaking from liver failure so yap yap it's lazy and against the Official Martyr Sufferfest Code let's stop acting like a pile of pills and a syringe is some kind of relative freakin' moral high ground if they're gonna be a disgusting disgrace to the entire sport anyway because at least if it's repugnant it's not gonna actually get them killed. Didn't *anyone* watch that Time for Timer thing between Saturday morning cartoons on how the human body is a just a big machine anyway? Man, now I've taken a universally-reviled position *and* dated myself back to the Pleistocene Era....anyhoo, here's our boy showing off one of his special new wheels, so enjoy!
Whoa moly, the road season is nigh upon us, and we *still* don't know how the hell to tell who the hell we're rooting for with the ever-confusing roll-out of the New Year's team kits! Can you *imagine* if they pulled this !@#$ with NFL teams, there'd be riots in the streets and beer-and-nachos-fueled total freakin' anarchy, I tells ya! Anyway, since at most all the squads have to fear from cycling fans is, like, some *serious* pouting and Twitter snark, with no threat of immediate bloodshed it at least behooves us to know we're swearing at over a dainty espresso at our local bike cafe':
He Wore Blue...Spandex:
Movistar: In the Navy...with a touch of neon green! In case you're *still* confused, it's the taller one bushwhacking the shorter one. Alejandro and Nairo, lookin' sharp!
Astana: Hey, Vino *was* gonna actually make Nibali and everyone else wear a team jersey with a picture of Fabio Aru on it all season, but even that crazy bastard Vinokourov'll only dope-smack an actual former Tour de France winner so hard--at least 'til Fabio takes it!
Orica-Greenedge: White? Blue? Who cares how you call it, we love 'em anyway! And a *touch* of green for suavite'. Allez boys!
The Gentleman In Red:
BMC: What'll Samuel Sanchez and...uh, a buncha other guys be wearing as Tejay and Porte slug it out for Grand Tour supremacy? Red is for "blood feud", baby!
Katusha: remember all that stupid !@#$ this past Christmas over Starbucks' heathen red-ombre coffee cups without any Christly symbols of coffee addiction? Yeah, like that--Puritoooooooooooo!
Lotto-Soudal: red, white, and bitchin'!
Snow White and the Seven Garish Added Colors:
FDJ: sure, you won't actually see 'em up *front* all that often, but, with no real changes from last year's garb, they'll sure look pretty nice when you do!
IAM: I am blue, I am white...I am apparently inspired by "neo-classicism", whatever that means. Anyway, good luck in 2016!
Dimension Data: Aside from seeing 'im slice someone's line off like a hot knife through butta, how're you gonna tell it's Cavendish? MTN-Qhubeka, we hardly new ye!
All right, we're comin' down to the last of 'em. Good thing, too, since the Tour Down Under and San Luis are already underway, and we wouldn't want you to miss a trick!
Taking the Lead: yep, it's all a-gonna change for newly honored Doctor of Science/I've heard tell he's also a cyclist Mark Cavendish: his new squad Delta Dimension's confirmed that their superstar signing ain't gonna get the lead-out train he's used to from now on. And let's be honest here, Cav *loves* himself a lead-out! Why the hosing? Well, because cycling's purportedly just *changed*--instead of 5k of 8 guys hammering til they yack to set up their man for the last 200m, it's now a much tighter time frame, so here's a coupla dudes to help you out the last kilometer or so and you're on your own for the rest, pal! Oh, this sucks--how I *do* still miss Fassa Bortolo's beautiful blue train, and now they're *all* headed for the trash heap o' history! Still, giant bonus: Cav's gonna have *far* fewer teammates to accidentally mistake for a rival and plow into the barriers like a punk-!@# at the line. Yay for silver linings!
The Waaaaiii-ting is the Hardest Part: and, what's our outraged unjustly-suspected Tour champ Chris Froome finally gonna do, after months and months of delayi--uh, thoughtfully considering? That's right, release his long-promised physiological data to shut up the haters, right square in the pages of the fine men's fashion-n'-cocktail rag Esquire magazine. Well, if f!@#$in' *Esquire* guarantees it, it's *gotta* be true--especially with a six-month lead-out to manip--uh, double-spell-check--the data! What would *really* help, frankly, is if Esquire can explain physiologically how anyone whose wings flap around on the bike like a rabid drunken fruit bat can possibly not spin himself off a mountaintop, much less triumph on the likes of Mont Ventoux, but I'm guessing that's not the data the beastly Froome detractors are gonna be looking for. Anyhoo, 'til then, the boy's wisely hiding out in Rio checkin' out the Olympic roads course--so don't worry Alberto, not only is he clean as a whistle, but he's not even *thinking* about the Tour next year!
Talk Dirt to Me: meantime, all-terrain goddess Marianne Vos, who's spent a miserable 2015 on the sidelines with overwork injuries, is now finally back on the bike--in moderation--and looking forward to some type of form sometime in 2016. And while she waits and works on that, she's scored a nice side gig as well, announcing cyclocross races 'til she herself is allowed back to play in the dirt. Forza grandissima Marianne--I can't imagine you taking too long to get back up to your formidable speed!
"D" is for Dumbass: finally, congrats to clean-team Garmin stalwart Tommy Danielson, who not only got a *great* score on his last test for synthetic testosterone, but got his grade *doubly* affirmed this week on his B-sample. It's so *nice* to see our dedicated students doing so well on their homework--tho' apparently *someone's* been quite the slacker in his masking-agent class!
Straight Outta Paris: hot on the heels of Alberto Contador's pledge to target--and target *only*--the Tour de France next season, tuttobiciweb's reporting that he's going to officially end his 2015 season with this weekend's Clasica San Sebastian, leaving him only a crappy worthless Giro d'Italia (the most beautiful race in the world Oleg you publicity-whoring goon!), and a subsequent top-5 Tour de France GC that most cyclists would still kill for to show for all that work, immediately after which he'll be stuffed into the oxygen-deprived cargo hold of a decaying Soviet military aircraft and airlifted to Nepal, which Oleg Tinkov recently bought in its entirety to serve as a high-altitude training ground for Alberto to win the Tour next year or else, you little !@#$! Quoth a forcibly duct-taped Alberto, in response to a reporter's question about the tactic, "Mgggmmpph!"
Transfer-a-palooza: and, with the Tour de France results in hand, the post-transfer clamor has predictably started, with Mark Cavendish demoted to the just-banned Androni-Sidermec squad for his loser 1-stage victory, Andre Greipel given 3 billion euro from Lotto-Soudal to build a 36-man leadout squad, Porte shoved off to BMC at the special request of Chris Froome for getting dropped one one of the Tour's approximately 968 categorized climbs--uh, to "pursue his own GC ambitions," and Tejay Van Garderen reportedly taking intensive fencing lessons with a top-notch Olympic coach in order to challenge Porte to a gentlemanly duel for team leadership. Sky, meanwhile, has apparently hired ex-Euskaltel Giro revelation Mikel Landa, Benat Intxausti, and both Izaguirre brothers, upon which a potentially-retiring Samuel Sanchez will buy the squad, put everyone in orange-and-black kit with the words "WE'RE !@#$ING EUSKALTEL, DAMMIT!" emblazoned thereon, and force defending Tour de France champ Chris Froome off the team and into early retirement unless he can prove definitively he's actually Basque. Aupa Samuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Finally, over in the women's peloton, Giro Donne/LaCourse conquistadora Anna Van der Breggen and the inimitable (if currently dented) Marianne Vos will be given a raise commensurate with their athletic prowess, meaning they'll be paid in a whole handful's worth of 1-euro coins instead of those little wooden tokens you redeem for cheap tacky crap when you win beanbag-toss games at those sandy seedy seaside amusement venues. Also, any and all women riders who've still been stiffed outta their rightful (if pathetic) earnings in *last* year's UCI races will be allowed to sideline as podium babes at men's amateur races to *really* earn their keep instead. Who *says* there's been no progress in the women's sport this year?
2. On the other hand, anyone who gets kissed by a beagle can't be a *total* goon. But still mostly.
3. Alberto's looking, as he tends to heading into the third week of a Grand Tour, pretty strong. But if Froome's PostalDiscoverySky androids keep riding like this--not even counting Chris "the Pterodactyl" Froome himself--it ain't gonna matter for !@#$.
3. Quintana, man. Your "helpmate" Valverde is right behind you, and, well, it seems highly unlikely he's gonna hold off outta teamsmanship. Watch your back, little Nairo!
4. Am I the only one who thinks Oleg'd rather Sagan just take a !@#$in' stage win for once than don the "most consistent" green jersey every day?
5. Don't blame the !@#$in' media for everyone thinking you and your team are doping, Froome you baby. You riding like such a freak and having a !@#damn Classics specialist making Quintana look like freakin' Cavendish on a mountain climb are why. Wah, wah--the maillot jaune's your reward, whether you deserve it or not!
6. Speaking of whom, it's kinda a testament to Cav's sheer amazingness that everyone's acting like he's a loser for taking "just" one stage win this year. We really take him for granted, don't we?
7. Tejay Van Garderen. What a great job by him, *and* BMC. Samuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
8. PURITOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
9. Major, *major* grinta by Nibali yesterday. No matter where he places, *that's* a champion.
10. New UCI rule: any classless skankfest "fan" throwing wizz on a rider--no matter who that is, or why--shall be used as a fire hydrant for the entire peloton's next "nature break."
11. Of all the reasons guys've left the Tour this year, it's a relief to hear Basso's prognosis after his terrible news is excellent and dandy a baby Van Avermaet is pending. And could Vandevelde quit bitching how BMC should never have squandered a spot on 'im in the first place?
12. Andre Greipel. Gets no credit, but gets the glory!
13. Loved, *loved* Steve Schlanger desperately trying to milk Geraint Thomas for tearful emotion after Warren Barguil whanged him head over heels into a telephone pole and a ditch and getting a mild "it's irritating" in return.
14. It's been a *lot* less bloody this week. Let's hope it stays that way in the Alps--and go Alberto, or it's *this* next week in Paris!
Let It Snow (In July): well, *that* sucks for dear Purito Rodriguez: joining the ranks of we love Gilberto "My Grandma Sent Me Coke-Tainted Candies" Simoni and Tom "Hell, At Least It Didn't Make Me Crash My Lamborghini!" Boonen, now Luca "the Beard" Paolini's tested positive for metabolectrawhatsitlytes of cocaine, which means either: (1) he was just a careless good-time party boy and what's a little blow between friends on his off-hours anyway? or (2) the dumb!@# never heard of ESPRESSO, which can also enhance your speed(iness) and performance without getting you KICKED OUT OF THE TOUR DE FRANCE YOU EEJIT. *Must* we go years back to My Fantasy Tom Boonen Press Conference on how to deal with this issue? Oh, Luca--don't you know you'd'a gotten off *entirely* if you'd only taken that freakish !@#$ that makes one look like a terrifying undead skeleton wraith and *does* help your performance, to boot? Here, poor Luca's so out of it he's accidentally trying to snort his own jersey: Good luck with yer B-sample, honey!
C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me): and, after a disappointing series of sprint losses, for which he reamed his team, the press, the fans, and pretty much everybody but himself as usual, the expensive Mark Cavendish--currently looking, as team boss Pat Lefevere keeps pointing out, for a new contract--at last took a downright spiffy win in today's sprint, leaving green jersey Andre Greipel with 2 and lone wolf (and even *more* expensive) Peter Sagan with a big fat zippo (tho' to be fair, a selfless and gracious domestique, as Peter has been for Alberto, oughtn't come *too* cheap either). Good to see you on the map again, Cav--if you can just cling on to the autobus through the Pyrenees, the Champs is yours as usual in Paris!
What's In a Name? That Which We Call A Rosa By Any Other Name Would be As Bad-!@#: finally, in addition to celebrating MTN-Qhubeka's Daniel Teklehaimanot's first-ever-for-Africa polka-dot jersey at the Tour, over at the Giro Rosa, Wiggle's Mayuko Hagiwara became the first-ever Japanese rider to win a stage at the Giro Rosa with a spectacular 30k solo breakaway win on Stage 6. The action? Wiggle lays it down! Complimenti Mayuko!
Yes, unlike our beloved Giro and Vuelta, where sprints are what you do before you get on with the *real* racing, the Tour de France is a veritable playground for the sugared-up irrepressible adrenalin-junkie fast kids, with a good 1/3 of the Tour to get their speed on. Also in the mix: the green "points" or sprinter's jersey, which Peter Sagan better win because even though it's lame compared to the maillot jaune Oleg Tinkov wants *some* return on investment on his showy one-boy money pit. So who's going for glory? These guys!
Mark Cavendish: the Manx Missile's had only a so-so season, and frankly seems a bit dispirited since his 2014 season-long thrashing by Marcel Kittel, but Cav looked on grand form last year for July before crashing out with a dislocated shoulder in the 2014 Tour. Result? The man is out for *revenge*, and even without his intimidating palmares and low bull!@#$ tolerance from other riders, a pissed-off Cav is liable to chew your head off right along with your legs as he takes out his anger to the line. Just so's the rest of you stay out of biting range of those big teeth you oughta survive the sprints--better a lost stage than a lost body part, for sure!
Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel: he's big, he's strong, and the Lurch o' the peloton, tho' low-key, can still stomp out a win (and accidentally his rivals) under his big carcass without even noticing. Plus, his squad's been on fine form this season. We love you, ya big lug--I'm sure there's at least one stage win in your near future!
Nacer Bouhanni: oh, sure, he *just* hit the deck hard--so hard he had to pose butt-nekkid as a jaybird to prove it. But he's decided to do the Tour de France anyway, he had a smashing early season, and who needs a properly functioning "ribcage" or "cartilage" to, y'know, breathe enough to sprint? If he can hang on long enough to really heal up, hell yes there's hope!
Tyler Farrar: shut up! Can so either!
Michael "Bling" Matthews: has this kid been having a *season*, or what? He's obliterated the field in half the races this part of the season, and has an excellent lead out to boot. Go Bling!
Peter Sagan: he can climb, he can sprint, he can cost Oleg Tinkov 4.3 million euro--but what he *can't* do is justify his wormlike existence to vengeful team boss King Oleg after blowing his highly-touted and clearly overhyped Classics season. So will the Saganator have the mental fortitude to hold it together in the Tour, particularly with his squad's (!@#damn well better be) focus on Contador grabbing the whole Tour? Well, Peter's been doing pretty well again lately--but then, it apparently helps when he's separated from Oleg by a good coupla continents, and if Alberto does well, you *know* Tinkov's gonna be there for 24/7 yellow jersey photobombs!
The 'Nother Guys: yeah, there's Boassen Haagen Dazs, Degenkolb, and a handful of other cobbles-friendly strongmen, but pure sprints aren't necessarily their thing. But if they can ditch Cav out the autobus on some of those hilly midsections, there's room to play for other boys!
Out: Cav archrival--and best competitor--2014 bad-!@# Marcel "the Hair" Kittel, and reportedly so ticked about it he's trying to leave Giant "Doping for Hair" (a slogan discreetly dropped for the Tour) Alpecin. Yep, as with Nibs' 2014 GC win, every 2015 sprint victory'll always seem a little bit unearned--and Cav, now you got *no* excuses!
Well, we got the roleurs and climbeurs still left to go--and then, it's on to the Tour!
The Neverending Story: yep, just when you thought you'd finally heard the last of the whining over evil Alberto Contador attacking innocent Andy Schleck when he dropped his chain in a hapless mechanical and nefariously stealing that Tour de France, the same stupid !@#$ing thing is being yapfested about agai...oh, wait, this is *Cavendish*, today, at Tirreno, wholly accidentally taking out rival Elia Viviani over what Quick Step is now saying is a repeat chain-drop problem that blew Cav's nearly inevitable win at the sprint. Whoa moly, anyone know if Cav's mechanic's okay after Mark no doubt flew at him like some rabid snarling toothy badger to chew his face off? Whoever he is, I'm sure if he's not *too* roughed up, that the problem's been analyzed and damn well fixed--or else! Here, the carnage: Feel better soon, Elia!
There's Buyer's Remorse, And There's 12 million !@#$in' Euros of Buyers' Remorse: meantime, a day after Alberto Contador thanked Oleg Tinkov for his new-signed 2016 contract by bonking at the opening Tirreno-Adriatico time trial, fellow pampered flower Peter Sagan woofed yet *again* by blowing the sprint at Tirreno today, but luckily, Oleg was so charmed by Peto's wacky post-race antics that he only *threatened* to wrap 'im up like a mummy and trebuchet him across the next sprint finish line like some creepy-!@# spandex medieval missile. Just ask Alberto, Peter--batting those eyelashes is only gonna get you so far, honey! Still, panicked Tinkov minion/cycling impresario Bjarne Riis is urging everyone not to panic over Sagan's impending Classics season just yet, which he paradoxically did by pointing out how much better than him everyone else who's in contention already is this year. Jaysus, Oleg, you're already putting Alberto under freakish pressure having him try to be the first sap to win the Giro-Tour double since the allegedly more, well, highly-provisioned era--you're really still gonna screw him by putting one pedal stroke of the Tour squad's effort behind this showoff? Oh, Sagan'll take his first win of the season soon enough, and you'll melt like buttah on hot popcorn--Alberto, you'd better start vying a little harder for Oleg's affection right about now!
Narcs That Go Bump in the Night: and, in the wake of the CIRC report, the debate rages on over UCI's threat to jack up middle-of-the-night dope testing for exhausted random riders during major races, not only leading to a deluge of hotel mini-fridges mysteriously ditched in dumpsters during Grand Tour season, but a web-clogging increase in desperate Google searches asking "who was that guy who got out of a positive by saying he was doing the nasty that time?" Me, I actually very much sympathize with some poor clean schmo whose hopes for a next-day stage win are dashed by rubber-gloved goons wrecking his much-needed sleep in search of some guilty doping assclown. Oh well, that's the unjust price of cycling purity, I guess--and lucky that at least a few 'em of 'em are already taking sedatives according to that CIRC report!
French Press: finally, congrats to the wily French Cycling Federation, using the lame excuse of 'making sure nobody was doping' to screw reigning Tour de France champ Vincenzo Nibali out of a cool half million euros in prize money 'til they're sure he, and the winners of a wunk of other 2014 French races, deserves the money. So, with retroactive testing improvements and all, you're planning on paying the poor guy when, when his senior citizen pension vests? I mean, I get messing around with the small if unimpeachale Nibali's head and bank account, if you're a total jerk and all--but really, bigger guys like Niki Terpstra? On wing span alone that guy could wring the money outta you by force!
Holy Flailing Windmill Hell: well, if you think Alberto Contador's psyched out by the ungainly Chris Froome's blazing stage and overall win/showdown at the Ruta del Sol, think again, suckers: he's *sticking* with his Giro/Tour double plan, *and* he's confident he'll win 'em both. So what if he'll still be exhausted from the Giro--it's not like he's really wanting to aim for the Tour, right? Oh, for the day when the Tour de France is rightly the also-ran, and the dear perfect Giro gets the glory....
I Dream of Sanremo: and, just as Oleg Tinkov has made it extremely clear he'll personally disconnect Peter Sagan's so-far-lackluster limbs off if he doesn't win Milano-San Remo, none other'n last year's quasi-funk/this season's rocket renaissance Mark Cavendish has wistfully opined to the Italian press that winning it is not only a dream, but also a pretty major goal, for this season. Dang, Peter, you better *hope* you can bunny-hop over Tinkov's head and the hell outta Dodge if you can't turn Cav's dream into a nightmare this year--but only if you value your continued employment, I suppose!
Advertising for !@#holes: finally, congrats to the backwards inbred troglodyte pigs who designed the Neanderthal ad for this year's upcoming E3 Harelbeke, which perfectly exemplifies the blood, sweat, and bicycles of, y'know, *bike racing* by showing a disembodied hand reaching for a disembodied women's porn-star !@# in what appears to be some pervy cheerleader outfit. Who runs that !@#$ing agency, Larry Flynt? Anywho, in the spirit of equality which has so recently, and not actually, taken hold in pro cycling, here's *my* new ad for the Giro Rosa: the bronzed, oiled, Photoshopped iron-abs of Peter Sagan and Fabian Cancellara in tighty-whities curled adoringly at the feet of Marianne Vos as she holds the winner's trophy aloft on the podium. Think they'd feel that's appropriate? Okay, Sagan probably would, but....!@#$, people! Here, the women of Wiggle-Honda are riding their freakin' bikes, you socially-stunted frat-mavens:
Hell-ooooooooo! Defending Champ Over Here!: yes, the media hype over the Alberto Contador-Chris Froome faceoff at the Tour de France, and diplomatically complimentary smack-talk, has already begun, as the two boys get a trial crack at each other at the Ruta del Sol this week and poor Vincenzo Nibali has to go on the offensive to remind everyone he's actually the defending !@#$ing Tour winner and, like anyone cares, his form is already pretty good and he's tranquillo about his chances in July. Well, hell, Nibs, it's not like you're even gonna be a marked man apparently, you might as well just take the maillot jaune while those two are distracted getting fawned over! I swear, the man can't get *no* respect...
Pick It Up, Peter!: geez, Sagan, not only did Oleg Tinkov pay out the nose for the Holy Grail of Your Royal Wheelieness this season, but with Alberto Contador threatening to retire in 2016 so Oleg can't make him do the Giro-Tour-Vuelta deathmarch--uh, so he can retire at the top of his game--you're all Tinkov's got now, honey, so if you don't start to step up from this 7th place bull!@#$ and win him (forget "win yourself") a good brace of Monuments this season, you're gonna find you'll be suddenly getting paid 3.4 million euro a year just to follow Oleg around disposing of his dirty tissues and wiping his rear end. Meantime, I don't wanna disturb you or Marcel Kittel as he relaxes over at the hair salon with a hot cup of tea and a Cosmo, but Mark Cavendish has been, despite some fine early-season competition, on a hell of a tear, with the added bonus that, should you actually be about to beat him in a sprint on the merits, he can and will rip your derailleur off with teeth within a wheel's-width of the line. I take back every doubt I had about you Cav--at least until Marcel's all done with his blow-out!
Wiggo's Got a Brand New Bag: meanwhile, big style points to baby team boss Sir Bradley Wiggins, who's debuted a stylin' new jersey for his nascent squad that's far superior to the boring (and confusing) black of most'a' the ProTour this year. Special feature: press the target logo on the chest, and it chirps, "*Sure*, I'll help Froomey win the Tour!" Oh, just keep rubbin' salt in old wounds there, Brad...
Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeens!: finally, giant kudos to our fine local bike shop for hosting an entirely bitchin' Q&A with the entirely bitchin' Jens Voigt yesterday. My dear Contador and Cancellara swooners, I get it--never have I seen so many grownups, myself included, share so much in common with a shrieking stadium full of sugar-stoked tween idol fans. Yep, I'm a Belieber--thank you Jens and Cycle Loft!
And It's Mark Cavendish for the Cheap-Shot!: Don't like a journalist's perfectly reasonable question as to the current state of cleanliness of the sport--not even about your own? Well, here's yer perfectly reasonable response: don't answer, *and* suggest that his spouse is bangin' someone else. Keepin' it classy, Cav! Fortunately, before actual blows were exchanged as to the journo's wife's virtue, karma caught up with the graceless rider as he immediately lost his first sprint of the season at the Tour de San Luis to someone, Fernando Gaviria, he'd never heard of. Did you see Mr. Kittel's race yesterday, Mr. Cavendish? Hey, who you calling a !@#$% ?! Here, via Veloropa, the friendly exchange, and world champ Michal Kwiatkowski's impressively contained reaction:
Giro d'Holy Moly How'd These Clowns Get In Here?: y'know, I fully support the smooth reintegration of genuinely remorseful former dopers and vicious vengeful cornered badgers, like Lance Armstrong, back into the peloton. Especially when it's at the expense of an up-and-coming squad of as-yet-unbesmirched climbers who already lit up one Grand Tour to spectacular, and groundbreaking, effect. And of course, nobody can take issue with the Giro d'Italia organizers wanting to support the smaller, if not historically perfectly clean, squads of Italian cycling. So why the big mean unsportsmanlike hoo-ha over a wild card like CCC Sprandi, home of 43-year-old uber-offender Davide "Gee, I Guess All That Crap Acts as Preservatives, Too" Rebellin and Stefan "I Guess It Did Look Bad to Beat Cancellara In Two Consecutive Time Trials" Schumacher getting to ride in the show? Okay, *maaaaaaybe* Nairo Quintana shouldn't've so openly dissed the beautiful Giro in favor of the overhyped Tour de France this year...but geez, punish his whole freakin' country for it whydontcha?
Pozzato Watch! finally, good news for rakish, if lately resultsless, Lampre king Pippo Pozzato: he's worked hard all winter, he's tons skinnier, and therefore, he's ready and rarin' for a back-to-winning 2015. *Pictures*, Pippo, pictures--it's not like you've been shy posting 'em all in the past!
P.S. Go Cadeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel--and we love the Tour Down Under!
Watch Out, Mark Cavendish!: Oh, so you go in for a little argy-bargy at the line, maybe a shove like Cav or a head-butt like Robbie McEwen do you? Maybe even a Rui Costa post-race wheel whang, a little assault'n'battery? Well get your dukes up, you mewling wussies, because boxing is 2014 sprint revelation Nacer Bouhanni's true "passion," and not only is he training in the off-season with an eye towards a post-cycling pugilistic career, one can sensibly imply that he'll !@#$in' knock your lights out if you come within 4 feet of his wheel in the last 2 kilometers of a race. Just try screwing with *his* line, Roberto Ferrari, if you want an impromptu and highly unflattering nose job! I don't know, man, Sagan and Farrar are so nice I can see 'em going down like a ton of bricks, and Kittel'd maybe hit the deck with a sucker punch while he's moussing his hair, but Greipel you could actually break your hand on and Cav is one scrappy little bastard. First bout: Tour of Qatar, see you there, baby, and bring the Band-Aids!
Tinkoff Goes Stealth: and, in a subtle attempt to evade the nar--uh, jazz up its team-kit sales to the insatiable wannabe masses--Oleg Tinkov's debuted a smokin' blue-camo training-camp team kit for the boys to romp in. Oh, who *gives* a crap--the only team kit that ever mattered is the orange and black--bring back Euskaltel, !@#dammit!
Tour de Force: finally, it's all in for terrifying pasty wraith/prior champ Chris Froome at the Tour de France this year, so Nibali, you're gonna really have to bring your A-game if the boy manages to stay upright and not go up in flames from exposure to the sunlight. Lucky for you Froomey Contador's got a built-in excuse if he's tired out winning the Giro--at least, you better *hope* Oleg lets him get tired next year!
Somewhere, Alejandro Valverde Is Crying In His Beer: yep, the 2015 Tour de France is out, and, without just gackin' up the details you already read, it is, as it should always be, a climber's delight--so much so that the Tour organizers' orgasmic dream of an Alberto/Nairo/Froomey/Nibali Tour is already wrecked, with a, well, unconfident Chris Froome bailing rather'n face a rather-comfy-lookin' Alberto Contador in the heights. Wah, wah, he's already gonna be tired from Tinkov flagellating 'im all Giro anyway, what are you afraid of you big baby?! Meantime, Valverde, already sworn to sacrificing himself for wee jailbait phenom Quintana next year, has reportedly been careening around the streets in a sobbing drunken haze cornering disinterested strangers and drooling on 'em, "it coulda been me next year! it coulda been me!" Luckily, leaving aside one hopes the nasty hand of fate in 2015's coming battle, Alberto's still got Nibs and Nairo to amuse himself against next year--if Nibs still has any domestiques left by the time the narcs are done crackin' down!
Nightmare on Hincapie Street: back on our side of the pond, yet another shameful scandal has erupted on the US cycling scene--highly regarded and beloved 7 time Tour de France victor Lance Armstrong was first allegedly allowed, and now is for no good reason whatsoever not allowed, to ride ex-teammate/partner in dope George Hincapie's upcoming Gran Fondo. !@#damn right it's an outrage--Lance is a hero! He's never tested positive once! He's a sterling example to young riders everywhere! He's proven you can come back from a two-year retirement and kick total !@# on jailbait upstarts at the To--oh wait, what year is this again?
Watch Out Sagan, He's a'Comin For Ya!: last (but never least), Peter Sagan better watch his back at next year's Tour de France--Mark Cavendish all better from his disastrous Tour-ending crash, he's tired of everyone else taking the spotlight, and he is ready to stomp Marcel Kittel Andre Greipel (like he even has to) and not-even-a-sprinter Peter Sagan for stage-win glory in July. Oh well, Peter, at least he's not going for the green jersey--I'm sure the patient and sensitive Oleg Tinkov won't mind that for a consolation prize if you don't take any stages next year!
Sure, today was a twinky little "transitional" stage, but before we hit the high Alps tomorrow, there's a few important lessons so far we ought to take away from Le Tour and around the sport in general, so kids, for the betterment and just plain saving of us all, let's review:
Crouching Cyclist, Hidden Chavanel: so let's say you inadvertently piss off, and take down, Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel within lougie-ing distance of a sprint he didn't even expect to be there for, much less actively contest, since he had to spend 5 miserable hours hauling his monstrous carcass over about 600 Cat 3 and Cat 4 climbs first to get within 3k of the line before you personally destroyed his sudden stage-win dreams. Well, normally, according to the experts, gorillas are quite reserved and shy--until they're provoked by unexpected movements, when they will charge you and let out "horrific" roars. And if that don't work, it attacks. So what do you when he does it? Well, according to experts, it ain't "flee"--he'll take you for a wuss, charge after you, and bite into whatever body part he gloms on first. Instead, you are to crouch "submissively" and keep your eyes on the ground. Words to live by--literally! Here, Sylvain Chavanel instinctively does the right thing after a wee imbroglio with Andre today:
How to Look All Cleanster, But Still Be Loyal to Your Cyclist: string him along! Yes, that's what the fine folks at Team "Incredibly Anti-Doping, Unless We Want You As a Staff Member and You're Not American" Sky did after backing Brit bio-passport miscreant Jonathan Tiernan-Locke, popped ages ago but only now whacked with a two-year ban for not quite provably doing anything wrong, subject of course to appeals--they had his back until UCI handed down the news, at which point, not subject to appeals, they ripped him as a freak-o'-the-peloton "cheat" and terminated his contract. Classy! Aw, and I was *so* hoping we'd get to see the alternate "As we expected the allegations were proven to be baseless and we are delighted to announce his formal return to training with the squad" press release...
How to Piss Off Mark Cavendish: well, if you're we love Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen, announce without any hesitation whatsoever right on the air that Marcel Kittel is the best sprinter in the world today. Oh, really? I can guess someone who might have an issue with *that*! Don't worry, boys--I'm sure the two of you can take that baby Mark Cavendish, at least if Bobke goes all Hinault and lands on 'em like a pro wrestler--and I doubt he was watching some boring bike race from home today anyway!
How to Fake Like Your Head Isn't About to Explode: oh, come on, Oleg. We *know* you ain't happy, and even if poor wee Contador makes it back to form in time for the Vuelta, you ain't gonna be satisfied without him winning the showiest Big Show of them all. Alternate tactic: deflection, by attacking another team for its lame anti-doping response on Twitter this very afternoon. But you sure did psych us out there with that big smile and thumbs-up from the team car this morning, Mr. Tinkov--*how* many stage wins does it take to make up for not getting the maillot jaune in Paris again?
And, How to Win a PR War: oh, Lampre left charming selfie king Pippo Pozzato off its Tour de France squad--but it certainly lost the battle for the hearts and minds of the adoring fan populace, as a suavely offended Pippo responds by not only posting a thousand photos of himself diligently pursuing high-altitude training the last two weeks just to shove it in your face that he's *not* a slacker, but also manages to put up a photo of himself tranquilly contemplating the true meaning of life against a stunning mountain panorama totally coincidentally with his shirt off. Grimy exhausted blue-and-fuchsia guys picking apart the stage results with obscure announcers in immediate post-race interviews--0. Pozzato--1000!
1. That crash was completely on Cav, but I'm awful sorry about his separated shoulder and hope he can start tomorrow. And to his credit, he's already apologized. So long as he stays the hell away from poor Gerrans from now on!
2. I am utterly and unequivocally opposed to fans getting in the way of the riders. But it was sort of spiritual watching them all touching Jens like a holy relic.
3. Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnsssssssss!
4. If I were Floyd Landis watching a well-paid and still-beloved Christian Van de Velde announcing the Tour de France to an adoring audience after he silently watched Floyd be vilified for years knowing he was telling the truth, I'd be bull!@#$. !@#$, why not just bring Lance Armstrong in to sit next to Bobke next time?
5. After 2 problems with his bike, ten bucks sez that Chris Horner got back to his hotel and beat his mechanic over the head with a Big Mac and large fries. Well, internet gambling's probably illegal, so let's make that "a piece of paper with $10 written on it."
6. What the hell is it this year with stage 1 at the Grand Tours? Anyone setting their sights on the Vuelta a Espana, watch out--you're cursed!
7. Kinda liked Tinkoff-Saxo's other kit better. Leave it to Oleg to figure out how to out-shine the maillot jaune!
8. If you're gonna dress up like a bunny rabbit and run alongside the peloton like an idiot, you might as well go all out and add a bunch of carrots. Nice accessorizing!
9. Didja see Marianne Vos is in the lead at the Giro Rosa? Natch!
10. SHUT. UP. DAVID. MILLAR. YOU. WANKER.
11. America may have had its issues with the British monarchy, but that *was* pretty cool the way the royals sent the peloton on its way. Tell me how Andy Schleck got right up there though? Yeah, yeah, I know, he "won" the Tour in 2010....and is it me, or was Froomey rather blushing talking to Kate?
Look, there goes the peloton--wait, what the *hell* is going on with the multiple yellow jerseys, who's in charge of this thing?
We'll miss you Bernard--but I bet your victims won't!
Good luck with yer B-sample, honey!
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