It's Your Olympic Track-Cycling Roundup; And, Back to the Peloton, Baby!

Cruise, Booze, and Lose: yep, it took fabulous Aussie Anna Meares (over the retiring, and extremely still bad-!@#, Victoria Pendleton) to finally break the iron grip of the Brits on cycling gold in the sprint, but there was almost more fun outside the velodrome as Belgian omnium contender Gijs Van Hoecke was tossed out of the Games for partying just a liiittttle too hard apres-track--and really, with all the dope folks've been busted for these Games, *that's* what pisses off the Olympic etiquette narcs?--and the IOC announcing that onetime gold medalist Tyler Hamilton's finally being formally stripped of his medal over his doping admission. Okay, that's fine enough--but much as I like Ekimov, am I the only person thinking that giving the gold to any other one of Lance Armstrong's teammates from back in the day is !@#$in' *insane*? Hell, give it to Alexander Vinokourov or somebody whydontcha? Oh, wait...my bad!

It's the Tour o' Utah, Baby! And Eneco!: meantime, back in the peloton, the boys've divided themselves up quite nicely between the Tour o' Utah and the Eneco Tour, with Vande Velde heading up the pack in Utah after a typically slammin' Garmin time trial, Tom Boonen cannily taking the leader's jersey at Eneco, and, in one of the most nerve-wracking teaser-titles o' the week, Contador Tests...uh, the Cauberg ahead of taking on Chris Froome and Juan Jose Cobo in less'n a fortnight at the Vuelta a Espana. Keep on testing, Alberto--the climbs, that is, the climbs! And here's the dashing Tommeke--maybe he might give Van Hoecke a few tips on partying with a bit more dignity?

More Trouble on the Olympic Track; and, Welcome Back, Contador!

'Round and 'Round: so, you wanna know why the British are 10 bazillion times better'n everyone else on earth at track events? Well, forget that "they have a proud tradition of track cycling" or "they respect and nurture athletes in the discipline" or even just "Sir Chris Hoy is a rider for the ages" crap, because the French, of course, have got it nailed: yes, the Brits are using Ultra-Bitchin' Super-Duper Top-Secret Mega-Wily James Bond Spy Wheels on their bikes! And how do we know this? Because they Sneak 'Em In the Velodrome in Way-Devious Uber-Sneaky Opaque Bike Wheel Bags! Ah, yes, that *must* be it--if the French hadn't been pedaling those granite-wheeled foot-propelled Flintstone vehicles all these years, they'd've been tearing up the track *and* their own Grand Tour! Heck, nothin' like a paranoid conspiracy theory and gallons of cheap wine to soothe the dope-slapped collective ego...

Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome!: okay, so either you like 'im or you don't. You think he's either a drug-snarfin' cow-slandering cheat-weasel, or an innocent accidental contaminant-ingestor. You think he's either one of the greatest stage-racers in cycling history, or one of its biggest (after, well, y'know) frauds. But I think we can *all* agree that whether Alberto's an angel, a devil, or just plain adorable, he sure whines less than a Schleck, don't he! Anyhoo, Contador's back from his ban, he's humbly learned his lesson--if "screw you, I'll still kick your !@#" is a lesson--and already stretchin' his legs with his posse at the Eneco Tour before he whomps the bejeezus outta everyone in the Vuelta. Bienvenido a casa, Alberto--good or bad, it's been a looooooong six months without you!

Controversy at the Track; and, Pat "Dick" McQuaid Takes the High Ground

The First Rule of Fight Club Is, There Is No Fight Club: Okay folks, as the phenomenal British squads single-handedly rebuild the Empire with a monster sweep of gold medals, we've now got ourselves a coupla hot'n'sexy controversies at the Olympic track events, and they apparently boil down to these: (1) the rules suck; and (2) the rules are fine, but if you say what they are, *you* suck. Why? So far as I can tell--and frankly, that ain't much, as I fully admit being completely baffled by bike races in which you, say, virtually track-stand for half an hour so you *don't* go fast--in the first case, the Brits are emotionally crushed for being screwed out of a medal in the women's team sprint after making a transition like a millimeter too early. Okay, like a crap hand-off in a relay race--I can get that. Blows, but as even the DQed athletes acknowledged, fair's fair. In the second case, the rules say if you make a crap start, you can start over. You can do this, according to the trackies whose angry and defensive posts I've perused, by just falling over on purpose. Uh...okay, cool. But now the Brits are pissed because they're being accused of cheating by the same sort of freaks who actually consider "badminton" an Olympic event, even though they followed the rules and didn't do anything wrong. So what's the prob? Yes, some poor sod on the British team mouthed off and *said* what they did. !@#$in' A, am I the only one who thinks that when things go in your favor and you're likely to look like an assclown for yappin' about it, you should just *hush up*? Thank you, y'all can just send me a check next time for services rendered...on second thought, maybe you better wait til after you try to explain why you're all stopped dead upright in the middle of a race! Here, the topple: and the frantic post-admission backtrack:

From the Pot Calling the Kettle Black Department: yes, the Lance Armstrong situation has taken yet another giant leap forwards towards justice: rabid anti-doping hero Pat "Dick" McQuaid of UCI has just declared that USADA ought to stop its investigation into whether Armstrong doped so he--that is, an independent investigator--can determine the truth because, well, USADA's not objective. Like a guy who hooked his entire career onto Lance's shooting star is, Pat? Lookin' forward to that verdict--at least, I'm sure Lance Armstrong is!

Vino Takes Over the World: finally, it's transfer season, kids, and while word's still mum on where Jens Voigt's gonna go, as expected reigning gold medalist Alexandre Vinokourov has neatly bagged Vuelta winner/Tour podium finisher Vincenzo Nibali, which means that not only is the guy going to be (fairly) making more dough than a bakery, but Vino's continued path from rider to newbie DS to Total Dominator of the Universe is well on its way. See what happens when you mess with Nibali, Liquigas--next time, be nicer when you tell the press he's yer beeyotch!

It's the 2012 Olympics Time Trials, Baby!; and, In Defense of Phil Liggett (Shut Up! Go To Hell!)

Faster, Pussycat!: Okay, both defending time trial gold medalists, Fabian Cancellara and Kristin Armstrong, are still recovering from prior season-wrecking collarbone snaps *and* freshly-incurred bloody crashes. So while I'll concede to my British reader(s) that even with gents like Phinney Tony Martin and even LL Cool Sanchez in the hunt Wiggo's pretty well a lock on the men's race unless, say, a giant flying smoke-spewing swoops down from the sky plucks him off his bike at 200k an hour and eats 'im like a canape, I do think there's a little more surprise on the women's side, with Amber Neben Judith Arndt Noemi Cantele and Great Britain's own Emma Pooley all set to lay out some serious hurt on the course. So wake me when the men's time trial is over, and go Kristin--hey, remember this?

Lay Off of Phil, You Freaks! so, I've been pondering this situation where cycling announcer for the ages Phil Liggett ignited a firestorm o' outrage for saying BMX and mountain biking don't belong at the Olympics--though he clarified, !@#dammit, that he doesn't have anything *against* 'em, he just feels track is being hosed--and I've come to the thoughtful and well-reasoned conclusion that his critics can all just !@#$ off. Why? Because he's Sir Phil freakin' Liggett, I say, so he gets a Special Total Lifetime UCI Dispensation To Say Crazy !@#$ That Makes People Screaming Insane. If Jens Voigt said he wanted to eat your cat for dinner, would you object? No! I rest my case. But before I hear any bitchin' from folks who wouldn't read this anyway, let me say I think we can all agree that not only do BMXers and MTBers have lovely bike handling skills, but let's face it, they're generally a liiiiiitttttttle less anal-retentive than yer average blinged-out full-kitted ascetic plain-pasta-snarfin' energy-gel-debatin' power-meter-obsessive roadie. And can we keep to the *real* Olympic debate, which is why is stupid crap like "rhythmic gymnastics" still *in*? Free Phil--and apologize to him too, you peons!

A Humble Question: finally, in reviewing the Liggett dispute, I came across a very lively UK site which asked if Phil was "Right, Or A Colossal Nob Jangler?" I gathered, with my incredible powers of perception, that "nob jangler" is *not* a compliment. Still--dear Brits, kindly humor your ignoramus across the pond--translation, please?

Torrents, Tactics, and Vicious Kicks: Marianne Vos Wins Gold!

Wow, was the women's road race about 8 thousand times more interesting than the men's--4 hours of relentless attacks, intermittent then finally steady downpours, multiple pileups, a Cancellarian skid to the barriers at the exact same spot, the Most Crap Timed Mechanicals In All of Olympic History, and, despite a really surging Lizzie Armitstead, Marianne Vos' phenomenally nasty kick to the line. Cav my !@#! Anyway, deeply bummed for Shelley Olds and her disastrous flat (but was anyone else worried there seeing Vos adjust her shoe in the last few k?), shocked that the peloton let those 4 gap more'n an inch in the first place, congrats to Armitstead for the Brits' first medal this Games, smashingly impressed by Olga Zabelinskaya who had no business at all in that sprinter's break but still bagged the bronze, I was really rooting for Bronzini, but let's suck it up, the best woman won--Vos you total beast, your bad-luck streak is over, wear that medal with pride you earned it!

Next up: the men's and women's time trial. Anyone else up for watching Kristin Armstrong wipe that disappointment (and mud) off her face?

Oh My God, It's a Sleazemeister's Dream Come True!: Vino Takes the Gold

Diggin' It Diggin' It Diggin' It!: yes folks, we may simultaneously have our first cycling gold medal *and* positive test of the Games: after a hideously annoying Tour in which everyone was yappin' how clean they are and how clean cycling is and how clean their underpants are and how years of irritating public sobbing redeem you from being a selfish doping jackwagon, none other'n wily son of a gun Alexandre "I Will Take All You Other Lying Mother!@#$ers *Down*!" Vinokourov has just taken the gold not only from a group of sprinter squads that just wouldn't lend each other some legs, but an incredibly exciting but completely miscalculating breakaway that utterly underestimated Vinokourov's faultless if almost impossibly gutsy tactical sense. And sure, it would've been great if Rigoberto Uran had taken it--but where the hell was he looking when Vino took off? Anyway, sincere congrats to Wiggo and the rest of the Brits for an essentially solo job nobly done, holy moly did Greipel and the other Germans look pissed, I hope Cancellara didn't bust his collarbone again, really sad for Boonen's crap mechanical, I *do* hate to see the Americans looking so dejected, but right on Vinokourov for taking it for the geezers--and man, I hope you're clean! I mean, I'm sure you're enough to pass. But I truly hope you haven't dishonored the gold--so let's err on the side of honor, and give credit where it's due!

It's the US Olympic Road Races!; and, RadioSkank Implodes Again

Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: okay, I get that Cav is gonna slather himself in gold, Wiggo will be the coolest lead-out beeyotch in history, and Millar's gonna start bawling about how clean he is the second the cameras swing Davidwise. But dammit, without Samu for everyone to kneel to, and at the risk of being pelted with Budweiser cans and Slim-Jim wrappers by rabid nationalists on my own home turf, I am rooting for Belgian babemeister big Tom Boonen, who in the four years since the last summer Olympics has gone from the lowest of coke-poz injury-beset train-wreck lows to the highest of rebirth-redemption-and-relentless-win-streak highs, and if *that* don't flush you with true Olympic spirit, you are a petty heartless goon who has pimped your soul too cheap. Alternatively, of course, I *would* accept Sagan or Greipel beating Cav's !@# just on principle. Allez allez Tom--don't let those wily pure-sprint squads outfox you!

Midnight Train to Giorgia: meantime, with the Sunday women's road race set for a mere two passes on the dread Box Hill, the Brits clearly bringing their A game, and Ina-Yoko Teutenberg capable of ripping yer limbs off just lookin' at you mean, I'm still betting on Italian powerhouse Giorgia Bronzini, who, despite expressing concern that the usual sprinters will be so busy marking each other they might let some upstart fly by, has proven herself one cool customer in tense--and high-stakes--finishes. Even better? She says she's "angry." And you wouldn't like her when she's angry!

Showdown At the No-Way Corral: and, any Schleckian hopes of an Andy-vs.-Alberto ride to the death in Spain this summer are over, as Johan Bruyneel announces--in only his latest round of bad news--that Andy just isn't up for the Vuelta a Espana quite yet, and will be riding in the US instead. Anyone else of the opinion Johan, in all his years of success and wisdom, might've thought twice about horribly screwing poor Jakob Fuglsang at this point? Anyhoo, with Jens being naturally courted by superior squads, Haimar Zubeldia a primo late-career catch for I-told-you-you-should-never-have-left-Euskaltel or even Astana with Nibali, and even Bjarne Riis sniffing 'round to grab back half his old posse, it's just as well Schleck ain't gonna be around to suffer the humiliation anyway. Speedy recovery, Andy--but Contador'd still wipe the floor with you!

Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil: oh, hell, he's just evil--yep, none other than UCI leader "Clean Sport! Except When We Like You!" Pat "Dick" McQuaid, weirdly concerned suddenly 8 years or so on about that silly Armstrong hoo-ha--which, y'know, can happen to a colossal brown-nose in constant pursuit of reflected glory--has now come straight out and said, uh, we've got nothing to do with anti-doping! We've got no authority whatsoever! We're impotent weaklings, I swear it! Well, *that* makes me feel better about the sport--what next, you're gonna say the biological passport is crap? Oh, wait...