Ok kids, time to shake off that post-New Year's hangover, toss yer 2018 team kit in the trash, and pull up yer big-boy chamois--another shameful year is behind us, and another one is rarin' to begin! So what've we got ahead? Here, yer 2019 Cycling Year in Preview:
January: Team camps round up! AG2R to preemptive counseling for inevitable Tour de France loss; Astana to WHEREVER VINO WANTS YOU TO GO AND WHATEVER HE WANTS YOU TO DO YOU WORTHLESS WORMS!; Deuc-whatever-Quick Step "Wolfpack" to Alps for extreme wilderness training, mistakenly tear Philippe Gilbert to pieces in pursuit of fleeing rabbit. Guess the 'pack just got a little smaller for this year!
February: Classics training! Record 2 spectators on course at Tour of Oman, soigneurs vaporize into dry air awaiting passing peloton at feed zones; 68 riders positive for "!@#$loads of caffeine" at Tour of Colombia, field decimated for stage 2; Sagan recons Gent-Wevelgem press room for intensive preening, smack-talk training.
March: the Classics begin! Nibali takes Milano-San Remo (again) after using 2-by-4 to preemptively whack every fan he sees with a camera outta the way on the roadside; Simon Yates wins Paris-Nice after defending champ Marc Soler mistakenly chases down Adam; Sagan repeats Gent-Wevelgem after Viviani blinded by Sagan's gleaming beauty just before finishing sprint.
April: It's the cobbles, beeyotches! Sagan lost in Forest of Arenberg, taken in by wicked witch in house built of candy; cobblestones torn out, replaced with asphalt when Roubaix first-timer Froome complains, "They're ouchy!"; Alejandro Valverde sweeps Ardennes, bolts for team bus, disappears behind sweeping black satin cape when UCI photographer notices Bala can't see own reflection in mirror; Wolfpack distracted when Van Avermaet throws raw meat by side of road.
May: It's Il Grande Giro, baby! Mountain stages cancelled after Tom Dumoulin protests they're "too climby"; Landa takes individual time trial, wins Giro after sneaking to course night before, pointing arrow for time trial course away from valley floor and up the Mortirolo; Egan Bernal gains 93 minutes on Fedaia without pedaling when team mechanic mistakenly hands him Froome's Tour de France bike.
June: Time for Tour de France prep! Alberto Contador back in action at Dauphine as fans snatch Caja Rural team boss, force them to sign one-race contract; women's peloton train for--aw, what the hell do they really have to train for in France in July, anyway? Porte doubles at Tour de Suisse, Australia's richest family thrown into bankruptcy when bet fortune on Porte winning the Tour de France in 4 weeks.
July: What else? It's the Grand Bull-shay! Sky rewards Geraint Thomas for incredible 2018 victory by kicking him off team bus to "save gas," making him transport Froome's luggage between stages on foot; Froome out after eyeballs weld to readout on power meter, sent to be freed by surgical specialist in London; Movistar to "9-man-captain" strategy, fistfight ensues at team meeting, Nairo only one to make it out alive when hides behind water pitcher on table; no-one bothers to ride La Course, Giro Donne officials startled when entire planet's female riders show at their start line instead.
August: the Vuelta begins! Euskadi-Murias loses 26 hours on opening team time trial, regains on first mountain top finish; Yates blows double when confuses Oscar Rodriguez' neon-green team kit for safety vest of road-hazard flag guy, doesn't bother to chase down on decisive climb to Santuario del Acebo ; c'mon, who's really watching the Tour de Pologne, anyway?
September: Time for the World Championships! van der Breggen, van Vleuten DQd from time trial and road races after signing in late due to exhaustion from epic 48-hour "Fortnite" battle; Alejandro Valverde wins men's time trial stripes, because nothing in this ridiculous sport makes any sense any more; Cav grabs men's road race because "I gotta justify 13 consecutive years of slagging other sprinters for sucking somehow."
October: Nibali wins Il Lombardia after having vertebrae broken by dipwad with selfie stick, legs run over by stampeding elephants, arms fractured by out-of-control cruise ship, and feelings really, *really* hurt by mean kid who cut in line at gelato shop; Sagan switches career to unicycle when miffed at perceived lack of adoring press coverage, UCI votes to make 2020 Paris-Roubaix one-wheel-only; 'cross season underway, Belgian 3-year-old busted for using training wheels in debut victory; Mikel Landa announces team switch to "for chrissakes, anywhere but Movistar, please!"
November: Transfer rumors confirmed! Sky announces replacement sponsor "Joe's Suspicious Internet Testosterone Nut-Patches.com"; Geraint Thomas to "back to haulin' Froomey's laundry, I guess"; Quick Step erroneously signs actual wolves, Gilbert, Alaphilippe, Evenepoel out of contract for 2020.
December: Team kit reveals! Euskadi-Murias switches to bunny suits, tiny riders swooped away by hawks; AG2R to controversial "disco ball" outfits so at *somebody'll* notice 'em in the peloton next season; "Joe's Suspicious Internet Testosterone Nut-Patches.com" design rejected by UCI for too- graphic imagery. Bummer!
Well folks, that's yer 100% Guaranteed racejunkie Year in Preview--so when this !@#$ goes down in 2019, don't say I didn't warn you!
Showing posts with label Philippe Gilbert. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philippe Gilbert. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 01, 2019
Saturday, December 23, 2017
It's Yer Incredibly Prestigious 2017 Racejunkie Awards!
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Chemical Weapons! Discs-o'-Death! Doping Busts! Uh, And There's Bike Racing, Right?
Law and Disorder: well, more's coming out about the violent drunken goon-thug/innocent cyclist altercation involving Philippe Gilbert, and it turns out, !@#damn right PhilGil *did* go all chemical-warfare pepper-spray on that motorist's !@#, which *does* count as a "weapon" in Belgium--and coming from a strictly American Wild West mine's-bigger cowboy perspective here, *that* ain't no "weapon," but I digress--and now, big bad car driver is cryin' to his mama *and* the cops that will-o'-the-wisp Gilbert (who to be fair, has proven himself a mortal threat to frightened children in the past) was a mean, mean bully. I warned you in yesterday's people, don't !@#$ with the man--particularly since he sez he's *always* packin'!
And It Burns, Burns, Burns/The Ring of Fire, The Ring of Fire: meantime, as Movistar's Fran Ventoso shows off what looks to be a nice gory round chunk sliced outta his leg and rails about the nascent use of disc brakes in the peloton, and the all-powerful disc-brakes lobby lams into Fran for mistaking an obvious Velociraptor attack for a harmless bike part, the twitsphere's gone wild, not least UCI, who either are or aren't gonna ban disc brakes in races until more research can be done, presumably on the unwitting bods of whatever sap happens to go down in a pile of uncoordinated and lethally armed Lampre riders. Me, I say let's preserve valuable cyclist bodies *and* advance science with a good old-fashioned cage-match: two combative guys, say Cavendish, and Philippe, in one of those metal circus sphere cages, one with rim brakes and the other with discs, they ram into each other repeatedly, whoever comes out roughly in one piece (or the least number of pieces), the other guy's brakes are the new UCI standard. Saddle up, boys, problem solved!
Quoth the Beard, Nevermore: and, it's with total ennui that I note that Matteo Gavazzi's been popped for coke a truly impressive third time--the latest perilously close to the time he won an unusual number of victories, so maybe more'n a little off-hours clubbing just there--and with total bummedness that we love Luca "the Beard" Paolini's long, bad-!@# career is, most probably, over on account of his advanced age of 39 and his official 18-month ban for the same devil's nose-candy. Dammit, if only they'd been old enough to be aware for Nancy Reagan's appearance on "Diff'rent Strokes" to push her extremely effective "Just Say No!" campaign! Oh, these wild kids today...
Ardennes You Glad I Didn't Say Banana?: finally, if you *do* think Gilbert's gonna be hampered by a few freakin' fractures in his beloved Ardennes classics, think again, doubters--he's posted a pic of his X-ray with a good skyscraper's worth of steel pins in his finger on Instagram, and he is aiming that digit directly at *you*!
And It Burns, Burns, Burns/The Ring of Fire, The Ring of Fire: meantime, as Movistar's Fran Ventoso shows off what looks to be a nice gory round chunk sliced outta his leg and rails about the nascent use of disc brakes in the peloton, and the all-powerful disc-brakes lobby lams into Fran for mistaking an obvious Velociraptor attack for a harmless bike part, the twitsphere's gone wild, not least UCI, who either are or aren't gonna ban disc brakes in races until more research can be done, presumably on the unwitting bods of whatever sap happens to go down in a pile of uncoordinated and lethally armed Lampre riders. Me, I say let's preserve valuable cyclist bodies *and* advance science with a good old-fashioned cage-match: two combative guys, say Cavendish, and Philippe, in one of those metal circus sphere cages, one with rim brakes and the other with discs, they ram into each other repeatedly, whoever comes out roughly in one piece (or the least number of pieces), the other guy's brakes are the new UCI standard. Saddle up, boys, problem solved!
Quoth the Beard, Nevermore: and, it's with total ennui that I note that Matteo Gavazzi's been popped for coke a truly impressive third time--the latest perilously close to the time he won an unusual number of victories, so maybe more'n a little off-hours clubbing just there--and with total bummedness that we love Luca "the Beard" Paolini's long, bad-!@# career is, most probably, over on account of his advanced age of 39 and his official 18-month ban for the same devil's nose-candy. Dammit, if only they'd been old enough to be aware for Nancy Reagan's appearance on "Diff'rent Strokes" to push her extremely effective "Just Say No!" campaign! Oh, these wild kids today...
Ardennes You Glad I Didn't Say Banana?: finally, if you *do* think Gilbert's gonna be hampered by a few freakin' fractures in his beloved Ardennes classics, think again, doubters--he's posted a pic of his X-ray with a good skyscraper's worth of steel pins in his finger on Instagram, and he is aiming that digit directly at *you*!
Monday, April 11, 2016
It's Yer Paris-Roubaix In Review! and, A Friendly Note About Philippe Gilbert #ParisRoubaix
Yep, the Hell of the North is done and dusted, so if you weren't glued to your illicit porn-spammed feed glomming on to every magnificent, tragic second for 6 straight hours, what'd you miss? Here, some key points, and a Bonus Friendly Note about Philippe Gilbert:
1. Peter Sagan: no-one else is ever, ever going to help you. And the one guy who would've in a pinch, is retiring. Keep this in yer damn head while you're team-shopping, doofus!
2. Peter Sagan: calm down, everybody. He's still gonna win it. Just not this year.
3. UCI: in all seriousness. The sport's just lost an innocent rider in a terrible tragedy. You *know* cyclists go down in crashes with motos close behind them all the time. Now Elia Viviani gets run over, fortunately with no worse than a few contusions. *What* else is it gonna take before you institute a minimum distance between race motos and riders?!
4. Tom Boonen, man. Gutted. I'm *still* crushed!
5. Mathew Hayman, man. If you're gonna be a domestique most of your career, this is one hell of a reward!
6. Fabian Cancellara. Two silly crashes, one total legend. Chapeau and au revoir, Spartacus!
7. A women's Flanders is awesome. So where the !@#$'s the women's Paris-Roubaix?
8. Get well soon Mitch Docker Niki Terpstra and the rest of the wounded from the cobblestones!
9. So Phil Gaimon apparently rode off course and out of the race. Um, not to deface the hallowed pave' or nothin', but, y'know, *arrows* maybe for these guys?
10. So now not only is Philippe Gilbert !@#$ed out of Brabantse Pijl and probably the Ardennes Classics as well, but now the !@#clown who broke Gilbert's finger in an altercation is saying that Philippe is the aggressor *and* our BMC hero apparently laid into 'im with some kind of pepper spray. Leaving aside the fact that, well, I call bull!@#$, but YOU'RE TALKING TO A GUY WHO SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF A THIRD GRADER BY SCREAMING IN HER FACE DURING THE TOUR DE FRANCE! AND IF HE'S TOUGH ENOUGH TO DO THAT, YOU KNOW HE IS GONNA TAKE YOU *OUT*, MOTHER!@#$ER! For heck's sake, man, what the hell were you even thinking?
1. Peter Sagan: no-one else is ever, ever going to help you. And the one guy who would've in a pinch, is retiring. Keep this in yer damn head while you're team-shopping, doofus!
2. Peter Sagan: calm down, everybody. He's still gonna win it. Just not this year.
3. UCI: in all seriousness. The sport's just lost an innocent rider in a terrible tragedy. You *know* cyclists go down in crashes with motos close behind them all the time. Now Elia Viviani gets run over, fortunately with no worse than a few contusions. *What* else is it gonna take before you institute a minimum distance between race motos and riders?!
4. Tom Boonen, man. Gutted. I'm *still* crushed!
5. Mathew Hayman, man. If you're gonna be a domestique most of your career, this is one hell of a reward!
6. Fabian Cancellara. Two silly crashes, one total legend. Chapeau and au revoir, Spartacus!
7. A women's Flanders is awesome. So where the !@#$'s the women's Paris-Roubaix?
8. Get well soon Mitch Docker Niki Terpstra and the rest of the wounded from the cobblestones!
9. So Phil Gaimon apparently rode off course and out of the race. Um, not to deface the hallowed pave' or nothin', but, y'know, *arrows* maybe for these guys?
10. So now not only is Philippe Gilbert !@#$ed out of Brabantse Pijl and probably the Ardennes Classics as well, but now the !@#clown who broke Gilbert's finger in an altercation is saying that Philippe is the aggressor *and* our BMC hero apparently laid into 'im with some kind of pepper spray. Leaving aside the fact that, well, I call bull!@#$, but YOU'RE TALKING TO A GUY WHO SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF A THIRD GRADER BY SCREAMING IN HER FACE DURING THE TOUR DE FRANCE! AND IF HE'S TOUGH ENOUGH TO DO THAT, YOU KNOW HE IS GONNA TAKE YOU *OUT*, MOTHER!@#$ER! For heck's sake, man, what the hell were you even thinking?
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Blood Feuds! Bike Doping! Crazy-!$% Bosses!: The Giro Thunders On #giro
Grudge Match: sure, he coulda--and shoulda--saved a little energy for, maybe, the Tour de France he's about to do in a state of total catastrophic exhaustion against 3 major (4 major, if you count on Valverde creeping everyone out again, which he will) GC contenders who'll be fresh as a daisy in July, but far be it from Oleg Tinkov for yesterday's humiliating blow-by of Astana on the Mortirolo to be enough public shaming for the previous' day's cheap-shot, 'cause Contador's needlessly attacked *again* on the day's only real climb, this time being magnanimous enough to let the breakaway have its glory (woot woot, PhilGil *again*!), but not so magnanimous as to not gack Aru *and* Landa out the back some like some toothless inbred baseball player's disgusting tobacco-chaw spit-wad. Damn, Oleg, about time to quit whining about other squads' tactics, ya think? Next payback: Tinkov lets a paper bag o' fightin-mad venomous fire ants loose in Mikel Landa's gym bag. Whoa, hope you decide to wear yesterday's sweaty bib short instead, Mikel--and that Tinkov, you use some of that dough you won't be "wasting" on Sagan to pay someone enough to keep a damn good eye on Alberto's gear the next few days!
"Dope" Is Right: over on Planet Random Target, the UCI's wisely marshalled it's anti-cheating resourecs against Ryder "!@#$, Did *I* Just Win Two Humongous Back-to-Back Mountain Stages?" Hesjedal, testing his bike for illicit motor-assists on the grounds that, y'know, he didn't drop outta the race crying when his GC went south and has kept on working really hard to win a stage. What, no razzle-dazzle, no showmanship, just a quiet day by day march up the GC? 'E's a witch! A witch I tells ya! Off with his 'ead!
Tomorrow: it's a relaxing 236k, 3-cat-1s slog to Cervinia before Saturday's spectacular, and potentially disastrous, dirt roads of the Colle delle Finestre. One puncture, and we know what *these* ill-bred clowns are gonna do--and it ain't gonna be handing a needy fellow countryman a wheel unless it's a hard whack over the head with it!
"Dope" Is Right: over on Planet Random Target, the UCI's wisely marshalled it's anti-cheating resourecs against Ryder "!@#$, Did *I* Just Win Two Humongous Back-to-Back Mountain Stages?" Hesjedal, testing his bike for illicit motor-assists on the grounds that, y'know, he didn't drop outta the race crying when his GC went south and has kept on working really hard to win a stage. What, no razzle-dazzle, no showmanship, just a quiet day by day march up the GC? 'E's a witch! A witch I tells ya! Off with his 'ead!
Tomorrow: it's a relaxing 236k, 3-cat-1s slog to Cervinia before Saturday's spectacular, and potentially disastrous, dirt roads of the Colle delle Finestre. One puncture, and we know what *these* ill-bred clowns are gonna do--and it ain't gonna be handing a needy fellow countryman a wheel unless it's a hard whack over the head with it!
Friday, May 08, 2015
G-1, Baby: It's Yer Giro d'Italia In Preview Part Tre, The Climbers and Hot-Gossip Roundup! #Giro
Woot woot!: yes, after 11 months of lonesome agony, the smashing Giro d'Italia is back, and with just one day til the GC contenders find out whose lumpen teammates screwed 'em in the team time trial already, it's time for our last preview! Who's left to cover: the climbers, the assorted stage fighters, and of course yer random slimy hot-gossip smack-talk roundup! The score:
The Climbers: sure, Movistar's saving Valverde to back-stab Quintana at the first sign of any weakness at the Tour de France, but even better, they Sky and even Astana've brought half of Euskaltel with 'em, and while Porte Alberto Uran and Aru are keeping their eyes and wheels locked on each other, this leaves a blazin' field of ex-Carrots free to do what they do best, unleash the pain on every damn climb from the Mortirolo to Sestriere. Vai vai Mikels Landa and Nieve, Benat Intxausti, Igor Anton, and Ion Izagirre! Oughta win *some* kinda stage *somewhere* after all that hype then his disastrous 2014: Carlos "!@#$ Off Comparing Me to Quintana Already!" Betancur.
The Sprinters: look, it's the Giro dammit, so who gives? But still, it's all about Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel, whose main competition is either at the Amgen EPO Tour of California (Cav) or felled by some strength-sapping virus and desperately trying to come back for the Tour (Kittel). Me, I'm calling we love Tom Boonen, whose recent dislike for the argy-bargy of his youth is outweighed by the motivator that his Classics campaign was completely !@#$ed, sentimental fave Ale-Jet "Wheezy" Petacchi, back for one more round with the podium babes, and, because he's also an ex-Euskie, surprise flatlander hit Juan Jose Lobato. Gorilla, you got *no* excuses if you blow this!
The Puncheurs: they're called "puncheurs" because if you !@#$ around and blow the breakaway in the last two kilometers, they'll punch you in the face. Also, they have a lotta power outta seemingly nowhere, and a distinct penchant for spoiling everyone's else's fun. We love Philippe Gilbert, who so fiercely and famously faced off with a giant crash-causing dog and his child charge some time back; "Bling" Matthews, who looked so dashing in pink lo those many days last year; Sylvain Chavanel (shut up! can so either!), Luca "the Beard" Paolini, and Simon Gerrans. Come on Chava--we know damn well you still got it!
The Latest: finally, I'd be wholly remiss if I didn't remind my loyal reader(s) that: (1) Reigning Tinkoff-Saxo megalomaniac Oleg Tinkov says if Alberto Contador doesn't win this thing in his sleep, he's a hopeless weakling weenie; (2) he'd win it himself if his damn knee hadn't been bothering him, but it's still strong enough to kick Berto's butt off Aprica if he don't save Oleg's ego; (3) no less a cycling god than Bernard Hinault says Alberto can do the Giro-Tour double, so no pressure if you prove *him* wrong; and (3) Tinkoff-Saxo have, in addition to a video of comely two-time champ Ivan Basso's plan for victory, released this *hugely* intimidating photograph of an intently-focused Giro squad absolultey *smoking* a woman riding home with her groceries. Beat *that*, Aru you poser pretender wannabe!
The Climbers: sure, Movistar's saving Valverde to back-stab Quintana at the first sign of any weakness at the Tour de France, but even better, they Sky and even Astana've brought half of Euskaltel with 'em, and while Porte Alberto Uran and Aru are keeping their eyes and wheels locked on each other, this leaves a blazin' field of ex-Carrots free to do what they do best, unleash the pain on every damn climb from the Mortirolo to Sestriere. Vai vai Mikels Landa and Nieve, Benat Intxausti, Igor Anton, and Ion Izagirre! Oughta win *some* kinda stage *somewhere* after all that hype then his disastrous 2014: Carlos "!@#$ Off Comparing Me to Quintana Already!" Betancur.
The Sprinters: look, it's the Giro dammit, so who gives? But still, it's all about Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel, whose main competition is either at the Amgen EPO Tour of California (Cav) or felled by some strength-sapping virus and desperately trying to come back for the Tour (Kittel). Me, I'm calling we love Tom Boonen, whose recent dislike for the argy-bargy of his youth is outweighed by the motivator that his Classics campaign was completely !@#$ed, sentimental fave Ale-Jet "Wheezy" Petacchi, back for one more round with the podium babes, and, because he's also an ex-Euskie, surprise flatlander hit Juan Jose Lobato. Gorilla, you got *no* excuses if you blow this!
The Puncheurs: they're called "puncheurs" because if you !@#$ around and blow the breakaway in the last two kilometers, they'll punch you in the face. Also, they have a lotta power outta seemingly nowhere, and a distinct penchant for spoiling everyone's else's fun. We love Philippe Gilbert, who so fiercely and famously faced off with a giant crash-causing dog and his child charge some time back; "Bling" Matthews, who looked so dashing in pink lo those many days last year; Sylvain Chavanel (shut up! can so either!), Luca "the Beard" Paolini, and Simon Gerrans. Come on Chava--we know damn well you still got it!
The Latest: finally, I'd be wholly remiss if I didn't remind my loyal reader(s) that: (1) Reigning Tinkoff-Saxo megalomaniac Oleg Tinkov says if Alberto Contador doesn't win this thing in his sleep, he's a hopeless weakling weenie; (2) he'd win it himself if his damn knee hadn't been bothering him, but it's still strong enough to kick Berto's butt off Aprica if he don't save Oleg's ego; (3) no less a cycling god than Bernard Hinault says Alberto can do the Giro-Tour double, so no pressure if you prove *him* wrong; and (3) Tinkoff-Saxo have, in addition to a video of comely two-time champ Ivan Basso's plan for victory, released this *hugely* intimidating photograph of an intently-focused Giro squad absolultey *smoking* a woman riding home with her groceries. Beat *that*, Aru you poser pretender wannabe!
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Sins of the Fleche; and, Watch Your #$!, Alberto Contador!
Piti Party: all right, own up you lying liars: Valverde's second consecutive win at a crash-marred Fleche-Wallone creeped the hell outta you too, as does the fact that this freak continues to podium straight through the entire season with no variations in form in every kind of race on every kind of terrain except--maybe--a pancake-flat sprint. !@#$, Valverde, you *want* you and everyone else on Movistar being assaulted by rubber-gloved narcs with giant needles in the middle of every freakin' night the rest of the season? Come to think of it, why aren't they doing that to you already? Oh, !&$! it, if it weren't for his Official Annual One-Stage Grand Tour Meltdown he'd already have the maillot jaune locked up in Paris...
Hard to Porte: meantime, right as Fabio Aru's epically incapacitating (and disgusting) stomach bug may already be screwing him out of the Giro, leaving Nibali to pick up team leadership (tho' a late tweet from Aru sez he's back on the bike, however shakily)--particularly in case Astana's adventures in pharmaceutical experimentation keep Nibs outta the Tour--now key Contador Giro rival Richie Porte is clearly en fuego, smashing the field at the lovely Giro del Trentino with an uphill victory. Y'know, Alberto, I *get* that Oleg Tinkov is still distracted chasin' Peter Sagan around in a hockey mask with a chainsaw over his monster Classics fail. But I hope your top-secret training regime is going precisely to plan, honey, because even Sagan might outsprint Oleg eventually and leave you as his next B-movie horror-show target if you can't step up to resounding success in both May and July. Climb, for God's--well, your--sake, *climb*!
Allez PhilGil!: finally, speedy recovery to an already Amstel-sore we love Samuel Sanchez and Philippe "Please Please Please Win Liege" Gilbert, who both hit the deck today alongside approximately half the peloton at Fleche, and whom I would desperately like to kick the rest of the field's !@# in Liege. The rest of you, same get-well wishes and best of luck--but I still hope Gilbert stomps you in the race! PS Don't worry Purito you still did great!
Oh, man, this is still somehow *so* disturbing....
Hard to Porte: meantime, right as Fabio Aru's epically incapacitating (and disgusting) stomach bug may already be screwing him out of the Giro, leaving Nibali to pick up team leadership (tho' a late tweet from Aru sez he's back on the bike, however shakily)--particularly in case Astana's adventures in pharmaceutical experimentation keep Nibs outta the Tour--now key Contador Giro rival Richie Porte is clearly en fuego, smashing the field at the lovely Giro del Trentino with an uphill victory. Y'know, Alberto, I *get* that Oleg Tinkov is still distracted chasin' Peter Sagan around in a hockey mask with a chainsaw over his monster Classics fail. But I hope your top-secret training regime is going precisely to plan, honey, because even Sagan might outsprint Oleg eventually and leave you as his next B-movie horror-show target if you can't step up to resounding success in both May and July. Climb, for God's--well, your--sake, *climb*!
Allez PhilGil!: finally, speedy recovery to an already Amstel-sore we love Samuel Sanchez and Philippe "Please Please Please Win Liege" Gilbert, who both hit the deck today alongside approximately half the peloton at Fleche, and whom I would desperately like to kick the rest of the field's !@# in Liege. The rest of you, same get-well wishes and best of luck--but I still hope Gilbert stomps you in the race! PS Don't worry Purito you still did great!
Oh, man, this is still somehow *so* disturbing....
Thursday, August 21, 2014
It's Yer Vuelta a Espana in Preview Part Tres: the Sprinters, and Everyone Else We're Psyched About! #LaVuelta
Woot Woot! It's V-1!: oh yeah, it's finally just about time for the fabulous Vuelta, and having covered the course, the GC boys, and the climbers, it's time for the Sprinters, and Everyone Else We're Stoked About! And no, Cav, Marcel, and Andre aren't here, but a pretty bangin' field of fast men still is, so let's check 'em out:
Tom Boonen: yep, prepping for Worlds, I presume. A tough Classics season, but a perpetual class act--and power-threat. Aupa Tommeke!
Peter Sagan: no, he's not a pure sprinter--but neither are Vuelta sprints always perfectly flat, and after his crap stage-winless Tour, and with Oleg Tinkov's eye (and big fat wallet) on 'im, Sagan's hungry for redemption and podium glory. Just let Elia have a chance once in a while!
Nacer Bouhanni: yes, it's the new wave of French Riders That Don't Suck, and boy, did this guy have a smashing Giro d'Italia, taking stage after stage and giving hope to a despondent cycling nation once again. He's rested, he's bad-!@#, and he's ready!
John Degenkolb: who's Giant-Shimano's sprint hope, when Kittel's not around to dazzle the crowd with his speed (and hair-do)? Right, big John Degenkolb, a formidable competitor on his own. 5 bunch sprint wins in 2012 in the Vuelta alone--eat his dust boys, if you can get that close!
Roberto Ferrari: bored with all those guys staying upright in the last 50 meters? Find a little carnage exciting because you're a completely sadistic soulless tool? Well Roberto Ferrari's your man--just ask Mark Cavendish, who's got the good sense to be riding elsewhere. Hold your line you jerk--and let the best man, not the wankiest one, win!
And 'Nother Guys!: finally, there's a truly bitchin' assortment of roleurs, puncheurs, and guys we just plain like at this year's Vuelta, including Fabian Cancellara, Philippe Gilbert, Ryder Hesjedal, Tony Martin, and--perhaps in a bid to get a heretofore-unconvinced squadra azzurra boss to let 'im on the 2014 Worlds team--incomparable beach babe/bon vivant (and even rider) Pippo Pozzato. Come on Pippo, show us some fireworks--*something's* gotta upstage all those lurid selfies!
Well, that's your Vuelta preview--here's the official route video, and now time to get this party *started*!
Tom Boonen: yep, prepping for Worlds, I presume. A tough Classics season, but a perpetual class act--and power-threat. Aupa Tommeke!
Peter Sagan: no, he's not a pure sprinter--but neither are Vuelta sprints always perfectly flat, and after his crap stage-winless Tour, and with Oleg Tinkov's eye (and big fat wallet) on 'im, Sagan's hungry for redemption and podium glory. Just let Elia have a chance once in a while!
Nacer Bouhanni: yes, it's the new wave of French Riders That Don't Suck, and boy, did this guy have a smashing Giro d'Italia, taking stage after stage and giving hope to a despondent cycling nation once again. He's rested, he's bad-!@#, and he's ready!
John Degenkolb: who's Giant-Shimano's sprint hope, when Kittel's not around to dazzle the crowd with his speed (and hair-do)? Right, big John Degenkolb, a formidable competitor on his own. 5 bunch sprint wins in 2012 in the Vuelta alone--eat his dust boys, if you can get that close!
Roberto Ferrari: bored with all those guys staying upright in the last 50 meters? Find a little carnage exciting because you're a completely sadistic soulless tool? Well Roberto Ferrari's your man--just ask Mark Cavendish, who's got the good sense to be riding elsewhere. Hold your line you jerk--and let the best man, not the wankiest one, win!
And 'Nother Guys!: finally, there's a truly bitchin' assortment of roleurs, puncheurs, and guys we just plain like at this year's Vuelta, including Fabian Cancellara, Philippe Gilbert, Ryder Hesjedal, Tony Martin, and--perhaps in a bid to get a heretofore-unconvinced squadra azzurra boss to let 'im on the 2014 Worlds team--incomparable beach babe/bon vivant (and even rider) Pippo Pozzato. Come on Pippo, show us some fireworks--*something's* gotta upstage all those lurid selfies!
Well, that's your Vuelta preview--here's the official route video, and now time to get this party *started*!
Saturday, April 26, 2014
All Hail the Queen (Doyenne, Whatever): It's the 100th Liege-Waffle-Liege, Baby!
The Fuss: the 100th Happy Birthday of the final Classic of the noblest season, when desperation is high for the season's so-far winless, the legs are shot, and your enraged short-sheeted sponsor's gonna beat you over the head with their iconic product if you don't bring home a podium. If your boss is Oleg Tinkov and he compliments you on Twitter, get the hell out, out, out!
The Course: Climb, dammit, climb! But don't be so good at it that you don't have power. And don't puncture. Or forget to eat. Or get caught behind some nit making a last-second date with the road furniture. Or be a tactical eejit. He who's on the !@#-end of the peloton on the Cote de la Roche-aux-Faucons is lost! The whole hog: here. The profile: HOLY #$%! WHEN IS THIS AGONY GONNA STOP?
The Contenders: Last year's stealth champ Dan Martin is a marked man. Chris Froome's lookin' to scare Alberto outta his smug tranquility and calm everyone down about that alarming pic of his legs he twitted this week. 2013 runner-up Purito Rodriguez' ribs still kill from crashing at Fleche, but then, who needs "air"--he apparently has that weird Wolverine thing that still lets you pound everybody when some clown's dropped a tank on your head. Nibali's not on his best game yet, but since you're all a pack o' power-meter-watching simps, he will crush you with his sheer manliness. Gilbert probably wants and needs it more'n anybody. And who's been creepin' *everybody* out all season? That's right, inexplicably likeable Alejandro Valverde! Either way, with too many other likely suspects to list, I'm wrong by this time tomorrow anyway--so Roman Kreuziger, wanna grab some glory before you give it all to Contador in July?
The Missing: Why the heck isn't there a women's Liege already? I mean, the race is nicknamed after a lady! Marianne Vos, just go there tomorrow with some cheesy hipster moustache disguise glued on yer face and take them all out anyway!
The Gee-I-Hope-They-Don't-Ignominiously-Suck-Tomorrows: okay, basically I mean Andy Schleck, who still holds the World Record for Non-Stop Whining After a Mechanical Despite Making a Cheap Shot Attack Against The Same Guy Too but is starting to garner even my sympathy--like we love Joseba Beloki after his spectacular Tour de France leg-snap driving his wheel into melting tarmac, poor Andy's never been the same since his own fall. Damn underdog-savior complex! Here, Dan-Martin-Who-Didn't-Choke brings it home last year:
Allez allez, and may the luckiest s.o.b. win!
The Course: Climb, dammit, climb! But don't be so good at it that you don't have power. And don't puncture. Or forget to eat. Or get caught behind some nit making a last-second date with the road furniture. Or be a tactical eejit. He who's on the !@#-end of the peloton on the Cote de la Roche-aux-Faucons is lost! The whole hog: here. The profile: HOLY #$%! WHEN IS THIS AGONY GONNA STOP?
The Contenders: Last year's stealth champ Dan Martin is a marked man. Chris Froome's lookin' to scare Alberto outta his smug tranquility and calm everyone down about that alarming pic of his legs he twitted this week. 2013 runner-up Purito Rodriguez' ribs still kill from crashing at Fleche, but then, who needs "air"--he apparently has that weird Wolverine thing that still lets you pound everybody when some clown's dropped a tank on your head. Nibali's not on his best game yet, but since you're all a pack o' power-meter-watching simps, he will crush you with his sheer manliness. Gilbert probably wants and needs it more'n anybody. And who's been creepin' *everybody* out all season? That's right, inexplicably likeable Alejandro Valverde! Either way, with too many other likely suspects to list, I'm wrong by this time tomorrow anyway--so Roman Kreuziger, wanna grab some glory before you give it all to Contador in July?
The Missing: Why the heck isn't there a women's Liege already? I mean, the race is nicknamed after a lady! Marianne Vos, just go there tomorrow with some cheesy hipster moustache disguise glued on yer face and take them all out anyway!
The Gee-I-Hope-They-Don't-Ignominiously-Suck-Tomorrows: okay, basically I mean Andy Schleck, who still holds the World Record for Non-Stop Whining After a Mechanical Despite Making a Cheap Shot Attack Against The Same Guy Too but is starting to garner even my sympathy--like we love Joseba Beloki after his spectacular Tour de France leg-snap driving his wheel into melting tarmac, poor Andy's never been the same since his own fall. Damn underdog-savior complex! Here, Dan-Martin-Who-Didn't-Choke brings it home last year:
Allez allez, and may the luckiest s.o.b. win!
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
My Fantasy (Condensed!) Johan Bruyneel Press Conference; Nibali Calls Bull$%^&; and, It's the Mur de Wheeeee!
Newsflash!: Good morning. I've called you all here today to address USADA's ridiculous 10-year ban of me from pro cycling. First, let me say that of course I did it. All of it. And a whole buncha 'nother stuff they couldn't even nail me for, either. Second, I'd like to say, who gives a !@#$? I'm already richer than God, *and* I get to stay that way. Third, waaaaaaah! other people got less sanctions than me! Waaaaaaaa! Finally--you lack jurisdiction, and you can't get me. Neener neener neener!
Vincenzo Nibali Just Called You a Cowardly Bean-Counting Wiener: oh, yeah, numbers-crunching sponsor-brownnosing quivering-jello-molds of the peloton, Vincenzo "the Shark" Nibali's got a message for you: with the possible exception of Fabian Cancellara, everyone else is a beat-down wuss-on-wheels, riding for ProTour points and scuttling for intermediate sprints and top-ten placements instead of for glorious victory, like him. Geez, Vincenzo, it may be true, but you're really not looking to build relationships with guys who can help you out in a pinch, are you--you might want to rethink that 'tude come July!
Fleche and Bones: yep, with Philippe Gilbert finally having shrugged off his rainbow-cursed funk of 2013 and tucked Amstel Gold under his belt (and I *hope* you bowed before Samuel Sanchez for blowing up the race on the Cauberg!), it's time for the fair Fleche-Wallone and, of course, an entire race full of top climbers, puncheurs, and rolleurs crying like babies from the bottom to top of the max-19%-gradient Mur de Huy. Absent from the men's race: uh-huh, Andy Schleck, knee-thwapped at Amstel Gold. But come on, you weren't calling him, right? Contenders: Kwiatkowski, lookin' for revenge; defending champ Dani Moreno; Alejandro Valverde, desperate to grab an Ardennes; and last week's surprise Jelle Vanendaert. For the women: well, Marianne Vos has barely road-ridden this year, but she's still liable to kick your !@#, and Elisa Longo Borghini, Emma Johansson and Flanders champ Ellen Van Dijk are ready to suffer. Here, last year's men's Fleche finale: Go Gilbert--and give Samu' your prize money!
Vincenzo Nibali Just Called You a Cowardly Bean-Counting Wiener: oh, yeah, numbers-crunching sponsor-brownnosing quivering-jello-molds of the peloton, Vincenzo "the Shark" Nibali's got a message for you: with the possible exception of Fabian Cancellara, everyone else is a beat-down wuss-on-wheels, riding for ProTour points and scuttling for intermediate sprints and top-ten placements instead of for glorious victory, like him. Geez, Vincenzo, it may be true, but you're really not looking to build relationships with guys who can help you out in a pinch, are you--you might want to rethink that 'tude come July!
Fleche and Bones: yep, with Philippe Gilbert finally having shrugged off his rainbow-cursed funk of 2013 and tucked Amstel Gold under his belt (and I *hope* you bowed before Samuel Sanchez for blowing up the race on the Cauberg!), it's time for the fair Fleche-Wallone and, of course, an entire race full of top climbers, puncheurs, and rolleurs crying like babies from the bottom to top of the max-19%-gradient Mur de Huy. Absent from the men's race: uh-huh, Andy Schleck, knee-thwapped at Amstel Gold. But come on, you weren't calling him, right? Contenders: Kwiatkowski, lookin' for revenge; defending champ Dani Moreno; Alejandro Valverde, desperate to grab an Ardennes; and last week's surprise Jelle Vanendaert. For the women: well, Marianne Vos has barely road-ridden this year, but she's still liable to kick your !@#, and Elisa Longo Borghini, Emma Johansson and Flanders champ Ellen Van Dijk are ready to suffer. Here, last year's men's Fleche finale: Go Gilbert--and give Samu' your prize money!
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Mystery Pills! Gilbert Gets His Groove Back! Brotherly Love at Sky! Yer Random Peloton Roundup
Uh, They're Tic-Tacs! Yeah, That's the Ticket: well, there's clearly more than one way to crash out of a race, or a career: some tarmac-diving dimwit at Paris-Roubaix apparently ripped his jersey enough that a vial o' pills fell out and skidded across the roadside, only to be studiously ignored by the riders and soigneurs carefully picking up all the crash detritus from the course. 
Holy crap, that's even a better roadside souvenir than a spit-swilled discarded superstar bidon--maybe if you twit another pic of it, the rightful owner'll come and autograph it for you! That, or maybe he figures his thumbprint's enough of a gift for the narcs...
Speaking of Pijls: welcome back from your year-long funk, Philippe Gilbert!
We'll Always Have Paris (Roubaix): so, thinkin' about the tiresome hype over Brad Wiggins' performance at Paris-Roubaix this weekend, here's my q: with a top 10 in one of the hardest races on the planet in his pocket, and his distinct hostility towards eclipsing sun Chris Froome at last year's Tour de France, *how* happy exactly is Wiggo gonna be being Chris Froome's water-bottle wind-breaker beeyotch at the Tour *this* year? Yeah, didn't think so--but Brad, don't you even *think* about riding the beautiful Giro like a half-hearted consolation prize again, so just suck it up and fake nice in France, !@#dammit!
I Love Rocky Road(s): finally, the thorough Alberto Contador ain't missing a trick, skipping the risk of injury at the upcoming Ardennes Classics to recon the actual Tour de France cobbles instead, following Alejandro Valverde's earlier racing test-drive and leaving Vincenzo Nibali scrambling for the sage assistance of former cobbled bad-!@# Peter Van Petegem. One sour note: expected to go on vacation after his trip, Contador apparently hit his miniscule race weight a little too soon, and got lodged chest-deep between the stones of the Forest of Arenberg instead. Well, they'll pry 'im out eventually--they got until July 'til Froomey comes by and rides over his head, anyway!
Holy crap, that's even a better roadside souvenir than a spit-swilled discarded superstar bidon--maybe if you twit another pic of it, the rightful owner'll come and autograph it for you! That, or maybe he figures his thumbprint's enough of a gift for the narcs... Speaking of Pijls: welcome back from your year-long funk, Philippe Gilbert!
We'll Always Have Paris (Roubaix): so, thinkin' about the tiresome hype over Brad Wiggins' performance at Paris-Roubaix this weekend, here's my q: with a top 10 in one of the hardest races on the planet in his pocket, and his distinct hostility towards eclipsing sun Chris Froome at last year's Tour de France, *how* happy exactly is Wiggo gonna be being Chris Froome's water-bottle wind-breaker beeyotch at the Tour *this* year? Yeah, didn't think so--but Brad, don't you even *think* about riding the beautiful Giro like a half-hearted consolation prize again, so just suck it up and fake nice in France, !@#dammit!
I Love Rocky Road(s): finally, the thorough Alberto Contador ain't missing a trick, skipping the risk of injury at the upcoming Ardennes Classics to recon the actual Tour de France cobbles instead, following Alejandro Valverde's earlier racing test-drive and leaving Vincenzo Nibali scrambling for the sage assistance of former cobbled bad-!@# Peter Van Petegem. One sour note: expected to go on vacation after his trip, Contador apparently hit his miniscule race weight a little too soon, and got lodged chest-deep between the stones of the Forest of Arenberg instead. Well, they'll pry 'im out eventually--they got until July 'til Froomey comes by and rides over his head, anyway!
Friday, March 21, 2014
It's Yer Milano-Sanremo In Preview!
All right, baby, now it's time for the Monuments--so let Milano-Sanremo begin!
The Route: it's flat! no, it's hilly! !@#$, let's just throw in the Alpe d'Huez! Sure, the course has been changing every six minutes, due to landslides, weather concerns, and drunken beer-pong whims, but *something's* sure happening this weekend, and at the moment, it looks like this:
Damn, can you guys at least straighten this out before the sprint teams set up their lead-outs towards the finish? Which brings us to...
The Contenders: yes, with the GT contenders largely opting out after the recent route changes (Vincenzo Nibali, intriguingly, excluded), Peter Sagan's the overwhelming fave, particularly if he decides to just bunny-hop the last kilometer to get to that ginormous pile o' dough aspirational 2015 boss Fernando Alonso's already got dangling for him at the finish line. But despite the withdrawals of folks like Phinney and Boonen, there's also a hot'n'formidable mix of pure sprinters, Classics stalwarts, and combo-fastmen, including Mark Cavendish, know-it-all-journo's dark-horse darling John Degenkolb, 2012 rainbow jersey Philippe Gilbert, Andre Greipel, and surprise defending champ Ciolek, which can still be thrown into total chaos depending on...
The Weather: forecast: crap! Rain? Check. Wind? Oh yeah. General misery? On tap! The good news: it oughta be slightly less cold than last year's sub-arctic hypothermiafest, in which, you'll recall, Taylor Phinney's frozen jersey had to be blow-torched off his body apres-race on the team bus. This was fun, right?
So count yer blessings in advance the whole lot of you, and quit yer whinin'! So what's...
The Upshot: The Cipressa. The Poggio. Not, to the dismay of climbier sorts and the joy of La Classicissima purists, the Pompeiana. The last k: a downhill throw before the final argy-bargy to the line. And forget who *will* win--for my money, and I'm not not a swooning fan-crush here, though I am highly respectful--Fabian Cancellara *should* win, because, merit aside (and merit is already huge, let's face it), as you can see here, the man is a complete class act from start to finish when it comes to appraising his rivals. Forza Fabs--but either way, I expect a thrilla!
And just in case you forgot, last year's finale: It's time for one of the best races of the entire year--bring it *on*!
The Route: it's flat! no, it's hilly! !@#$, let's just throw in the Alpe d'Huez! Sure, the course has been changing every six minutes, due to landslides, weather concerns, and drunken beer-pong whims, but *something's* sure happening this weekend, and at the moment, it looks like this:
Damn, can you guys at least straighten this out before the sprint teams set up their lead-outs towards the finish? Which brings us to...The Contenders: yes, with the GT contenders largely opting out after the recent route changes (Vincenzo Nibali, intriguingly, excluded), Peter Sagan's the overwhelming fave, particularly if he decides to just bunny-hop the last kilometer to get to that ginormous pile o' dough aspirational 2015 boss Fernando Alonso's already got dangling for him at the finish line. But despite the withdrawals of folks like Phinney and Boonen, there's also a hot'n'formidable mix of pure sprinters, Classics stalwarts, and combo-fastmen, including Mark Cavendish, know-it-all-journo's dark-horse darling John Degenkolb, 2012 rainbow jersey Philippe Gilbert, Andre Greipel, and surprise defending champ Ciolek, which can still be thrown into total chaos depending on...
The Weather: forecast: crap! Rain? Check. Wind? Oh yeah. General misery? On tap! The good news: it oughta be slightly less cold than last year's sub-arctic hypothermiafest, in which, you'll recall, Taylor Phinney's frozen jersey had to be blow-torched off his body apres-race on the team bus. This was fun, right?
So count yer blessings in advance the whole lot of you, and quit yer whinin'! So what's...The Upshot: The Cipressa. The Poggio. Not, to the dismay of climbier sorts and the joy of La Classicissima purists, the Pompeiana. The last k: a downhill throw before the final argy-bargy to the line. And forget who *will* win--for my money, and I'm not not a swooning fan-crush here, though I am highly respectful--Fabian Cancellara *should* win, because, merit aside (and merit is already huge, let's face it), as you can see here, the man is a complete class act from start to finish when it comes to appraising his rivals. Forza Fabs--but either way, I expect a thrilla!
And just in case you forgot, last year's finale: It's time for one of the best races of the entire year--bring it *on*!
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Samuel Sanchez Sez He's Gonna Retire! Someone Hire 'Im! Aiiiggghhhhhhhhh!
You Suck Oleg Tinkov!: all right, I've offered repeatedly to chip in to buy dear Samu' a new gig (sure, I've got like five bucks, but still it's a start), and have been met with absolute ennui, so now that a despondent Samuel Sanchez is giving it 10 or 12 days to find a new team before he hangs up his wheels for good--because he doesn't seem inclined to, say, have to take a year off the bike then see if he still score a space with Alonso--I'm making a general plea to everyone in the universe: someone hire Samuel Sanchez, dammit! Anyone! I'll sell my Euskaltel hat to raise cash! I'll hold a bake sale--and you folks *really* do not want to have to eat my baking! I mean, jeez, ProTour, even if your roster's filled with superstars and pack fodder you can at least find him a job as a really, really, really fast coffee-getter, right? And to everyone who contributed to we're still crushed by darling Euskaltel's downfall, which has left a whole 'nother group of very fine riders without jobs--screw you you !@##$ing !@^%$wads! Here, look at Samu cooking down the Galibier in 2011:
Uh-oh, *Someone's* in the Dog-House: in news about folks who already *have* contracts, all of whom except Jens I irrationally resent right at this moment, beloved big lug Thor Hushovd's conceded he's gotta pull in some serious results at BMC or else he's gonna have a beastly time staying with them or anyone else--I still believe in you Thor!--and Philippe Gilbert's outright saying that if he chokes this season after his difficult World-Champ year he's gonna bail outta the peloton entirely even if he's otherwise got options. I admire you as an athlete for wanting to retire when you've still got something in the tank--but I still think you'll cause everyone a lot of pain this year at the Ardennes!
Please Don't Eat the Daisies: and, UCI's finally conceded defeat on the issue of clenbuterol, warning riders of the risk of genuinely accidental guiltless positives from beef in China and Mexico, which, unfortunately, still leaves poor Alberto Contador down a Tour de France. So, we letting Mick Rogers off the hook now or what?
Uh-oh, *Someone's* in the Dog-House: in news about folks who already *have* contracts, all of whom except Jens I irrationally resent right at this moment, beloved big lug Thor Hushovd's conceded he's gotta pull in some serious results at BMC or else he's gonna have a beastly time staying with them or anyone else--I still believe in you Thor!--and Philippe Gilbert's outright saying that if he chokes this season after his difficult World-Champ year he's gonna bail outta the peloton entirely even if he's otherwise got options. I admire you as an athlete for wanting to retire when you've still got something in the tank--but I still think you'll cause everyone a lot of pain this year at the Ardennes!
Please Don't Eat the Daisies: and, UCI's finally conceded defeat on the issue of clenbuterol, warning riders of the risk of genuinely accidental guiltless positives from beef in China and Mexico, which, unfortunately, still leaves poor Alberto Contador down a Tour de France. So, we letting Mick Rogers off the hook now or what?
Thursday, September 05, 2013
Curse (of the Rainbow Jersey), Foiled Again!; Euskaltel News; and, the Call of the (Kirsten) Wild
Like the Red Sox's, But, Not *Quite* as Long: yep, after a long hot drought of a year, Philippe Gilbert's finally broken the Curse, taking his primo win in his World Champ stripes in a theoretical sprint stage at the Vuelta a Espana and gettin' his form on nicely ahead of his 2013 defense. And geez, what a nail-nipper--this is almost as great a performance as when he screamed his head off in front of that little girl in the Tour for her doofus dad's letting their giant Newfie wander into the course and almost take Gilbert out!
Oh wait, here's the sprint: Right on Philippe--you've done that jersey proud!
Wild Thing: and, over at the Holland Ladies Tour (won since, well, birth by Marianne Vos), Kirsten Wild's added two outta three stages so far to her existing huge palmares, tho' ever-fearsome Trixi Worrack remains race leader. Watch out Giorgia Bronzini, now Kirsten's racking up the multiple stage wins--I call a contest! Here's her first one:
Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Alonso: meantime, future-non-Euskaltel continues to move along (waaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! waaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!), with none other than a former ONCE rider and Lance's ol' teammie Chechu Rubiera rumored to be near signing on to manage the squad, with you-goddamn-better-keep-Euskaltel's-Igor-Gonzalez-de-Galdeano as reputed technical director. Possible complication: Bjarne Riis sez he's, like, totally best buds with Alberto Contador, who's still under contract anyway, and he's not gonna address a buncha stupid lunch-room rumors that from a buncha jealous alpha-beeyotches anyway. Get ready to fight for your man, Alonso--or at least pay the hell up for 'im!
Speaking of Guys With Bad Seasons: I gotta admit, I'm starting to feel pretty bad for Andy Schleck, who wasn't even selected to the Luxembourg Worlds squad this year. Ah geez, I'm gettin' soft--get your legs back soon Andy, at least just to stop the indignity!
Bee Movie: last but not least, serious props to red-jersey bad-!@# Vincenzo Nibali, stung by a bee in the face during training, unable to properly treat it (to Vino's unsurprising rage, considering the !@#$ *he's* taken), and still posting a great time in the individual time trial. I'd say "forza," but you've already demonstrated your strength pretty clearly, right?
Oh wait, here's the sprint: Right on Philippe--you've done that jersey proud!Wild Thing: and, over at the Holland Ladies Tour (won since, well, birth by Marianne Vos), Kirsten Wild's added two outta three stages so far to her existing huge palmares, tho' ever-fearsome Trixi Worrack remains race leader. Watch out Giorgia Bronzini, now Kirsten's racking up the multiple stage wins--I call a contest! Here's her first one:
Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Alonso: meantime, future-non-Euskaltel continues to move along (waaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! waaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!), with none other than a former ONCE rider and Lance's ol' teammie Chechu Rubiera rumored to be near signing on to manage the squad, with you-goddamn-better-keep-Euskaltel's-Igor-Gonzalez-de-Galdeano as reputed technical director. Possible complication: Bjarne Riis sez he's, like, totally best buds with Alberto Contador, who's still under contract anyway, and he's not gonna address a buncha stupid lunch-room rumors that from a buncha jealous alpha-beeyotches anyway. Get ready to fight for your man, Alonso--or at least pay the hell up for 'im!
Speaking of Guys With Bad Seasons: I gotta admit, I'm starting to feel pretty bad for Andy Schleck, who wasn't even selected to the Luxembourg Worlds squad this year. Ah geez, I'm gettin' soft--get your legs back soon Andy, at least just to stop the indignity!
Bee Movie: last but not least, serious props to red-jersey bad-!@# Vincenzo Nibali, stung by a bee in the face during training, unable to properly treat it (to Vino's unsurprising rage, considering the !@#$ *he's* taken), and still posting a great time in the individual time trial. I'd say "forza," but you've already demonstrated your strength pretty clearly, right?
Thursday, June 27, 2013
It's Yer Tour de France in Preview, Part Deux!: The Sprinters! The Climbers! The Roleurs! 'Nother Stuff!
Oh yeah, the Grand Boucle starts in just deux days, baby, and as the teams hit their formal presentation in Corsica by boat and bike, it's time to preview the non-GC part o' the race! What's what:
The Sprinters!: 7 flat chances for glory! Okay, really who cares, but I guess we oughta yap fastmen. Mark "the Manx Missile" Cavendish. Peter "the Tourminator" Sagan. Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel. Come to think of it, Robbie "the Pocket Rocket" McEwen and Mario "the Lion King" Cipollini. Why do the sprinters get all the cool nicknames? The missing: BMC's Thor Hushovd (I know, not quite a "sprinter" in recent years), Garmin's Tyler Farrar. Crap, nabit, crap! Look for: Cav and Sagan to come to blows over smart-!@# !@#$-you victory celebrations. Watch out Peter, Cav is pretty scrappy!
The Climbers: 6 mountain stages, 4, count 'em4, mountain top finishes. look, at this point, we're mainly talking GC riders, their top mountain domestiques, pretty much all of Movistar, and of course my beloved Euskaltel (shut up! will too! bite me!). Contador for Alpe d'Huez. Richie Porte for a stage, if Froome can afford him wasting energy. Alejandro Valverde and Joaquim Rodriguez for a mano-a-mano death match in the steeps. Missing: Jose Rujano, whose retirement at the top of his game has nothing to do with his recent entanglement in a doping scandal. Eat Orange dust, beeyotches!
The Roleurs: basically, 5 or so shots for these boys. We got some great stage hunters here, honey, and holy improbable crap some of 'em are even French: Thomas "the Grimace" Voeckler, the great Sylvain Chavanel, luckless (so far) curse-o'-the-rainbow-jersey world champ Philippe Gilbert. Jens for anything he damn well wants, so pack it up and bow before the One, you weaklings! And while he's no breakaway artist, can I show mercy enough to suggest baby Schleck for a stage of *some* kind? No, there's descents in them thar hills....
'Nother Stuff!: Bjarne's rumored to be retiring, the Tour is inviting every dope-sucking drug-fiend *except* Lance Armstrong to the big party, the French have put the mute button on the appalling Laurent Jalabert but are letting every other dirty doping DS of the last 10 years yap direct instructions into the ears of their clean innocent riders, Froome's still talking smack, and Contador, as always, is keeping his reserve. So Peter, remember not to pop those wheelies til *after* you cross the line, and Cav, if he paints his bike all smug-!@# maillot vert again before he earns it, you *chomp* that frame to pieces before Paris!
Here, Cav makes it 22 last year: The rest of you, let the excuses begin!
The Sprinters!: 7 flat chances for glory! Okay, really who cares, but I guess we oughta yap fastmen. Mark "the Manx Missile" Cavendish. Peter "the Tourminator" Sagan. Andre "the Gorilla" Greipel. Come to think of it, Robbie "the Pocket Rocket" McEwen and Mario "the Lion King" Cipollini. Why do the sprinters get all the cool nicknames? The missing: BMC's Thor Hushovd (I know, not quite a "sprinter" in recent years), Garmin's Tyler Farrar. Crap, nabit, crap! Look for: Cav and Sagan to come to blows over smart-!@# !@#$-you victory celebrations. Watch out Peter, Cav is pretty scrappy!
The Climbers: 6 mountain stages, 4, count 'em4, mountain top finishes. look, at this point, we're mainly talking GC riders, their top mountain domestiques, pretty much all of Movistar, and of course my beloved Euskaltel (shut up! will too! bite me!). Contador for Alpe d'Huez. Richie Porte for a stage, if Froome can afford him wasting energy. Alejandro Valverde and Joaquim Rodriguez for a mano-a-mano death match in the steeps. Missing: Jose Rujano, whose retirement at the top of his game has nothing to do with his recent entanglement in a doping scandal. Eat Orange dust, beeyotches!
The Roleurs: basically, 5 or so shots for these boys. We got some great stage hunters here, honey, and holy improbable crap some of 'em are even French: Thomas "the Grimace" Voeckler, the great Sylvain Chavanel, luckless (so far) curse-o'-the-rainbow-jersey world champ Philippe Gilbert. Jens for anything he damn well wants, so pack it up and bow before the One, you weaklings! And while he's no breakaway artist, can I show mercy enough to suggest baby Schleck for a stage of *some* kind? No, there's descents in them thar hills....
'Nother Stuff!: Bjarne's rumored to be retiring, the Tour is inviting every dope-sucking drug-fiend *except* Lance Armstrong to the big party, the French have put the mute button on the appalling Laurent Jalabert but are letting every other dirty doping DS of the last 10 years yap direct instructions into the ears of their clean innocent riders, Froome's still talking smack, and Contador, as always, is keeping his reserve. So Peter, remember not to pop those wheelies til *after* you cross the line, and Cav, if he paints his bike all smug-!@# maillot vert again before he earns it, you *chomp* that frame to pieces before Paris!
Here, Cav makes it 22 last year: The rest of you, let the excuses begin!
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
In Which Tom Boonen (Sorta) Breaks My Heart; It's the Tour o' Belgium, Honey!; and, Enter to Win!
The Classics Hardmen Return!: wondering what's become of all yer spring-king Classics faves? Yep, from new-dad Philippe Gilbert, still fighting the curse of the rainbow jersey, to kinda-besmirched LL Cool Sanchez, to Fabian Cancellara and injury-plagued we love Tom Boonen, they're all lining up to reclaim their dignity at this week's Tour o' Belgium. Hell, the weather can't be worse than at the Giro, right? This oughta be a skip-through-a-field-o'-daisies for you guys!
Bite Me, Lefevere You Tool!: well, Happy Birthday to Cav, who got to celebrate his 28th not only with a bitchin' cake in the red jersey, but the news that not only is former maillot vert Tom Boonen not riding the Tour de France to back him up as Cavendish so desired, but he's probably not gonna ever ride it again, either. Quoth his backstabbing manager, Patrick Lefevere, who so happily bragged about Boonen's incredible 2012 after dope-slapping in the press for 2 straight years prior, "a rider who fears a three-week race, do not force him to change his mind." Thanks for calling your own star a simpering wuss, you mercenary goon! Oh, Tommeke, how can we get your last season's joie de vivre back..I mean, if you're serious about staying off the party drugs and all, maybe some nice general carousing and a new Ferrari to play with might cheer you up?
Geez, What Does *That* Take?: meantime, several riders, including Euskaltel-Euskadi breakway artist Gorka Verdugo, were busted and fined today at the Giro for "unseeming behaviour which damages the image of cycling." Awesome, forza Gorka! So what the heck does that mean--tossing a musette into your rival's crankset at the intermediate mountains points? sucker-punching that guy running next to you in a bunny suit like an !@#hole? improper noogying? Well, whatever the lurid sin, Euskaltel sure ain't talkin'!
Naranja, The Colour of Competition: heck, does it even matter what they're saying? It's a tribute to the Orange Army, and Euskaltel--woo-hoo!
Predict the Giro Podium and Win!: finally, enter here to predict the podium, gain eternal glory, and win neat stuff!
Bite Me, Lefevere You Tool!: well, Happy Birthday to Cav, who got to celebrate his 28th not only with a bitchin' cake in the red jersey, but the news that not only is former maillot vert Tom Boonen not riding the Tour de France to back him up as Cavendish so desired, but he's probably not gonna ever ride it again, either. Quoth his backstabbing manager, Patrick Lefevere, who so happily bragged about Boonen's incredible 2012 after dope-slapping in the press for 2 straight years prior, "a rider who fears a three-week race, do not force him to change his mind." Thanks for calling your own star a simpering wuss, you mercenary goon! Oh, Tommeke, how can we get your last season's joie de vivre back..I mean, if you're serious about staying off the party drugs and all, maybe some nice general carousing and a new Ferrari to play with might cheer you up?
Geez, What Does *That* Take?: meantime, several riders, including Euskaltel-Euskadi breakway artist Gorka Verdugo, were busted and fined today at the Giro for "unseeming behaviour which damages the image of cycling." Awesome, forza Gorka! So what the heck does that mean--tossing a musette into your rival's crankset at the intermediate mountains points? sucker-punching that guy running next to you in a bunny suit like an !@#hole? improper noogying? Well, whatever the lurid sin, Euskaltel sure ain't talkin'!
Naranja, The Colour of Competition: heck, does it even matter what they're saying? It's a tribute to the Orange Army, and Euskaltel--woo-hoo!
Predict the Giro Podium and Win!: finally, enter here to predict the podium, gain eternal glory, and win neat stuff!
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Rain! Pain! The Cipressa and Poggio! It's All Wide-Open for Milano-Sanremo, Baby!
What Is It?: the first big Classic of the season, baby, and a looooooooong 298k. Ow, !@#$!
What's The Terrain: well, it's flat enough at the very end for a bunch sprint. But the Cipressa and Poggio climbs and descents can (1) let a break get away and (2) thin the herd like lion on antelope. And it depends on how hard the wind is blowing. And if the rain is falling--which it will be. And how cold it is. And...damn, thank god I'm gonna be watching this thing from home!
So What's That Look Like?: Here, and for heck's sake at least wake up for the last 25k:
Who's Gonna Be There?: Who isn't? Oh, right, the munchkin 20-ounces-soaking-wet climbing specialists. The rest of you, line up and prepare to hurt!
Who're The Faves: yeah, you know 'em! Past winners Gerrans, Gossy, Pippo, Cancellara, Cavendish. Bearer of High Expectations Sagan. Bearers of Middlin' Expectations Boonen Nibali and Gilbert. Bearers of Crap Expectations Hushovd. And about 20 other big wily bastards who ain't talkin'. Me, I'm wondering if Sagan'll be so marked he'll just be Cancellaraed outta the win. Forza Tommeke--shut up, he can too!
What's the Weather?: according to the forecast, so miserable even the Belgians'll hate it. But come on--if you ain't riding it, doesn't it seem more "epic" that way?
Right, the Gilbert Psyche-Out: geez, what crap timing for world champ Philippe Gilbert to have to deal with accusations of bogus-prescrip'd cortisone use at Lotto after everyone'd already stopped doping 2 years ago--don't let it freak you out, Gilbert!
Finally, Yer Bonus Cav-Boonen Press Conference Eye Can--uh, Highly Informative Speaking Stuff:
Well, it's on to the race--good luck and stay upright you guys!
What's The Terrain: well, it's flat enough at the very end for a bunch sprint. But the Cipressa and Poggio climbs and descents can (1) let a break get away and (2) thin the herd like lion on antelope. And it depends on how hard the wind is blowing. And if the rain is falling--which it will be. And how cold it is. And...damn, thank god I'm gonna be watching this thing from home!
So What's That Look Like?: Here, and for heck's sake at least wake up for the last 25k:
Who's Gonna Be There?: Who isn't? Oh, right, the munchkin 20-ounces-soaking-wet climbing specialists. The rest of you, line up and prepare to hurt!
Who're The Faves: yeah, you know 'em! Past winners Gerrans, Gossy, Pippo, Cancellara, Cavendish. Bearer of High Expectations Sagan. Bearers of Middlin' Expectations Boonen Nibali and Gilbert. Bearers of Crap Expectations Hushovd. And about 20 other big wily bastards who ain't talkin'. Me, I'm wondering if Sagan'll be so marked he'll just be Cancellaraed outta the win. Forza Tommeke--shut up, he can too!
What's the Weather?: according to the forecast, so miserable even the Belgians'll hate it. But come on--if you ain't riding it, doesn't it seem more "epic" that way?
Right, the Gilbert Psyche-Out: geez, what crap timing for world champ Philippe Gilbert to have to deal with accusations of bogus-prescrip'd cortisone use at Lotto after everyone'd already stopped doping 2 years ago--don't let it freak you out, Gilbert!
Finally, Yer Bonus Cav-Boonen Press Conference Eye Can--uh, Highly Informative Speaking Stuff:
Well, it's on to the race--good luck and stay upright you guys!
Sunday, December 23, 2012
It's the 2013 Racejunkie Awards!
Oops, 2012, Whatever: It's been a smashing, exciting, surprising, and periodically squick-inducing year in our beloved cycling, dear readers, and in honor of all our sweet peloton's done to entertain, thrill, and even annoy us, it's time to honor and thank the worthy (and un-)with our Official 2012 Racejunkie Awards! The prizes: glory, immortality, and, as I cannot afford the 40-foot marble statue of a three-horned six-eyed four-clawed forked-tail fire-breathing bike-riding beast-demon that you know who deserves plunked right down flat in the middle o' Texas, I swear if any of these guys even hear of their awards' existence, I'll throw in a beautiful custom-embroidered racejunkie cap to boot, so without further ado, here goes!
The Holy Crap I Think He Just Restored My Faith in Cycling Award: Ryder Hesjedal, taking the beautiful Giro d'Italia--and his country's first Grand Tour win--for noble Canada. Humble, grateful, hard-working, and most of all just obviously so very happy in his shining maglia rosa--Ryder, this one, and hopefully many more, are for you!
Aiiiiggggghhhhh! What the Hell Are You Doing? Oh My God He's Doing It! Ride of the Year: look, with his brilliant snatch of the Vuelta on the verge of stinging defeat, the now-wily veteran Alberto Contador's come a loooooong way tactically since he couldn't find his outta the team bus without a DS, but if your heart wasn't in your throat when Tom Boonen took off solo a bazillion fruitless kilometers from the line at Paris-Roubaix, you were clearly tranquilized like a runaway rhino during the race. Faaaan-tastic, Tommeke!
Comeback Kid of 2012: yes, it's a double for our Belgian studpuppy--everyone, us included, who thought your best days might be behind you were clearly permanent residents in Dumb!@# City. Congratulations--and next year, let's all !root for Thor or Philippe Gilbert to bag this one, shall we?
I Call Bull!@#$ Award: no doubt, Wiggo deserved to win his Tour de France, and a cheery salute to him and the justly-proud Brits for his great accomplishment. But *really*, what's next, o Tour de France organizers--20 straight days of flat time trialling and maybe a speed bump on the Champs Elysees? No, it's not supposed to be the fearsome Giro or Vuelta--but dang, it *is* still the Tour, you guys!
Shut Up Shut Up Shut *Up* Prize: Contador, Valverde--heck, damn near the whole Spanish peloton while we're at it--the less you self-destructive nimrods keep defending Lance Armstrong, the better. You *want* a GPS implanted in your !@# by the narcs all next season? Just keep it up, kids, keep it up!
Doping Excuse of 2012: well, Frank Schleck didn't exactly *claim* monthly lady cramps as the reason for his banned-diuretic use, and frankly there's been rather a dearth of high-profile drug pozes since as we all know only the broke-!@# Masters guys are cheating now, so for once, this 'un was a toughie. Ergo, this year, it's a group award for all o' USPostalDiscoverySkank, with their two-toned mantra of "I Never Saw It!" and "He Made Me Do It!" I mean, don't parents call bull!@#$ on their *toddlers* for this garbage?!
Scandal o' the Year: the late-December Hinault/Lemondesque Wiggo/Froome smackdown over who'll get Sky team leadership at next year's Tour de France. Close, but just kidding--it's you-know-who, and you-know-why!
Punk-!@# Move of the Year (Road): y'know, with their boundless braggadocio, smug smack-talk, and zeppelin-sized egos, sprinters are pretty annoying as it is, but there's a biiiiiiiig difference between the usual adrenaline-fueled argy-bargy at the barriers, and flying across the helpless field like a rubberband-shot spitball, and Roberto Ferrari spectacularly--and obnoxiously--crossed that line, taking the helpless Tyler Farrar and enraged Mark Cavendish right down. Your award? Apologize for real this time, or Cav gets ten minutes alone with you behind the podium!
Punk-!@# Move of the Year (Wussy Little Bureaucrat): really, Pat "Dick" and Hein at UCI? You're gonna threaten a broke-as-dirt true-fan journalist for doing his job with integrity and rightly calling your own disgusting actions and self-serving motives into question? Yeah, hide behind your lawyers' skirts you squalling babies--karma, I say!
Revenge of the Little Boy Who Called Wolf Award: congrats Floyd Landis and Tyler Hamilton, it's a two-fer. Sure, you lied the first ten thousand times you spoke to the press and your trusting fans--but when you finally told the truth, you sure made it count!
Crash of the Year (Dog-Wielding Dimwit): to Philippe Gilbert, stage 18, Tour de France, taken out by a humongous canine whose owners apparently thought it was a dandy idea to let it wander into the road as the peloton passed through. Road Rage o' 2012 Corollary Award: Gilbert goes screaming nutwhack at the owner-dad and his sweet little daughter. Good thing John Lelangue was there to protect the guy!
Crash of the Year (I'm Sorry, Does This Look Like a !@#damn Bistro?): to the surely-well-meaning nice elderly gent who thoughtfully set up his lunch table and chair in the route of the Tour de France. You broke we love Samuel Sanchez' hand *and* made him cry, clueless sir!
Crash of the Year (Season-Screwing): honestly, I think this rightly goes to tough-guy Fabian Cancellars for his season-crushing crash at Tour of Flanders, but because it's Festivus, I'll give poor Andy Schleck the benefit of the doubt that his 'Skank-whipped mental fragility wouldn't have hosed him anyway and give 'im this one for his pure sorry suck of a pelvis-fracturing takedown at the Dauphine. Truly, get and stay strong, Andy--you're gonna need all you got next year!
What the !@#$? Head-Scratcher o' 2012: so lemme get this straight. Vande Velde, Dave Z, Hincapie, Vaughters, and Tommy D doped like fiends for years for their own personal bank accounts and glory, got a slap on the wrist for it--and at least two of 'em built freakin' retail empires thanks to it--and everyone still loves 'em. Meantime, Johan Bruyneel, who if nothing else generously helped make 'em the ill-gotten champs that they are, ends up desperate beleaguered and snarling in a dank mossy cave like a hound-cornered rabid wolverine. Jeez, Johan, maybe you shoulda been nicer to all those "douches" you called out, it mighta gotten you a few extra brownie points!
Rider Tweet o' the Year!: sure, Bruyneel's erratic see-saw of cheer and defiance was a lock--'til righteous (and righteously righteous!) car-victim Andy Jacques-Maines weighed in: "To the chickenshit motherfucker who rammed me from behind with their Black Chevrolet Impala, FUCK OFF. THEN DIE." And that's just him getting started. Oh, and nice work by 5-Hour Energy/Kenda to dump him from your roster via the press you clods--like he said, "I'm too drugged right now to deal with this shit."!
Dirty Dirty Dirty Award o' 2012: Alexander-freakin'-Vinokourov at the Olympics. Oh yeah, baby, cue the gross 70s blue-movie soundtrack, groom that porn-stache, and break out the gold chest-hair medallions. Clean sport, schmean sport--you loved it too, so man up and wallow in it!
I Swear To God I Feel Almost Really, Really Guilty About Being Delighted About This Award: oh, Roberto. As a faithful if slightly self-loathing Heras fan, and a devoted ween who still thinks fondly of Ivan Basso's peerless legal team from 2006, I've been whining for years that that undeserving freak Denis Menchov oughta give you back your Vuelta, and what happens just on the cusp of the New Year? That's right, this one's for the Spanish court that gave it to you--never has an act of technical if not factual justice been so sweet!
Saving Grace o' 2012: in an incredible year on the road for women's cycling, matched only by incredible disregard from the powers that be, Italy comes in to save the day: yep, it looks like the Giro Donne is back on. Thank you, thank you, whoever you are!
And Finally, Redemption Song of the Season: yeah, just *keep* complaining about Greg LeMond being a bitter ol' jealous once-was--aside from the fact that the man came back from a near-fatal gunshot wound back in the day for heck's sake, he was right all along, too, and a *bunch* of folks who ought to've known better were just too greedy, starstruck, glory-wh@ring, and dismissive to listen. Greg, vindication is yours--like you ever needed it!
Well, this year's sought-after and highly prestigious awards are out, the peloton's got the night off, and the champagne's popped--apologies to anyone whose accomplishments I've missed, and let the celebratory debauchery begin!
The Holy Crap I Think He Just Restored My Faith in Cycling Award: Ryder Hesjedal, taking the beautiful Giro d'Italia--and his country's first Grand Tour win--for noble Canada. Humble, grateful, hard-working, and most of all just obviously so very happy in his shining maglia rosa--Ryder, this one, and hopefully many more, are for you!
Aiiiiggggghhhhh! What the Hell Are You Doing? Oh My God He's Doing It! Ride of the Year: look, with his brilliant snatch of the Vuelta on the verge of stinging defeat, the now-wily veteran Alberto Contador's come a loooooong way tactically since he couldn't find his outta the team bus without a DS, but if your heart wasn't in your throat when Tom Boonen took off solo a bazillion fruitless kilometers from the line at Paris-Roubaix, you were clearly tranquilized like a runaway rhino during the race. Faaaan-tastic, Tommeke!
Comeback Kid of 2012: yes, it's a double for our Belgian studpuppy--everyone, us included, who thought your best days might be behind you were clearly permanent residents in Dumb!@# City. Congratulations--and next year, let's all !root for Thor or Philippe Gilbert to bag this one, shall we?
I Call Bull!@#$ Award: no doubt, Wiggo deserved to win his Tour de France, and a cheery salute to him and the justly-proud Brits for his great accomplishment. But *really*, what's next, o Tour de France organizers--20 straight days of flat time trialling and maybe a speed bump on the Champs Elysees? No, it's not supposed to be the fearsome Giro or Vuelta--but dang, it *is* still the Tour, you guys!
Shut Up Shut Up Shut *Up* Prize: Contador, Valverde--heck, damn near the whole Spanish peloton while we're at it--the less you self-destructive nimrods keep defending Lance Armstrong, the better. You *want* a GPS implanted in your !@# by the narcs all next season? Just keep it up, kids, keep it up!
Doping Excuse of 2012: well, Frank Schleck didn't exactly *claim* monthly lady cramps as the reason for his banned-diuretic use, and frankly there's been rather a dearth of high-profile drug pozes since as we all know only the broke-!@# Masters guys are cheating now, so for once, this 'un was a toughie. Ergo, this year, it's a group award for all o' USPostalDiscoverySkank, with their two-toned mantra of "I Never Saw It!" and "He Made Me Do It!" I mean, don't parents call bull!@#$ on their *toddlers* for this garbage?!
Scandal o' the Year: the late-December Hinault/Lemondesque Wiggo/Froome smackdown over who'll get Sky team leadership at next year's Tour de France. Close, but just kidding--it's you-know-who, and you-know-why!
Punk-!@# Move of the Year (Road): y'know, with their boundless braggadocio, smug smack-talk, and zeppelin-sized egos, sprinters are pretty annoying as it is, but there's a biiiiiiiig difference between the usual adrenaline-fueled argy-bargy at the barriers, and flying across the helpless field like a rubberband-shot spitball, and Roberto Ferrari spectacularly--and obnoxiously--crossed that line, taking the helpless Tyler Farrar and enraged Mark Cavendish right down. Your award? Apologize for real this time, or Cav gets ten minutes alone with you behind the podium!
Punk-!@# Move of the Year (Wussy Little Bureaucrat): really, Pat "Dick" and Hein at UCI? You're gonna threaten a broke-as-dirt true-fan journalist for doing his job with integrity and rightly calling your own disgusting actions and self-serving motives into question? Yeah, hide behind your lawyers' skirts you squalling babies--karma, I say!
Revenge of the Little Boy Who Called Wolf Award: congrats Floyd Landis and Tyler Hamilton, it's a two-fer. Sure, you lied the first ten thousand times you spoke to the press and your trusting fans--but when you finally told the truth, you sure made it count!
Crash of the Year (Dog-Wielding Dimwit): to Philippe Gilbert, stage 18, Tour de France, taken out by a humongous canine whose owners apparently thought it was a dandy idea to let it wander into the road as the peloton passed through. Road Rage o' 2012 Corollary Award: Gilbert goes screaming nutwhack at the owner-dad and his sweet little daughter. Good thing John Lelangue was there to protect the guy!
Crash of the Year (I'm Sorry, Does This Look Like a !@#damn Bistro?): to the surely-well-meaning nice elderly gent who thoughtfully set up his lunch table and chair in the route of the Tour de France. You broke we love Samuel Sanchez' hand *and* made him cry, clueless sir!
Crash of the Year (Season-Screwing): honestly, I think this rightly goes to tough-guy Fabian Cancellars for his season-crushing crash at Tour of Flanders, but because it's Festivus, I'll give poor Andy Schleck the benefit of the doubt that his 'Skank-whipped mental fragility wouldn't have hosed him anyway and give 'im this one for his pure sorry suck of a pelvis-fracturing takedown at the Dauphine. Truly, get and stay strong, Andy--you're gonna need all you got next year!
What the !@#$? Head-Scratcher o' 2012: so lemme get this straight. Vande Velde, Dave Z, Hincapie, Vaughters, and Tommy D doped like fiends for years for their own personal bank accounts and glory, got a slap on the wrist for it--and at least two of 'em built freakin' retail empires thanks to it--and everyone still loves 'em. Meantime, Johan Bruyneel, who if nothing else generously helped make 'em the ill-gotten champs that they are, ends up desperate beleaguered and snarling in a dank mossy cave like a hound-cornered rabid wolverine. Jeez, Johan, maybe you shoulda been nicer to all those "douches" you called out, it mighta gotten you a few extra brownie points!
Rider Tweet o' the Year!: sure, Bruyneel's erratic see-saw of cheer and defiance was a lock--'til righteous (and righteously righteous!) car-victim Andy Jacques-Maines weighed in: "To the chickenshit motherfucker who rammed me from behind with their Black Chevrolet Impala, FUCK OFF. THEN DIE." And that's just him getting started. Oh, and nice work by 5-Hour Energy/Kenda to dump him from your roster via the press you clods--like he said, "I'm too drugged right now to deal with this shit."!
Dirty Dirty Dirty Award o' 2012: Alexander-freakin'-Vinokourov at the Olympics. Oh yeah, baby, cue the gross 70s blue-movie soundtrack, groom that porn-stache, and break out the gold chest-hair medallions. Clean sport, schmean sport--you loved it too, so man up and wallow in it!
I Swear To God I Feel Almost Really, Really Guilty About Being Delighted About This Award: oh, Roberto. As a faithful if slightly self-loathing Heras fan, and a devoted ween who still thinks fondly of Ivan Basso's peerless legal team from 2006, I've been whining for years that that undeserving freak Denis Menchov oughta give you back your Vuelta, and what happens just on the cusp of the New Year? That's right, this one's for the Spanish court that gave it to you--never has an act of technical if not factual justice been so sweet!
Saving Grace o' 2012: in an incredible year on the road for women's cycling, matched only by incredible disregard from the powers that be, Italy comes in to save the day: yep, it looks like the Giro Donne is back on. Thank you, thank you, whoever you are!
And Finally, Redemption Song of the Season: yeah, just *keep* complaining about Greg LeMond being a bitter ol' jealous once-was--aside from the fact that the man came back from a near-fatal gunshot wound back in the day for heck's sake, he was right all along, too, and a *bunch* of folks who ought to've known better were just too greedy, starstruck, glory-wh@ring, and dismissive to listen. Greg, vindication is yours--like you ever needed it!
Well, this year's sought-after and highly prestigious awards are out, the peloton's got the night off, and the champagne's popped--apologies to anyone whose accomplishments I've missed, and let the celebratory debauchery begin!
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Pouring Rain! Purito! The New World Champ in Tatters! Samu's Hat Trick!: The Giro di Lombardia Just Rocks
Okay Italy, you guys rode well--with Basso, Pellizotti, and Nibali all making some serious digs--but today belonged to the Spaniards (and one Colombian, Rigoberto Uran), as Purito made a daring attack on the final climb, half his country chased him down, and Euskaltel-Euskadi's great Samuel Sanchez pulled off his third--third!--second place in six years at the Race of the Falling Leaves. And what about that little Ag2R neo-pro Romain Bardet sticking it out for that long solo attack after the break got swept up (and being frankly just about the only good news Ag2R's had all season)? And, of course, there was the rain-soaked carnage: new world champ Philippe Gilbert bloodily baptizing his spankin' new stripes with an ugly (but fortunately not too damaging) crash-out on the course, and Alessandro Ballan posting a grateful shout-out to and picture of his scraped-up helmet. Yer surprising political wrangling: the ever-polite Samu subtly calling out his team boss for this year's controversial retooling of the team and bagging some key lieutenants in his desperate quest for WorldTour points (you *suck*, UCI!). 
Here, the final k:
Here, the final k: Friday, July 20, 2012
Dogs, Lies, and Videotape: It's Yer Pre-Champs-Elysees Tour de France Roundup!
Bark! Bark for Forgiveness, You Worm!: yap, Wiggo's won the Tour, Froome's gonna kick him in the works just before the time trial starts, yap--the big story today, for my money, is Philippe Gilbert's fantastic and wholly justified verbal attack on the morons who let their huge dog run into the race course, nearly dashing Gilbert's Olympic plans and any redemption whatsoever for what's been a truly spectacularly crap season for Gilbert. And *tell* me these folks aren't hiding behind their little daughter like Ricco' behind his mamma's skirts--wussy *and* stupid, you're lucky he didn't clock you like he planned!
Stay Thirsty, My Friend (No, Really, Stay Thirsty!): so, just as Frank Schleck's B sample poz is confirmed, and he swears he's gonna look exhaustively at every single thing he's eaten and drunk for the last two weeks (and I'm pretty grossed out positing how he's gonna accomplish that at this point), none other than RadioSkank cheerleader /serious stalwart Chris Horner has come out in spirited (and not unreasonable) defense: you don't know what the hell you're grabbing from a fan or scarfing at the dinner table in your darkest bonking moments, so anyone could put anything into your vittles. Since even I can't imagine that the kind of dimwit roadside asshat who's tempted to taint a water bottle in the one-in-a-bazillion-chance that their chosen enemy rider's gonna grab it actually has the brains and tactical skills to pull off such a scheme, it seems to me you vulnerable boys might more realistically just wanna up the pay of your team cook, soigneur, and mechanic, who actually have pretty impressive access, instead. And no more bitching about Contador from the peloton, now that he's innocent! Oh, how I long for the days when someone'd simply say he was *just* done banging his girlfriend, or his grandma's a drug-snorting EPO addict, or his dog's the victim of cruel identity-fraud by a vampire Spanish gyno...
Lies: Speaking of Schlecks, Andy, you almost had me with your passionate--and duly brotherly--claims of Frank's total innocence. And really, who could disbelieve that swoon-worthy face? But when you said he "never"--ever, honest!--doped, I gotta say, you lost yer street cred right there. As a dear reader has earlier pointed out, what the hell was that $5k payment to Dr. Fuentes for back in the day, his annual lady exam? Oh, Frank, sometimes you and Andy are just your own worst enemies....
Rocket Man: finally, not only congrats on his incredibly turbo-charged stage win, but also yer Tweet-o'-the-Week, go to Manx Missile Mark Cavendish, who graciously thanked the "dickhead" who entangled a frantically waving flag in his handlebars, crashing poor Cav (and his bike) to the ground. Damn, are the fans trying to take out *everyone* for the Olympics with broken bones and road-rash?--Tom Boonen won't want to kick all their !@#es that way, play fair now kids!
Stay Thirsty, My Friend (No, Really, Stay Thirsty!): so, just as Frank Schleck's B sample poz is confirmed, and he swears he's gonna look exhaustively at every single thing he's eaten and drunk for the last two weeks (and I'm pretty grossed out positing how he's gonna accomplish that at this point), none other than RadioSkank cheerleader /serious stalwart Chris Horner has come out in spirited (and not unreasonable) defense: you don't know what the hell you're grabbing from a fan or scarfing at the dinner table in your darkest bonking moments, so anyone could put anything into your vittles. Since even I can't imagine that the kind of dimwit roadside asshat who's tempted to taint a water bottle in the one-in-a-bazillion-chance that their chosen enemy rider's gonna grab it actually has the brains and tactical skills to pull off such a scheme, it seems to me you vulnerable boys might more realistically just wanna up the pay of your team cook, soigneur, and mechanic, who actually have pretty impressive access, instead. And no more bitching about Contador from the peloton, now that he's innocent! Oh, how I long for the days when someone'd simply say he was *just* done banging his girlfriend, or his grandma's a drug-snorting EPO addict, or his dog's the victim of cruel identity-fraud by a vampire Spanish gyno...
Lies: Speaking of Schlecks, Andy, you almost had me with your passionate--and duly brotherly--claims of Frank's total innocence. And really, who could disbelieve that swoon-worthy face? But when you said he "never"--ever, honest!--doped, I gotta say, you lost yer street cred right there. As a dear reader has earlier pointed out, what the hell was that $5k payment to Dr. Fuentes for back in the day, his annual lady exam? Oh, Frank, sometimes you and Andy are just your own worst enemies....
Rocket Man: finally, not only congrats on his incredibly turbo-charged stage win, but also yer Tweet-o'-the-Week, go to Manx Missile Mark Cavendish, who graciously thanked the "dickhead" who entangled a frantically waving flag in his handlebars, crashing poor Cav (and his bike) to the ground. Damn, are the fans trying to take out *everyone* for the Olympics with broken bones and road-rash?--Tom Boonen won't want to kick all their !@#es that way, play fair now kids!
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