It's Yer 2014 Year in Preview (Yeah, You Read Right)!

Oh sure, we know all about what happened in 2013--like that we love SAMUEL SANCHEZ FROM EUSKALTEL STILL DOESN'T HAVE A FREAKIN' CONTRACT, THANKS OLEG TINKOV YOU GOON!--but what's ahead for 2014? Here, in keeping with our ages-old grand tradition of 100% accuracy in predicting the year to come, yer Year In Preview:

January: Last-minute team camp tune-ups! Bjarne Riis preps Contador for July with relentless all-caps social media assault; 3/4 of peloton coincidentally retires to "spend more time with their families" on same day results of Johan Bruyneel arbitration hearing revealed; unknown fan assailant spray-paints Movistar squad's team kits black-and-orange, Movistar declared missing from ProTour as new "Euskaltel" squad steps in. Yay!

February: And, we're off! Kittel thrusts enormous hairdo past Mark Cavendish's wheel on final stage of Tour of Qatar, pips Cav for overall at line, crazed Cav punches Marcel off bike, shaves head; Pippo Pozzato blows crucial pre-Classics prep time by posting record 897 consecutive half-naked selfies on Instagram.

March: Time for the Classics, baby! Tom Boonen wins Milano-Sanremo after Sagan relegated when pops wheelie, accidentally squashes Brian Cookson; Quintana figures "I can so do that cobblestone !@#$", inadvertently propelled into outer space bouncing off first block of pave'; resurgent Thor Hushovd grabs Gent-Wevelgem because "damn, BMC's gotta win *something* this year."

April: It's the Hell o' the North, *and* the Ardennes! Boonen bags record fifth Paris-Roubaix after Fabian Cancellara mistakes race for day he's supposed to do hour record, burns self out in 59 minutes; Sagan evades new rule against riding on dirt paths adjacent to cobblestones by bunny-hopping entire Forest of Arenberg; Andy Schleck announces intent to win Liege-Bastogne-Liege, sets 3-season personal best making it to back of team bus for morning espresso before quitting.

May: What else, it's the fabulous Giro! Basso, Evans, Scarponi DQ'd on first day when delayed arguing with hotel front desk over applicability of senior-citizen discount; Wiggo bails in dejection after learning "Giro" isn't Italian for "21-day Time Trial"; Rodriguez takes new "more humane" Giro/first Grand Tour win by wrapping self up in squirming angry polar bears to survive absolute-zero degree stage up Zoncolan.

June: Run-up to the Tour!: Marianne Vos rides entire 2014 Tour de France route in 3 days, 14 hours, 12 minutes and 8 seconds in protest, ASO chief pats arm, tells her to get him some coffee; Sky attributes record-smashing training performances to just "being way way cleaner than everybody else;" Tinkov claims threat to pitch Alberto Contador off Alpe d'Huez if he doesn't win is just "friendly encouragement."

July: It's the Tour de France, baby! Ted King awarded first maillot jaune because "man, we were !@#holes to kick him out last year over that 7-second time cut"; Vincenzo "the Shark" Nibali knocks at Chris Froome's hotel-room door, mutters "Land Shark," unsuccessful, sez "Candygram!", admitted entry, chomps Froomey, default Tour de France champ: Nibali!

August: Woo-hoo, time for the bangin' Vuelta a Espana! "Alberto Contador" goes for first Grand Tour win since clenbuterol ban when stocky bald guy in bad dark wig with American accent shows up at start line, Oleg Tinkov swears muffled yells coming from team-car trunk for three weeks is "just a bad muffler"; Wiggins sez he "always wanted to ride up 18 consecutive mountain stages with no domestique support," unfortunately forced to retire early due to catastrophic bit-of-popcorn-stuck-in-teeth injury; enraged Euskaltel fans pound entire Pyrenees to sea level with bare fists when Orange Army fails to ride by.

September: It's the World Championships! "Contador" defen--uh, wraps up Vuelta title, hits Spanish McDonalds for huge celebration; Marianne Vos wins Worlds in brutal conditions over all-star field, UCI congratulates, tells her how cute she looks in her little "pro rider team kit" costume; Rui Costa takes men's race again when Purito Rodriguez accidentally smashes Valverde's bike to smithereens in three-hour attack with ball peen hammer.

October: Time for final rider transfers! Contador to new Team Alonso, 2015 bikes revealed, media claims they look suspiciously like Formula 1 racecars 'til Alonso helpfully points out little brake levers on steering wheel; Jens Voigt claims legs won't shut up, forms own one-man squad, signs self til 2043; Andy Schleck swears he'll never ride again without Frank, Frank mysteriously fails to find new team.

November: Ready for a little R&R! Team Sky all vacations at same hosp--uh, "luxury resort"; Alexander Vinokourov sues newspaper over story he paid millions of euros for doping during his career, angrily protests "I always got that !@#$ for free"; Sagan constructs 86-foot monument to self out of sand on beach with little plastic pail and shovel, cries bitterly when learns even he can't order God to stop those silly "tides" from washing it away.

December: Back to work, boys and girls! Lampre determines 2015 team strategy will be to blind rest of peloton with glaring team kit, breaks out blue-and-pink Disney glitter pens, Swarovski crystals for crafty riders; Sky abandons wind-tunnel testing when star riders Wiggins, Froome sucked into fans, dissipated in building HVAC system; Lance Armstrong is--aw, who gives a !@#$!

Well, as my spot-on 2013 predictions clearly proved, 2014 promises to be a thrilling year indeed, so practice those cobbles, save yer places at the "Dutch corner" to hand out those frothy cold ones to the race leaders, grab yer neon mankinis and idiotic Viking hats for yer shameless TV time, and get ready for an exciting 2014!

Yo, We've Still Got Racing (and Transfers!) To Do!; and, Yer Post-Worlds Nasties Continue!

It's Milano-Torino, Baby!: yes, despite the new-crowned Kings and Queens of the Worlds, the actual cycling season still ain't over yet, as the venerable Milano-Torino, including the tough Superga climb, races tomorrow with a field including defending champ Alberto Contador, Joaquim Rodriguez, Andy Schleck, Damiano Cunego, and even the men's worlds road race lanterne rouge (and hell, at least he finished!) Thomas "the Grimace" Voeckler. Who's out: Vuelta winner Chris Horner, whose cracked ribs have called a late-early end to his season. Lookin' for vindication, Purito? Here's your chance! And in case you missed it last year:

The Race of the Falling Leaves (Teams, Whatever): meantime, as the clock ticks down to the lovely Giro di Lombardia, riders from Euskaltel to Sojasun are still scrambling for the last few spots in the ProTour teams, with grim Thomas de Gendt wondering if he'll get the last Quick Step spot from Igor Anton, Mikel Astarloza already throwing in the towel and retiring, stellar carrot climber/GC o' the future Mikel Nieve just grateful to play superdomestique and screw his own palmares over at Sky, and even the boys over at Bjarne's Saxo Bank starting to get a liiiiiiiiitle bit nervous they're gonna be stuck last-second without a squad. Still, fear not that baby Basque cycling talent won't be nurtured, at least: their cycling fed's hoping to start a wee Continental team to keep the Ibans (shut up!), Mikels, Josebas, and Igors coming nicely along. Til those heavy-handed money-bags at Movistar poach 'em anyway. !@#$!

Oh, Snap, Italia!: and, while British media is saturated with self-flagellating analyses like "Why We're A Pack of Weenie Dropout Quitter Wussbags," even one-medal (congrats, Ratto!) Italy's now piling on poor ol' Spain, with Paolo Bettini saying that, below hometown expectations as his squad was, at least they fought like lions and didn't lose like Spain. Geez, not arguing--because they really did snatch defeat from the slavering jaws of victory--but can people maybe lay off anything connected to poor Rodriguez while he's still a quivering mound o' tears over Costa's pip at the line? I mean, listen to the guy..."this is Purito's bitter destiny..."--kick 'im while he's down whydontcha?

It's Yer Post-Worlds Blame-Game Roundup!

National Brotherhood Week: yes, Portugal's Rui Costa, previously best known as a fine stage racer, tenacious climber, and for his spectacular sissy-boy slap-fight with Carlos Barredo at the 2010 Tour (tho' to be fair, it was Barredo whanging *him* with the bike wheel), is now our very worthy men's world road champ, and while the elite women exchange hugs, warm compliments, and congratulations all 'round, the men've already devolved into a seething snake pit o' venom-shooting viperous blame-purveying, with Britain telling its own team--none of whom managed to finish, least of all Brad "I Would Do Anything For Froome (But I Won't Learn To Descend)" Wiggins--y'all just suck except for Cav, Spain's chief slamming Alejandro Valverde for greedily screwing Purito into a lowly silver, the vaunted Classics hardmen dismissed disgustedly for failing in perfect (for them) weather, Team Italy head Paolo Bettini in and out of a job every six seconds, and only recent Vuelta runner-up Vincenzo Nibali roundly proclaimed a god 'cause if he had the strength to chase back on like that after his !@#$ crash with Luca Paolini he clearly woulda won otherwise. Surely these bitter Bettys can find *some* mercy for each other--damn, look at poor Rigoberto Uran's team kit! Anyway, here's how it all unfolded: Complimenti Rui!

We've Got Our New (Old) Women's World Road Champ! Lance Sez "Huzzah," But Should He? And, Yer Men's Preview!

Holy Crap, She is Just One of the Best Athletes in the World Right Now: yep, after a select winnowing down to a field of 8--including three Italians, Longo Borghini, Ratto and Guderzo--2 Dutch and the best of the rest of the world including the US' Evelyn Stevens, then a wily spit out the back of two Italians and one last rider, then a desperate return of the three and two more cracked by a brilliant attack from Marianne Vos, then a frankly worried-looking Vos 3.5k solo from the line, it was Vos, with actually plenty of time to enjoy the win, then a fifteen-seconds distant Johannson and Ratto to round out the podium. Let's be frank--the quality of the women's peloton right now *far* outweighs the respect, dough, and treatment they're given in this sport. You wanna support women's cycling, UCI? Well you've got the Muhammad Alis of cycling to bring it home for you--you better not !@#$ this up, Cookson, and congratulations Marianne!

Hallelujah!: meantime, after a whole lotta nasty political wrangling yesterday which in my view could've been settled way less fussily with just a good ol' Thunderdome cage-fight, Pat "Dick" McQuaid was finally ousted, with Great Britain's Brian Cookson winning the hearts and votes--though actually, not by *that* much--to be our new UCI prez. Happy campers--tragic Op Puerto victim Alejandro "Bloodbag" Valverde, and hero Lance Armstrong, who bizarrely tweeted "Hallelujah!", and was immediately rewarded with Cookson cheerfully announcing now's a *great* time for "Truth & Conciliation." Uh, I know that glory-whore McQuaid hocked you into the gutter like a lougie after you embarrassed him, Lance, but weren't you maybe still better off with him in the end than someone who *wasn't* once your greatest swooningest cheerleader? Be careful what you wish for, new heralds o' clean cycling--looks like someone wants to clear out the garage!

You Better Not !@#$ This Up, Bettini!: and, tomorrow's time for the men's race, and it looks pretty much like this: either the sprinters barely survive the climbs, and Sagan who can already climb anyway takes it, or the sprinters choke on the climbs, and whoever's not too gutted out from the Vuelta takes it. Alternative: Gilbert, underestimated, is poorly marked. Last alternative: Vinokourov, still pissed at Nibali for blowing the Giro, jumps in in full Astana colors, takes the gold medal in fist-pumping triumph, and immediately whacks the Shark unconscious with it. Italy's problem: if commissario tecnico Bettini doesn't get *someone* a victory on home soil--and no, even Ratto's fine bronze today won't cut it--he's gonna be discarded like a nut-sweaty testosterone patch and tarnish his great rider legacy. Me, rooting for Nibali or impossibly Gilbert tho' I am (and yes, I'll be wrong by the time both of you read this, stuff it), I'd almost love for Alejandro Valverde to grab the win. Wouldn't *that* be a great start to our shining new era?

Grated Carrots!; Yer Worlds-in-Preview Part Due!; and, !@#$ You Movistar You !@#$ing !@#$ers!

How You Do Write "General Heartbroken Keening and Wailing" in Basque, Again?: yep, our dear 2013 Vuelta team-classification-champ Euskaltel-Euskadi's officially over, and typically, in one of its sweetest qualities, our doomed loyal squad was harmed being dead-set on providing for its back-room staff and bitchin' bike supplier, as well as its entirely unheralded and unappreciated riders, with "F-1" (apparently, some kind of car-related !@$#) superstar Alonso reportedly reluctant to take 'em all on as of course he should if Euskaltel even remotely willed it. And, in response to the constant bitching of late about the putrid decaying state of Spanish cycling, Euskaltel-poaching bottom-feeders Movistar allegedly also did their damndest to make it even worse, hampering the buyout because they feared having another Spanish team'd drive up the price of currently dirt-cheap Spanish riders. You capitalist oligarch worker-bee-crushing cheapskate Rolex-flashing bean-counting wingtip-wearing swine-pigs, how dare you help take them down--bite me Movistar, now and forever, and remember this day when your points-piling cash-cow Valverde (1) ages out or (2) gets popped again!

A Plea: which leaves us with this: Samu' is probably gonna retire, and a bucket of really stellar talent, including Mikel Irizar and Ion Izagirre (guess-who having grabbed bro Gorka), and even the uneven but still exciting Igor Anton, are without contracts at a truly dire time of year. Me, I'm thinking that for the boys who *don't* find gigs, we maybe chip in to cheer 'em up and fly them and their hardworking soigneurs and masseuses over to our respective home countries to at least stretch their legs and earn a few bucks in some nice local crits. That, or we blow the whole pot on a truckload of Irish whiskey and drown our sorrows. Who's in?

Oh, Right, *Those* Races: Meantime, it's still the Worlds, baby, and...oh, who the hell am I kidding, how can I focus while this Euskaltel catastrophe's going on, anyway, it's the women's individual time trial tomorrow, it's 22k, it looks like this , yer reigning champ is Judith Arndt, and prowomenscycling.com is calling Ellen Van Dijk for the win. Oh, and here's the highlights of the women's team time trial that UCI wouldn't let be broadcast live those goons: Good run there Wiggle, congrats to Specialized!

Good News for Lance Armstrong, That Lying Sack of !@#$; And, In Defense of Bobby Julich

Fear No More, Desperate Lance Fanboys!: yep, dry your tears, o innocent (stupid, whatever) ones: your spotless hero's got good news today, straight from the rich-guy-analysts at the venerable New York Times--sure, Lance may've lost his 7 Tour de France wins, destroyed the lives of countless whistleblowers who were actually telling the truth about 'im, orchestrated one of the most repulsive and potentially physically dangerous doping schemes ever for himself and his totally-whipped teammate-beeyotches, and besmirched the name of the worthy cancer charity he founded, but he's still gonna be mother!@#$in' rich, baby! Now, that is just news to warm my frozen heart. Why? One, because I naturally root for underdogs, and who is more of an underdog than poor beseiged Lance, and why should *his* sainted name go down in infamy just 'cause T-Mobile and them couldn't systemically dope for !@#$? And two--and best of all--Tyler, Floyd, Frankie, Betsy, Greg, and especially Simeoni: *now* there's a point to suing his goon-thug concrete-shoe-makin' kneecap-busting !@#, 'cause he's clearly got the dough to pay your damages! Hey, maybe now Landis can start payin' back the people he ripped off with his "Fairness Fund"...

Owner of A Broken Heart: look, I'm getting !@#damn tired of defending everybody over their stupid doping confessions they only gave under subpoena, after they'd happily sucked in millions of bucks worth of contracts or sponsor deals, or when they got busted doping like a moron. But I'm gonna stretch my neck out one last time for dear Bobby Julich, and before I get any crap about he's no different than anyone else and it's grossly unfair to penalize someone just because they're not widely reviled throughout the peloton as a colossal d!@#, let me say this: when Bobby Julich strode right past me into a vineyard at the 2006 Giro d'Italia and I had to immediately avert my eyes in horror when it turned it he was goin' in for a wee, all I can say is, well, I didn't *see* nothin' suspicious. Of course, if I'd seen *anything*, I would have passed out flat on the roadside, as I am a delicate lady, but still, that's gotta count for something, right? One interesting note in his confession, in his defense of Bjarne Riis: how he says he didn't see any systemic doping in the CSC squad. So does that mean he observed it on an individual level? Oh, right, Frank Schleck was just running off to Switzerland during the Tour to track down his favorite Swiss beer, and Ivan only *attempted* to dope...

You Can't Make This Stuff Up: finally, congrats to the perfectly wisenheimer Italians, whose newly-unveiled 2013 Worlds mascot turns out to be the unforgettable Pinocchio. Am I the only one suspecting that no matter how clean the current peloton yells it's gonna be, his nose is *still* gonna gonna grow a good half-dozen times next Worlds? Oh, Geppetto, I thought you raised that boy better than that!

It's the Worlds Road Races, Baby!; and, UCI: Spineless Wussbags

Road Runners: yes, as Judith Arndt retires in a blaze o' striped-jersey glory and Tony Martin's still catching his breath after Taylor Phinney came within 5 seconds of kicking his !@# in the time trial, it's time for the men's and women's world road championship races, baby, and we've got a coupla smashing courses with drama to spare: in the Sunday men's race, the sprinters vs. the breakaway punchers slugging it out for control of the race up the Cauberg as the Italians hope to capitalize on the star-heavy Belgians and the Spaniards cannibalizing their own teams, and for the Saturday women's, Marianne Vos desperate to grab the ultimate prize after years o' second-bananadom vs. Georgia Bronzini suckmasterly whacked with the flu just days before she hits the course. As for Cav, he's estimating his personal chances as far south of the butt-end of nowhere, but to give him credit, he *has* hauled himself up the hills a bit better than in years past. No offense Cav, so here's a last pic of you in world champ kit--but I still hope Boonen or Freire stomps you in this one!

News From Planet Wussbag: and, just days after Pat "Dick" McQuaid daringly suggested UCI might be open to, y'know, examining its own cowardly enabling hypocrite rump-kissing Lance-groupie complicity in the disgusting doping that's plagued the sport, UCI's shockingly backtracked a bit on that one, opining that instead of letting any uncomfortable truths come out, it'd be much better for everyone if teams, riders, and governing bodies all kissed and made up and forgave each other and moved on in the spirit of reconciliation, optimism, and relentlessly gutless ass-covering. Of course, they still plan to beat the legal crap outta Paul Kimmage for blowing the lid on their repulsive conduct, but they *do* feel really, really, really bad about how they ruthlessly crushed Tyler, Floyd, and everyone else who blew the omerta on their creepily cozy relationship with their 7-time Tour-winner cash cow. Not enough to be honest about the sport's problems, though! Next up: Wile E. Coyote's press conference on how he deeply, deeply regrets always trying to catch the Road Runner, right after he successfully smashes him into roadkill with a 2-ton ACME anvil and spits'n'eats his meeping feathery carcass for breakfast. Touching, truly!

It Just Keeps Getting Better: finally, bad news for crap-luck Fabian Cancellara, who apparently was desperate as everyone else to get the hell outta RadioSkank but has an ironclad contract binding him to Johan Bruyneel for at least another year. Jeez, Johan, you really *have* managed to alienate almost your entire stable of Class-A talent--now bow down to Jens Voigt for deigning to stay with you at all, and kiss his bike shoes 'til your lips fall off if he even lets you in his airspace, peon!

The Worlds Are *On*, Baby!; And, Can Even Jens Save Andy?

Tommeke Tommeke Tommeke!: yes folks, the World Championships are underway, and it's time for the races o' truth to decide who will grace the noble striped jersey next year. Lookin' good there at the Tour o' Britain, Cav, but it still ain't your course! Today: the men's and women's first-ever team time trials, hailed by besieged and desperate Pat "Dick" "I never met Armstrong! He's a figment of your imagination!" McQuaid as a wild success. Victors: Specialized's all-star lineup of Ina Yoko "We Love You! Please Don't Kill Us!" Teutenberg, Amber Neben, Evelyn Stevens, and too many other bad-!@#es to count, making the most of a rolling course with a fine-tuned lineup, and, to even their own surprise, Quick Step, as BMC's Tejay was just a little too strong for his own damn good and inadvertently dropped Taylor Phinney in the screaming chaos on the Cauberg. But even though Phinney was mad, he's not mad--honest Tejay! Completely in the doghouse: Lampre, whose director slapped his helpless squad by saying he was waiting for at least "a show of pride." Ouch! Next up: The 24.3k women's individual time trial on Tuesday, with a flat finish after the top of the Cauberg, with Emma Pooley and unexpected London bronze medalist Olga Zabelinskaya looking for stripes. Oh, come on--like it wouldn't be fun to see Zabelinskaya come outta nowhere again!

Going to Schleck in a Handbasket: and, back in the 'normal' road world, Schleck-brothers guidance-counselor Kim Andersen has confirmed what's been so painfully obvious to us all: with the occasional exception of big bro Frank (who I always thought could've won a Grand Tour by *some* means if not stuck babysitting his more-hyped little sibling), the Schlecks just can't function without each other. So leaving aside how diplomatically Andersen just called Johan Bruyneel a !@#$head--and you gotta admire that--here's my question: so if Frank gets banned this year for using a masking agent for no doping-related reason whatsoever--a-yup!--how the !@#$ is Andy possibly gonna be able to win the Tour de France next year? Forget that he can't time trial or descend for dirt! Oh Andy, *so* fragile--I wonder, (forgive me Jens o great one!), can even Voigt save you next year as he hopes? Aw, the hell with that--Johan, you know you're gonna hose Andy anyway, just give 2013 to Jens right now!

It's Yer Pre-Worlds (Beefcake) Roundup!

House of Pain: yes, it's almost time for the World Championships, dear reader(s), and with the Spaniards sending an obscenely talented squad that may simply crush itself under its own firepower, the Belgians sending Tom Boonen, and the Brits of course sending Mark Cavendish, my dilemma is, for the men's race (since Georgia Bronzini is taking the women's--is too!), do I root for multi-world champ/imminently retiring Oscar Freire, who seems to be at this moment miraculously free from whatever !@#-dissolving saddlesore, freak vertebral injury, fan-wielded buckshot wound, or spontaneous wrist combustion he's usually battling, or for dear redeemed Tommeke, back on top and ready to kick an already-nostalgic Cav's butt on the finish of the Cauberg if Gilbert didn't out-prep him doing the Vuelta? As a little reminder, I bring you Roubaix: Yap, Gilbert, yap--ya got two stages at the Vuelta, allez allez Tom!

Aw, *Suck*!: in other Worlds news, this year we're seeing for the first time the intro of the team time trial, which is sponsor-team, not national-team, based, which means I'm gonna sit there and mope while we love Euskaltel-Euskadi gets screwed, *again*. Geez, give these guys a chance, willya--at least make it one big straight uphill or something!

Fast Car: meantime, Filippo Pozzato and his fans are outraged over his vicious 3-month ban for paying (alleged!) Lance dope doc Dr. Michele Ferrari $50,000 over 6 years for "training advice," which also keeps him off the national squad for life (leaving Paolo Bettini with a pack of 23 year olds and the spotless Vincenzo Nibali for the Worlds, incidentally), and I gotta say, I really do sympathize with poor Pippo and this ridiculous suggestion of any possible wrongdoing on his part. After all, what else were all those Operacion Puerto boys doing visiting Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes back in the day, if not to merely receive his "training advice" on, uh, how to perfect their valuable ladyparts Kegel exercises? Anyway, it seems Pippo is handling the stress of exile pretty well, and if he's not, who cares? He'll be back, um, training in no time!:

Lookin' Good, Alberto!: finally, good news for Alberto Contador: as thanks for taking the Vuelta a Espana right as Tyler Hamilton was throwing his ol' team boss to the sharks, Bjarne's rewarded Contador with contract extensions for two of his favorite domestiques. Keep it comin', Bjarne--surely you can convince Saxo and Tinkoff to toss you a little more dough to round out the roster *now*?

Caaaaaaaaaaav!: And, Your Overall Worlds Roundup

Well, it's big love (and a dashing photo of Cav, of course) to our Brit friends on Mark Cavendish's smashing win at the Worlds today (see, I can be fair to your boy!), and aside from that, just a few things we might remember about this lively week:

1. I was all kinds of ready to extravagantly compliment the French racers for not sucking and musing enthusiastically on their bright new future after stars-o-tomorrow Arnaud Demare and Adrien Petit went 1-2 in the men's U-23 road race and Pierre-Henri LeCuisinart or whatever bagged the junior men's, 'til some French asshat crashed and WRECKED THOR HUSHOVD'S CHANCES TO DEFEND HIS JERSEY! Fine, the French won't suck *soon*. And I like pomme frites, so I'll give 'em that too. But for holding up Thor, your compatriot *blows*!

2. Amber Neben certainly earned her spot in the time trial, as, by whatever obscure criteria, she won her appeal fair and square--it's not her fault those morons couldn't get their act together on a ruling 'til Kristin Armstrong had just landed in freakin' Copenhagen. But if *I* were Armstrong, and I were home with a cold one in my hand watching those results on TV...come on, like *you* wouldn't be pissed!

3. I'll give it to 'em--for Cav to take that sprint after having been boxed in and losing any kind of home-town wheel to cling to despite a bitchin' lot of work by his teammates, a situation completely out of his comfort zone--*that* was some kind of bad-!@#. Congratulations, Cav--you did in fact rock this one!

4. Watching the perfect Dutch lead-out in the women's road race, and then Marianne Vos *still* taking second place, was just heartbreaking. On the other hand, strikingly like her commissario tecnico Paolo Bettini, two-years-running champ Georgia Bronzini is one canny !@#@$%^&*!. Well played!

5. For Fabian Cancellara to be rocking all over the bike like a rum-drunk sailor in a hurricane, and *still* come in third in the world in the time trial, is a testament to his greatness. And didn't Tony Martin beating him *not* give you the same sickly feeling as when Stefan Schumacher did back in that Tour?

6. I've hereby solved this total !@#$shit question over whether some of the best cyclists in the world should be guaranteed the same minimum base pay as, say, the high-school delinquent who cleans out yer local 7-Eleven's Slurpee machine: everytime Pat "Dick" McQuaid says something toadying, arbitrarily enemy-attacking, or just plain asinine, that's 10 bucks in the women's peloton paycheck kitty. Screw that silly sponsorship dough--Ina-Yoko Teutenberg, six months from now, you're rich!

7. Y'know, Ina-Yoko does kinda scare me, but after watching Judith Arndt in the time trial, I'm pretty sure that if I or, say, the Incredible Hulk met her in a dark alley on a bad-mood day, one would need some pretty serious nonexistent video-game weaponry to come outta there alive. Just sayin'. Go Judith!

8. Finally, for certain faithful readers, yer bonus gratuitous Cav adulation shot:

Complimenti to all, and to all a good year!

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

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

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

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

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

Thooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooor!

Right *On*, You Big Lug!: yes indeedy, our dear poll-ees who picked "wrong again, nimrod" were right--I hardly dared hope for it, I was frankly still a little peeved over his earlier-season press-smack to Sastre, and I didn't seeing it coming over Gilbert's smashing Vuelta form anyway. So my bad, and Thor's great--here's how it played out!

The Post-Race: and here's our big happy puppy weighing in:

A Cartoon Tribute: heck, even the Saturday morning kids' tv shows saw it coming 'way back in '66 before the Thormeister was even born:

And, In Other, Scuzzbucket Cycling News: aw, who gives a !@#$--let's us cycling fans just enjoy the moment for once!

Forza Italia, Baby!

Right On, Sister!: yes, in a smashing sprint that sure didn't initially look like it was gonna go her way, new maglia iridata Giorgia Bronzini whammoed her way past an incredible field--and a controversial cut-off of a clearly-ticked Emma Johannson by ever-silver-medalist Marianne Vos--to grab the championship. Giorgia, of course, was wildly complimentary to her squad, explaining it was only late in the race after a hard day's work by all that the azzurre decided who really had the legs, and supported her all the way to the line. Forza Giorgia! So d'ya think Vos cut off Johansen unfairly, or not?

The Scrawny Little Doe-Eyed Elephant in the Room: y'know, there's *so* much crap to post about the Contador situation, not least that it's one sick-!@#$ rancher who not only feeds Bessie asthma drugs, but also makes it huff the kind of plastic that one would only totally coincidentally use in medical equipment for a blood-transfusion. But since this stupidity has almost drowned out the hard work, nail-bitin' thrills, and consistent American-men's tweeting about the (1) girl-fitted and (2) ugly US team kit--oh right, and that Cancellara guy and that Pooley chick's smashing wins in the time-whatsit--for today I'm gonna refer you straight to Contatwerp's own words for the true, unbiased story. Tomorrow--the men's road Worlds. Just use the space the womanly US jerseys leave for their racks as, well, extra water bottle holders, and concentrate on the race, guys!