Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? (Because He Sure As Heck Ain't Going to the Tour)

Yoooooooouuuuuu'rrrrreeee Out!: yes, with the Italians still objecting to Valverde's presence on their sainted untainted soil, and even the Spaniards finally suggesting they might be a little suspicious of their national hero, Caisse d'Epargne has bowed to the inevitable and, before our boy even had the chance to shove this farce down CAS' throat, announced he's officially yanked from the Tour de France. Even worse, it looks like poor jacked Alberto Contador actually managed to completely blow his own salvation *twice*, as he was apparently also in talks with Oh My God You Could Have Ridden With Garmin And You Still Put Your Faith In Lance's Right Arm Johan Bruyneel?, and failed at that as well. Y'know, as a legal geek, I sincerely and wholeheartedly believe that breaching a contract is a terrible thing, and I admire your taking the moral high ground, or perhaps simply wallowing in the pit of naivete, in sticking with Astana while they refused to pay you for months. But as a cycling fan, I have to ask, what the !@#$ were you thinking, you nit?! And I thought no one on that squad could actually be hosed worse than dear little Klodi....

Tom Boonen Dance Party: so, the court is due to rule on a demoralized Tom Boonen's Tour de France entrance, and I gotta say, while yes, coke bad, the sprints'll be boring as hell--except for the ones Thor Hushovd wins, and subject also to Mark Cavendish's ravenous unstoppable egomaniacal post-race ravings, as well--without our sweet repentant hellraised there too. Oh well Tommeke, if you can't get a gig riding your bike, you can always get on with your pinup career!

Saxo-n, Saxo-ff: in positive, non-doping related Tour news (and we might as well be grateful while it lasts), however, Frank Schleck's knee is on the mend, as he, baby bro-savant Andy, and real time triallist Fabian Cancellara, in addition to Bjarne's usual cadre of breakaway-crushing superdomestiques, are ready to hit the roads of France. Okay, I still deeply dislike Bjarne for so rudely wanking at we love Carlos Sastre--but if Astana's just gonna destroy itself with infighting, who *wouldn't* at a minimum halfway root for the Schlecks?

One Way/Or Another/I'm Gonna Find Ya/I'm Gonna Getcha Getcha Getcha Getcha: and, just in time to highlight the incredible dearth of actual doping controls during the centenary Giro d'Italia, which must just have been a wholly inadvertent oversight, come the we-really-mean-it-this-year narcs at the Tour de France to announce a snazzy new test that's guaranteed to get the latest and hottest drugs on the market, which means that since they won't be looking for the old-school faves so closely I guess, everyone can just revert back a few years and imbibe without fear. Don't worry AFLD--no matter how many scandals yostill have, ya can't look any worse than you did last year/the year before/the year before, right?

A Lawsuit by Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet: meantime, Tuttobici is asserting that Olympic silver medalist/accused cheat-scum Davide Rebellin may actually be innocent, proving definitively that (1) we must always be mindful of the possibility that the allegedly dirty may in fact be clean and (2) in any event, the Italians as a whole can't possibly be more drug-stuffed than the Spanish. Go get 'em, Davide--and Simoni, didn't you also suffer significant economic and emotional distress damages when his help was unjustly denied to you in this year's Giro?

Escape From Alcatraz: finally, I see the Dumbest Thief in All of Human History has been sentenced to 3 (gnurk!) years in prison for stealing The Most Incredibly Recognizable Bike In the Known Universe, which, you'll all be sorry to hear, you could have been the one to buy instead of the cheapskate moron who got it if only you'd been willing to shell out less than most of y'all spend on Gu packets in a week. Come on, I believe in both my faithful readers' impeccable honesty...but like NEITHER of you would've wanted to stash the thing behind a pile of crap in your basement and just sneak down to pet it once in a while?

Incoming!

Weapons of Mass Give-Me-the-Munchies: so I see ex-world downhill champ Missy "the Missile" Giove's been busted by the federalesafter they seized more'n 200 pounds of marijuana from a truck she was driving in upstate New York, and t'aint lookin' good for a light sentence: the narcs, taking over from an earlier driver, completed the handover and followed Missy as she dropped off the goods at a friend's house. Oh, those wacky stoner mountain bikers--don't they know they'd get off so much easier just dealing smaller quantities of the hard stuff to the roadies?

Speaking of Being on Drugs: and, in the wake of some skepticism over the efficacy of the UCI's bio-passport, Anne Gripper sticks to her story that the worst of the scum are already gone, leading to the obvious question: so only the lamest sub-domestiques in the peloton are doping, and even that doesn't help 'em halfway compete against the perfectly-clean top riders? Riiiiiigggggttttt. Meantime, several top cyclists, asked about her remarks, reportedly "laughed their asses off," "popped open some champagne," then "excused themselves to go to a doctor's appointment." Yep, I'm confident ol' Anne's spot-on!

He's Hosed: so, Alberto, after Valverde promised to help you fend off Lance's inevitable attacks at the Tour, Astana stopped paying you for months, and Caisse d' Epargne had a perfect spot just waiting for you if Alejandro stays out and if only you'd had the guts to go after it, not only has responsible good guy and your natural ally Luis Leon Sanchez gallantly offered to step up to leadership at his squad after all, but Lance has just told Velonews unequivocally that he is going to the race to win. Okay, the prospect of Astana eating its young in July is highly appealing, if only because that's the only way in hell Klodi's gonna be allowed within 800 miles of the podium, and I'm still pissed at you and the rest of your twerp-like ilk for getting out of Liberty Seguros alive while we love Joseba Beloki went down. But since you became so horribly oppressed by that tool Johan I have been kinder to you, and this is the stupidity you continue to pursue? Oh, Alberto--don't say you weren't warned!

Schleck!: in even lousier Tour news, Frank Schleck is now in doubt for the Tour from a bum knee, which, much as I hate to, I can't help but wonder means "I have a bum knee," or "I have a bum knee because someone's just found old photos of me getting a blood transfusion." Either way, get well soon Frank--we all know it can't be true, anyhow!

Dese Two Suits: meantime, our two dissolute heroes Alejandro "I Heart Blood Bags" Valverde and Tom "Didja See Those Lab Reports Saying I Coulda Got the Coke From My Hair Gel?" Boonen are both back in the ol' courtroom again, "Piti" to beg CAS to order the Italians to let him cross the border so's he can ride the Tour, and Tommeke in the far more justifiable quest to be let in on the grounds that (1) even the UCI isn't whining about his drug use and (2) everybody just plain likes him anyway. Too bad for the French they're taking such a hard line on doping all of a sudden--after all, how else is one of their riders ever gonna win?

Radio Ga-Ga: finally, seemingly in response to complaints that race radios are a supense-destroying candy-!@# crutch for strategic dimwits, the Tour has announced that it's gonna try two stages radio-free this year, and while I'm stoked that this'll set up some genuine thrillers, to me the bigger question is which of the obedient robots that half the boys have become are gonna actually manage to think and act for themselves without their heads literally exploding into feathery bits and let 'em take the stage. Aw, where's a canny guy like Bettini when you need 'im?

Take That, You Dirty Rats!

Not That Anyone Cares: yes, the UCI has finally come out with its Really Impressive List of Earth-Shakingly Important Cheaters, and what shocking names does it include? Right, no-one you, their mamas, the cycling feds, or even their teams particularly care about. But boy, does this warn the riders off the cheap stuff--you clearly gotta be a big-budget big-shot to afford the goods that'll keep you off the hook! Thanks for the heads-up, UCI--anyone else seeing a rash of, say, unusually large home-equity loans in some cyclists' imminent futures?

Break Out the Vino! (Tho' Not Til the Tour's Over, I Guess): in actual riders-who-(used to)-matter news, the exquisitely sociopathic Alexander Vinokorouv has learned his one year ban by the Kazakhs has been extended to two years that're almost up anyway, so while our national hero will miss this year's Tour and thus sadly the chance to create the most spectacular intra-team chaos since, well, he personally bushwhacked Ullrich at T-Mobile, he will, it appears, be all set to destroy morale, all previous climbing-speed records, and any semblance of fair play at this year's Vuelta. *Must* I ask yet again that that spectacular race not be the dumping ground for every Tour-rejected bottom-dwelling skankbag in the peloton? Oh, Samu' Sanchez, you deserve so much more worthy competition than such classless flotsam...

Oh, Fer Heck's Sake: yes, USADA has taken a strong stand against immorality and for total pointlessness, as, after Tyler Hamilton already retired in depression and disgrace, it imposes an entirely unnecessary 8-year ban on someone who had no nefarious Vino-like intentions of polluting this snow-clean sport ever again. Y'know, there's a lot of reasons not to respect Tyler--and a huge chunk of his generation, while we're at it--for what he did and the way he handled things, but it seems to me entirely wussy and, frankly, sixth-grade-alpha-!@#$% to go after a guy like this when he's already so far down. What's next, you badasses gonna text the whole school that his outfit today is dorky? OMG!!!!!!!!!

Back On the Chain Gang: meantime, I see the French are taking an innovative tack on reintegrating prisoners into society: yep, they've formed 'em a cycling squad to take their own 2,400 km Tour de France, complete with some pretty sweet rides, prison guard escorts, a team car, and (highly recognizable) team kit. Say the cyclists, it gives 'em a chance to prove to their families that they can do something good, and I gotta give it to 'em, at least it'll keep 'em too tired to shank their roommates. Caveat: like they couldn't have found enough felons in the *current* peloton to fill a freakin' team?

What To Do, What To Do: last but not least, as July draws inexorably closer, and wee little Contador himself has the sense to name Lance as one of his biggest rivals, it seems to me that Lance "The Happy Domestique" Armstrong has really only a few options to consider here:

1. Dedicate himself, 100%, no exceptions, to being Contador's pace-setting, wind-protecting, slip-stream-generating, snack-feeding, bike-changing, water-bottle serf. Ha ha! Okay, back from fantasy-land, folks. Why the @#$! would a 7-time Tour de France winner want to do that? And don't give me that pious crap about promoting Livestrong--he's been doing it to great success for the last 3 years without having to depend on the peloton, and if he cared so much that he cut off the fawning Italian press for the last two weeks of the race, what makes you think he'll promote it any more to the Armstrong-loathing French? What's more, let's face it, the guy got more publicity for his worthy organization suckin' on that Olsen twin, so if he's *really* lookin' for attention, he should pimp himself to People (again). Anyhoo, I digress, so let's move on:

2. Lay down the law like he always does with Johan's enthusiastic enforcement, and ride uncontested for GC. No doubt he'll do this if, and only if, he thinks he can win. Still time to snag Valverde's spot at Caisse d'Epargne, Alberto--and you know your old pal Luis Leon Sanchez'll genuinely help you if you ask!

3. Kneecap Contador faster'n you can ask "what was the name of that doltish inbred Tonya Harding sicced on Nancy Kerrigan again?" Oh, I'm so *very* sorry I rammed my wheel into yours at 65 mph!

4. (a) Start 'n'suck or (b) don't start if you think you'll suck, and cry "stomach flu" or some similarly disgusting no-questions-we-don't-need-the-details ailment. It's not like anyone'll suggest you just couldn't cut it anymore, right? Not with your legal team, they won't!

Well, that's my take on 'im, anyway--and of course, Free Klodi!

This Is The Best They've Got?

The Entire Peloton Goes Down: well, not exactly, as UCI makes good on its promise of mind-boggling celebrity drug busts by taking out one man, the king of all cyclists, um, Toni Colom? Needless to say, Katusha's already suspended him and Colom has (1) denied everything (2) demanded his B sample analysis and (3) worst of all, sicced his lawyers on the narcs. So we've spent what, eighty gazillion dollars, consumed thousands of needles, and issued 900 panting-hot press releases about the biological passport and *this* is the sum total of your accomplishments? Wow. Perhaps stung by the ho-hum response to this fearsome revelation, Pat "Dick" McQuaid and co. announced today that *next* week, they're really, really, really gonna surprise us with a bio-passport CSI thriller for the ages. Like what, you've now nailed some recreational cyclist for taking too much Sudafed to soothe her sniffles?

Just Say Yes: speaking of the UCI's terrible powers, the banned 'n' bitter Tour cheat Bernard Kohl continues to laud them with hosannas for providing a glorious roadmap to fail-safe doping levels, details his quite impressive out of competition drug intake, and snorts that there's no way the top ten at the Tour weren't doping right along with him and that twerp Ricco' last year, and it's a good thing he's not planning on ever coming back to the peloton, because while I imagine, say, Carlos Sastre couldn't take Kohl in a fist-fight, and we all know Cadel's incapable of attacking anyone, I bet that cagey little !@#$%$^ Denis Menchov could do him some pretty serious bodily damage. But wait! He didn't actually say this after all! He was misquoted entirely! Somehow, kid, I don't think that's gonna save you from either your all-star beatdown *or* the lawyers nipping at your heels. Hmmmmm....you can't bike anymore...I doubt other pro athletes would welcome you either...I suppose knitting always makes a nice harmless hobby, right?

Island of the Blue Dauphins: and my, our stolid Cadel is on fine form, taking 2nd in the time trial to Bert Grabsch, while Shameless St. Millar Defender's boy came in a handsome third. Valverde, of course, gacked up an entire 1 minute 31 seconds back at Cadel (which, for certain reasons, paradoxically makes him look better to me at least), and with Contador at 40-odd seconds back and the death march up Mt. Ventoux to come tomorrow, he could, if Cadel's notoriously tick-like wheelsucking ability should somehow fail him, easily make that up and then some. But since there's no way in hell Silence-Lotto can possibly support its star enough in July, and in harmony with my lifelong habit of backing losing causes, I'm rather hoping Cadel takes this one and perhaps even the whole Dauphine. Allez allez Cadel--you're gonna need it!

I Imply Nothing, Nothing!: because I am absolutely certain that Ivan Basso's radical change in time trial performance between, oh, 2006 and 2009 is 100% the result of (1) being out of competition so long and (2) total and complete coincidence. Oh, Ivan, I *do* like you better this way...just don't start getting *too* nostalgic for all those trophies press-slobbering enablers and podium babes, you hear?

Welcome to the Jungle: finally, it's a warm welcome back to the Tour de France for leather-skirted stud-machine Tom Boonen--if not by the French sports minister-- whose charming antics, cute little vials of nose candy, and wholly irrelevant enormous cash-cow potential have convinced the UCI and ASO that even so clean a race as the Tour won't be unduly besmirched if he participates. Alejandro Valverde, however, is not so lucky, as Christian Prudhomme says his !!@# is out, apparently not because the French just now found out about his scandalous involvement in some obscure "Operacion Puerto" thingy, but because the more foreigners ASO can keep out entirely, the greater the chance an actual French cyclist will get within lougie-hocking distance of a podium sometime before Bernard Hinault's great-great-great-grandchildren are unearthed in some far-off Planet of the Apes archeological dig. Don't give up quite yet, Alejandro--maybe you could offer to do a few extra loops up the Galibier to make up the kilometers everyone else'll be riding in Italy?

It's the Dauphine-Libere, Baby!

Get Down On It: yes, with the Giro behind and the Tour ahead, the Grand Boucle faves are scoping each other out at the Dauphine this week, with Contador cagey about his form as usual and keeping an eye on Alejandro "I Guess I Better Aim for the Vuelta" Valverde, Cadel "Forget It, I'm Hosed in July" Evans, and St. Ivan of Varese, who, despite some admitted "mistakes" in the Giro (like riding clean) is going to the race to win. However, what truly impresses me about Contador these days is his near-perfect praise of rival team-god (and let's face it, no matter what Johan says, if Lance decides he wants the kingship at the Tour, he's gonna get it, and after winning 7 straight I'm betting he'd rather have Bruyneel intentionally run over his legs with the freakin' team bus to give him an excuse to bail than have to suffer the ignominy of being some upstart rugrat's water-!@#$%), including such over-the-top homage as "we've not seen each other much since the start of the season" and "our relationship is correct and normal." So long as you're not in the same country, that is--should be an exciting 3 weeks in July!

I'm Bringing Schlecksyback: and, I'll humbly ask that you indulge my complete denial over the hideously blasphemous and clearly-untrue-so-bite-me-you-yellowbellied-muckraker Frank Schleck doping allegations, as baby savant Andy takes an early stage and big bro takes GC control and one heck of a hilly leg at the Tour of Luxembourg. Just keep your head down and Bjarne on your side, Frank, and you'll be all set to go at the start line 4 weeks from now--hell, you can't be any worse than anyone else who'll be up there, right?

Fred Garvin, Male Prostitute: meantime, Tour-protester-tackling legend Bernard Hinault is back in action, smacking around everyone from the disgusting lazy French riders, who shouldn't be paid unless and until they win a race, to lame-!@# race radios, ("just a Game Boy that has a gigolo attached at the end telling the racer when to take a piss"), to Greg Lemond's lack of tactical sense, to, most gratifyingly (if predictably), Lance, who has no business coming back to the Tour and to whom he hopes Contador "gives...a beating." The reaction from the twit(ter)sphere, of course, was swift, with Johan embracing his ho-dom and Lance dismissing his old BFF as a "wanker." Aw, Bernard, you're warming my heart--it's almost like having the real Simoni back!

Woo-Hoo!: and, it's a delighted welcome back to smashing (and oft-smashed) modest Aussie we love Stuey O'Grady, at last recovered from his latest lung-puncture, lavishing praise on everyone from teammates to team-docs, and ready to hit the road again (hopefully not literally, for once). Bring it on Stuey, and don't forget, you can stomp half the guys you domestique for if only you manage to stay upright! Back too, after escapades rather less heroic: yes, our big blowzy beloved party-hound Tom Boonen, who the Tour's gonna let in after all if UCI lays off him as seems likely. Assign this boy a handler at the disco, and Cav may actually have some serious sprint rivals in July!

Banned Cyclist Activity Watch: finally, with an outraged Lampre denying rumors that they're in talks with disgraced scum-doper Riccardo Ricco, and with quite some time left to go on his ban, it appears the boy has moved on from his initial gig as a spin-class instructor to the field of "artistic cycling", the "rhythmic gymnastics" of the cycling world:

The 2009 Giro d'Italia Awards

All right, folks, the 100th Giro d'Italia has come to a close, and I have a whole year to remember this year's glorious corsa rosa, simmer with loathing and resentment recalling the stuff that ticked me off, and ponder what sordid surprises await us next year. 'Til then, here's one last, loving look at the Best Race On The Planet Except Maybe The Vuelta:

Catastrophic Commentary Loss Award: okay, universalsports. I know it's a !@#damn miracle that anyone's even broadcasting the Giro in the US, so you do get points for that. But if I'm doomed to a race w/o Phil and Paul, kindly remind the oafs you hire that by day 21 they should have at least have figured out the basic identifying details of the riders they're looking at when they are absolutely alone in the start house. Big hint: the guys in Disney-princess turquoise and pink are NOT LIQUIGAS. Jeez, do you clowns even know who won the race?

All-Freakin'-Right-Already Prize: I hear ya. He's riding. Honest. We are now fully and nauseatingly aware of the single least important issue in Giro d'Italia history. A big shout-out to anyone who can surmise who we're talking about!

Step Away From the Microphone Award: I get it, Cav. Garmin's argyle army bet the farm on the team time trial, and lost. To you. HA-HA! Classy. Your bailing after !@#$-slapping every other rider at the Giro for 'dishonoring' it unlike you: even classier. Can't someone read this squalling baby a story and put him to bed already?

Mountain Mama/Take Me Home Prize: what else is there to say about the more, well, pulchritudinous stages that both my faithful readers haven't listened to me whine about 'til their ears bled already? Aiiiiggggghhhhhhh!

Sissy-boy Media Slap-Fight o' the Giro: Lance protests race. Press excoriates Lance. Lance cuts off press. Press stops covering Lance Armstrong's Twitter feed. Nyeah nyeah, nyeah nyeah nyeah! Next salvo: Lance deliberately smacks scoop of gelato off Gazzetta dello Sport reporter's ice-cream cone. Oh, snap!

Best Media Insult (And Sadly, It's True): Cristiano Gatti in Il Giornale: Di Luca is Menchov's "most faithful and precious domestique." Ouch!

And Speaking of Whom, the Rabid Chihuahua Anklebiter Award: grrrr...grrrr...yip yip yip....grrrr...yip! Down, Danilo, down--ow, that latest tiny attack *hurts*!

Crash o'the Race: hands down, Pedro Horrillo's hideous flyer down the Body-Crunching Ravine of Rock-Laden Doom. You cyclists are masochists, man. Get well soon, Pedro!

You Get What You Pay For (Or Not) Prize: oh yeah, baby, this one's for Liquigas. Um, not to discount the fact that St. Ivan of Varese promises to kick !@# in a Vuelta the Italians have no interest in even watching, or that it's vastly preferable that the boy lose clean than win dirty, but oughtn't you maybe have invested all that dough and all those scarce domestique resources in the curly-locked Adonis who actually podiumed?

The Where-Is-He-Now Golden File Cabinet Trophy: no, not Gibo, go to hell--Damiano Cunego. More than one of these stages suited him fine--where *was* he?

Magical Mystery Tour Award: it's the end of the entire race, and no doping scandal yet? Don't tell me that just because no-one's dimwitted enough to use CERA this season that certain riders weren't one with a passel of medical equipment that'd make a fully equipped ER look like a punk-!@# toddler's toy doctor kit. Guesses, anyone?

Gratuitous We Love Carlos Sastre Holler o' the Race: okay, I couldn't really think of an award for him. Maybe that he's not a petty wank like Cavendish?...but that doesn't seem to personally reflect our hero. Still, nice stages there Carlos--woo-hoo!

Jump-Out-Of-Your-Seat-Screaming Moment o' the Race: boy, poor Pedro Horrillo had this one nailed, but if you freaked like I freaked, then who but Denis Menchov should grab it definitively only 900 meters from the end of the entire corsa rosa? Here's the Rabobank boys losing it (thanks Velonews!):


And Finally, Primal Scream Therapy Award: Menchov, of course, just after he crosses the line. Anyone else think he was gonna bite the head off a live chicken like Ozzy Osbourne and spit it out onto Pat "Dick" McQuaid in triumph? Talk about missed opportunities!

Well Giro fans, that's about all I'm sure any of us can take for this year, which means there's only one, count 'em one, full month before we have to watch Lance completely screw over Alberto Contador, Levi Leipheimer, *and* Andreas Kloden in the Tour. Enjoy the respite while it lasts, and remember--only 11 more months til May!

Break Out the Champagne and Podium Babes, Baby!

Bas-so Close, But Yet, So Far: yep, it was a valiant if ultimately fruitless try up Vesuvio today by our humble dreamboat, who promises to be in winning form for the Vuelta but better not even think about upstaging Samuel Sanchez or anyone else from Euskaltel incidentally, but what I did not predict, though was certainly happy with, was that we love dear little Sastre would take the stage again. And to our valued and thought-provoking Anonymous who suggested that Cunego tanked this Giro because he's clean, please tell me you're not by extension suggesting that Sastre's winning because he isn't--there's gotta be *someone* left in the peloton I can respect. Plus, I'll, well, cry. Allez allez Carlos--unaided, thank you very much!

Robbie Baron: okay, I think Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen is a coarse, rude, obnoxious, egomaniacal sprinter-pig. And from a purely entertainment perspective, particularly with the doubtlessly-retiring smack-talker-of-the-gods Gilberto Simoni on some twisted diplomacy binge and the outspoken Danilo Di Luca lacking the finesse to rise above the merely bitchy, I admit, that's often appealing. But I gotta say, I'm awfully sorry to see this storied speed demon end his Tour hopes--though he sez certainly not his career--with his sucktastic crash and miserable injuries at the Tour of Belgium. Get well soon, Robbie--I mean, if Boonen gets left out and Petacchi can't scam his way in, we're gonna be left with just Thor and Bennati to duke it out every day, and where's the satisfaction in that?

Armstrong Wakes Up In the Morning, Brushes Teeth: y'know, when a legal website is breathlessly reporting mid-stage that Lance fell off his bike, was perfectly fine, calmly changed his wheel, and got back on his bike, you *know* this whack-job Dear Leader zombie-eyed cult-worshipper bull!@#$ has gotten out of control. What's next, imminent-commie-nuclear-death air-raid sirens and blaring amplified shout-outs from low-flying armored helicopters that Lance just breathed in and out? Holy crap, July is gonna be a freakin' nightmare...

Some, Someday/We'll Be Together (Yes We Will): meanwhile, UCI,irked that Bernhard Kohl dared to compliment their bio passport as a smashing aid to well-planned doping, has gone on the offensive, decrying Kohl as full of it and promising, yet again, that they will come up with some really, really cool positive results on some really, really big names just about the time the sun implodes into a black hole and sucks their impotent organization and the pulverized remnants of our planet into another dimension. And, they might even say Valverde is a very, very bad boy by then. Oh, the deterrent!

French Letters: over in the Would-You-Wanks-Just-Let-It-Rest Department, I see the French are about to go all Interpol on Floyd Landis if he doesn't show up and testify about the ancient-history leak of their lab chimps' screwups in his sample analysis, apparently because, far worse than destroying someone's career and livelihood on tainted incompetent ergo dubious evidence is other people actually finding out that you woofed it. Not to get all irrelevant, here, guys, but mightn't you more profitably spend your energy making sure your employees can, say, read and write?

Hats Off!: finally, as the 100th Tour of Italy comes (almost) to a close, and as we reflect upon the lame-ified mountain stages behind us, let's take a moment to salute the flag and listen to the national anthem of the country whose denizens clearly designed said stages this year:

National Anthem of France-La Marseillaise
Uploaded by rott48

He's Got It/Yeah Baby He's Got It

If the Narcs Don't Get Him First, That Is: Okay, so Franco "Farrah Fawcett" Pellizotti is 2 minutes back, which he's not gonna get, and there's no way in hell Danilo's gonna get the 80 or so seconds he needs on Menchov ahead of Sunday to cover the 20-odd seconds he's behind now, any time bonuses Denis may go for, and the 40-plus he's gonna lose on Sunday's crono. So unless Denis Menchov has some hideous mechanical on the climb or, particularly in light of the high level of interest today in his association with scuzzbucketian ex-teammate Rasmussen, suddenly falls unfortunate victim to that special kind of "stomach virus" riders only get when they're about turn up poz in a doping scandal, this Giro's in the bag. Still, the boy gets points for not complaining when the cheap-shot fans in Abruzzo hissed at him, which, incidentally, sent half the fans into a mortified mea culpa on behalf of a chagrined nation (y'know, the French might try that next time they whine when their boys get smoked on their turf, like every single freakin' day in July), though if he in fact *is* a dope fiend, and if Kohl is right you can't win clean then there's no reason to think he isn't tho' I still hope Jens Voigt was right !@#$-slapping Bernhard as a sore-loser dreams-of-grandeur rock-star wannabe, he can either take Heras' Vuelta win and hand it over nicely, or he can shov--I mean, I would be very, very disappointed. Anyway, nice work hosing over your *entire country*, RCS!

Italy's Next Top Model Roundup: speaking of Franco of the Euromullet, I know the boy tanked on a few earlier climbs, but am I the only one thinkin' that if he weren't half-handholding the newly-reborn St. Ivan of Varese the whole race, and if the team hadn't been so desperate to wring out a return on their obscenely enormous investment from Basso at any cost, we might've had a serious GC contender on our hands?

It's Too Darn Hot: meantime, a disconsolate Team Diquigiovanni is blaming the ludicrous Vueltaesque heat in the mountains for we still love Gilberto Simoni's spectacular failure, in which case I sincerely wish our aging hero a cool restorative shower and a nice tall glass of lemonade, but more interesting, while they're updating the team website with Giro news, they *don't* have Bertagnolli and *do* have Rebellin on the corridori list. So are they just too broke or cheap to fix it, or are they planning to get back their Classics meal ticket for one more year?

Ves, Ves-su-vio/Oh, Oh: so writing tomorrow off entirely as irrelevant, let's look ahead to Friday, shall we? Gibo needs it to reclaim his dignity, though this dinkmaster stage is not, but for a few steep sections, his terrain. Ivan wants it to prove he wasn't a drug-stuffed back-alley addict in '06. Garzelli wants it as icing on the cake of his maglia verde. Di Luca's pissed he didn't get it today and no doubt agrees with the low-class hissing of his fans, and wants to pluck that bloodsucking leech Menchov off his wheel. And as for Levi, well, Lance having worked for another rider for the first ten seconds of his entire career in cycling, I imagine Johan's gonna subject him to an all-squad bike-tool beatdown if he doesn't pony up the goods. And me? I love you Levi, but I still hope Gibo makes you all cry like Ricco' behind his mama's skirts!

I Want a New Drug: in non-cycling news,as UCI and WADA continue their highly effective "we only ban you if we hate you" antidoping campaigneven the NFL and MLB, for heck's sake, are starting to give out research grants to the tune of half a mil for labs to discover new methods of detecting banned steroids in urine. Might we persuade our own governing bods to try the same, since, according to Kohl, the Biological Crap-port is apparently only good for helping the cheaters to calibrate their precise doping needs (and thanks especially, natch, to their giving the boys a good year's notice they needed to amp up their baselines)? Of course, the first million or so UCI & WADA spend might have to be on "Remedial Sample Labeling" or "Testing Protocols for Lower-Order Primates", but it'd get 'em there someday, right?

Finally, Gratuitous Thor Hushovd Rocks Clip o' the Week (be patient!):

Giro d'Italia 2009: Stuff I Like and Stuff I Don't

Okay. It's no secret that I think that wanker Lance Armstrong has, with his insatiable ego and supreme publicity-whoredom, utterly wrecked what should have been a near-perfect centenary Giro. And I guess (and it's lucky for the lot of you) that between Captain !@#clown and Simoni's total nonexistence, that it's rather put a damper on what's normally a frantic and incoherent amount of posts during the corsa rosa. That said, today was the first day that got me actually interested in this beautiful race again (spoiler), so I might as well spit out what I'm liking and what I don't:

1. Thank you ever so much, Lance, for completely bamboozling the simp star-blinded race organizers into wussifying every single one of the climbing stages from brutal spikes o' gradient death into long low Italian-hostile yawners just precisely for you. If I want to watch the !@#$in' Tour de France, I'll watch it in July you punk!

2. Nonetheless, Simoni better have ripped an actual entire limb off in a crash or been 24/7 projectile yakking at the roadside to justify this week's craptastic performance. What the hell Gibo, have you no pride?!

3. By contrast, a noble if fruitless attempt today by Damiano Cunego. Honey, I hate to break it to you yet *again*, and I know you are having a tough time exiting the closet on this one, but you're really a Classics man. Embrace it, and your tifosi will understand, and someday, you will even be at peace.

4. Simoni was right, and having cheered the boy in Milan in '06 along with the rest of the swooning champagne-soaked throngs it does still rather sting to say it: Basso was an "extraterrestri" then, and he's just a plain ol' uomo, if indeed still a strong one, now. On the plus side, his gilded crusader-o'-purity wings and pretty, pretty apologetic visage surely remain intact!

5. Woo-hoo dear little Sastre! I thought he was cooked on the second-to-last-climb, and what a fool I was! Mild heartbreaker, if I still weren't in major annoyance mode with all of Lance's little acolytes: Popo just limply shaking his head as Sastre cruised on by.

6. Race commentary without Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen is like an entire night of stone-cold-sober karaoke with a tone-deaf 5-year-old shrieking halfway-memorized Disney tunes at the mic. Except less fun.

7. As both my faithful readers may disgustedly recall, I still have a wholly unjust irrational resentment of the innocent Denis Menchov for a giant bucket o' stuff he never did to Roberto Heras. But if Di Luca can't step up, he's gonna take it, he's gonna deserve it, and the Italians will never, ever, ever live it down. Anyone else see a new Italian-narc witchhunt against a randomly-targeted foreigner on the horizon?

8. Y'know, ex- maglia bianca Thomas Lokvist is really, really underrated. So can we please cut the constant pointless camera-action of Lance meandering along in the gruppo picking his nose or taking a drink for once, and focus on someone who matters in this race already?

9. Sprinters are just unbearable, aren't they? Except Thor of course. I mean, here Cav was, lamming into the riders left and right for disrespecting the Giro, 'til he gets the last stage *he* feels any interest in and heads for home. Ahem!

10. Beyond the full-throttle screaming Basque Euskaltel-Euskadi fanatics at the Vuelta, there are just no better tifosi than the Giro's. Anyone else notice how the riders were angrily smacking away the fans tossing water on their heads, until a nicely-dressed elderly lady was doing it and they all just meekly submitted as they passed?

All right, I suppose I'm feeling better now. Too bad about your lousy mechanical Levi, but at least you've got tomorrow's rest day to plan your attack up Vesuvio!

Levi Leipheimer is Scr#wed!

Road Rage: all right, I've been phenomenally lame in keeping our dear newbies in particular up to speed on this year's Giro, unlike, say, for my brothers, who are force-fed humungous updates and previews every morning like geese on the fast-track to fine pate'. And because I love our newbies so, I will stop pointing out for the next whole thirty seconds that the mountain stages of this race have been utterly Tourified and ergo wussified for Lance Armstrong's selfish piglike undeserving sake. So let's review the state of play: yes, the great Levi Leipheimer is completely screwed. First, superdomestique-o'-the-gods Chris Horner pops a muscle after a crash that takes him--and likely Levi's maglia rosa hopes--out of the Giro. Second, some nimrod drops a water bottle right in front of our boy at the feed zone and leaves him half-skinned for the time trial tomorrow--not deadly, and certainly nothing new for these boys, but hardly optimal. Sure, Levi's got the hideous ego-on-wheels that is Lance, who (1) has barely ridden for anyone else in his life and (2) until yesterday could barely even keep the pace much less set it for someone else consistently, and there's Chechu, who of course can do no wrong--but am I the only one besides Cadel Evans who remembers the colossal disappointment that was Popovych in last year's Tour? Speaking of which, we all know you're completely jacked for that, especially if they have one less !@#$% for Lance with Klodi's probs, and if you think Contador's not gonna all of a sudden want the Vuelta after that debacle, you've already taken too many narcotics to dull the pain. Oh, Levi, how could you have ever trusted that wank Johan after the first time he jacked you over for Basso?

Angel Is the Centrifuge: and, no word yet as to who the lucky riders are who got to play with esteemed drug freaks Bernard Kohl and Michael Rasmussen's handy blood-doping centrifuge, though I imagine, if the boys had any sense, that they at least wouldn't've helped stoke their immediate rivals. Then again, perhaps I'm giving 'em too much credit. Of course, at least the cyclists get credit for dignity, tho' not for their superior scumlordliness, as I see a bunch of Belgian bodybuilders scattered like teens from open beer cans from *their* narcs, whereas at least the cyclists'll at least stick around for the test then run crying to their lawyers afterwards. Geez, you guys are supposed to be so big and tough--*must* you be such scaredycats?

Pink/It Was Love At First Sight: okay. Il Killer is good. Very good. But he's also got a disconcerting history cavorting with suspect doctors, being caught on audio discussing dope, and, most surprisingly, of turning up at post-stage doping controls with the testosterone levels of Strawberry Shortcake. Not to cast any aspersions on the boy, but be honest--am I the only one thinkin' Danilo Di Luca's doing just a little *too* well this race? Don't take my miserable jaded word for it--look at this photo of him crossing the line yesterday, and judge for yerself!

And dammit Simoni--I know this whole course blows for you--suck it up and get it together already! Oh, well, at least you won't lose *too* much time at the crono tomorrow--damn, now I've gone and cursed him!

The Days of Aude Lang Syne: meantime, is there any top racer in the world who *isn't* at the Tour de l'Aude? Teutenberg, Vos, Armstrong, Cooke, all whomping on each other like drunken soccer hooligans--aside from, well, the near-total lack of media coverage, and the fact that they get paid less than the disgruntled dropout who spits in your fries on the overnight shift at the local ScuzzBurger, what's not to like?

Enjoy It While It Lasts, Honey: finally, yes, I *did* notice that we love Thor Hushovd kicked !@# for the second straight year in a row at the time trial at the Volta a Cataluyna (woo-hoo!), and yes, I *do* hope smug dog-defaming narc-evading weasel (and all-around good guy) Alejandro "Piti" Valverde doesn't mind stickin' around the home front, because it's still theoretically possible anyway that despite UCI's notorious spinelessness and inability to read an Op Puerto file they've had for three years now they really will get around to, as they promise, mildly objecting to his presence in every race on the planet sometime before the boy not only retires from the sport but before he's 4 million years fossilized into a spindly skeleton with a plastic IV port still stickin' out of the rock. Somehow, Alejandro, I think that so long as you stay the hell out of Italy, you've got nothing to fear!

Livin' On a Prayer

Can't Buy Me Love: so as Johan Bruyneel goes on about how Astana will be at the Tour de France in some form, and Alberto Contador trustingly continues to scope out the key stages of a race he's got no hope in hell of riding as captain in no matter how clearly past his primo Commander-of-All-Creation Lance Armstrong is even after that arrogant wank completely watered down the best pure climber's race in the universe to no effect whatsoever than to completely jack over Gilberto Simoni (wah, wah, collarbone, wah--not that you'd ever think to ask how he's done it, Lance, but didja notice how similarly-incapacitated and damn-near-as-ancient-as you Chris Horner managed to leave even Basso crying in the hills like St. David Millar at a press conference?), one cannot help but speculate, what the heck *is* gonna happen to the poor boy in July? Not to be a cynical depressive naysayer here, or to recall that despite feeling pity for him now that he's all oppressed I still think he was a dope-happy little pin-cushion at Liberty Seguros along with the rest of his grimy little cohorts, but I think this child is done for no matter how much he actually deserves to win (or at least ride for it) at the Tour. First, let's say Lance or his many personal sponsors pony up the dough for the squad--well, we all know who gets to call the shots then even more than now, right? Second, let's consider alternatives. Even if anyone else had the cash to hire you this late, which they don't, the best option among the serious GC squads--Caisse d'Epargne, apparently about to lose Valverde at least for this race--has, no matter how they yap on about giving your utterly underestimated BFF Luis Leon Sanchez another year or two to grow to Grand Tour leadership, an existing, in-house, and therefore cheaper, back-up. Help me folks, I'm trying to think of other options for him here--*besides* Chief Waterboy, you wiseacres!

Little Corsa Rosa/Baby You're Much Too Fast: mercifully, Pedro Horrillo's reportedly out of his coma and thankfully not brain-damaged from his monstrous crash at the Giro this week, but the boys still were too shook up or at any rate too extremely pissed to ride a real race today, 'til Cav got irked at the crybaby GC contenders blowing one of his last chances for a sprint with such stupid concerns in other stages as, y'know, not personally dying, and took the win. Not happy: the race organizers, who snarled the riders were a pack of mutinous hypocrite sissies; Pippo Pozzato, who frankly has more to be embarrassed about this race so far; and notorious tax cheat/Dancing With the Stars champ Mario "the Chest" Cipollini, who not only remains tartishly desperate for any adoration he can garner but also sincerely felt they lacked any dignity or spine whatsoever. Anyway, perhaps teh rest day will soothe some spooked nerves, and please, get well soon, Pedro!


Let's Dance/The Last Dance: finally, for those of you who'd like to see Alejandro Valverde ride one last time before he's forced to face reality and quietly retreat into the Jan Ullrich Memorial Pit of Cringing Obscurity, it's the bitchin' Volta a Catalunya, baby, and it's a formidable course worth watching this year. Good luck Alejandro--I still hope Samuel Sanchez stomps on you though!

The New Astana Team Kit Is In!

Well, Alberto Contador's, Anyway:

What'd I *tell* you to do, you naive sap? Damn, they don't even have money to pay you, kid--geeeeeeeeeetttttttt oooooouuuuuuuuttttttt!

You Want Freiburg With That?: oh, all crappy right, I've read up on the loathesome Freiburg Report, and all I can say is this: (1) poor little Andreas Kloden was clearly the wholly innocent hapless inadvertent victim of a Machiavellian money-hungry amoral dirtbag-directeur sportif and dough-suckin' rider-endangering scum-sponsor; (2) Kessler and Sinkewitz by contrast of entirely deserve whatever they get; and (3)it's !@#damn lucky none of these backwards ignorant medieval butchers freakin' killed these boys with their recklessness, stupidity and talentless body-mangling, though to be fair, at least they weren't celebrity gynos like Fuentes. Ooookaaaaaay, I am *vaguely* ready to concede that dear Klodi could maybe have done more than shrug say thanks and pull out a magazine to read while he was prepped for an IV and strapped down to a hospital bed for four hours after a long day in the saddle and an hours-long drive to a suspiciously darkened anonymous clinic, but come on, he was a domestique on T-Mobile, like he even had the nest-egg to get his hands on the high-quality !@#$ Jan Ullrich was enjoying?

You've *Got* To Be Kidding Me: so I see the Tour de France organizers, the greatest protectionists of performance-enhancing drug addicts from Rasmussen to Valverde since, well, UCI, have decided that pinup frat boy on wheels Tom Boonen is too indecorous to be permitted in this year's Tour, which means, I suppose, that rather than having one boy snort a few lines on his off-hours for fun, they'll have to content themselves pretending to be shocked at twenty-odd boys signing in at the line with actual visible medical equipment hanging off their !@#es. Am I the only one *not* taking enough drugs here that I think the Tour organizers are a bunch of ludicrous point-missing hypocrites?

Can We Please Shut the Hell Up About Golden Boy Already?: yes, Basso looks not only very pretty but strong, tho' a part of me can't help be just a weeeee bit bummed that Pellizotti's lacking the legs to kneecap his team co-captain on the sly. And I gotta say, whatsisface-who-stole-Roberto Heras'-Vuelta is lookin' pretty good for a heinous lowlife cheat-thief. But to me, despite the fact that in cyclist years he's almost officially clinically dead, clearly, Simoni's just faking you all out. Though he's right to point out that the stages are far lamer this year thanks to the race organizers disgustingly organizing the entire corsa rosa around that petty prima donna cash-cow media whore Lance, and I'm distinctly annoyed at Danilo "I Seem A Little *Too* Strong Lately, Don'tcha Think?" Di Luca for pronouncing himself "disappointed" in our hero, as Simoni optimistically notes, "it's not gonna get decided til the last day in Rome." Forza Gibo--and bite me, you Basso-bedazzled unbelievers!

Up, Up With People!

Well, the Climbers Anyway: yes, tifosi, having finally figured out how to get this beautiful race on TV, and while I'm still mourning the sucktastic luck of Christian Van de Velde, I can say with pleasure that we already hit the mountains tomorrow, and looking at the stage profile, and considering my own mild personal preferences, I gotta say, I hope Simoni kicks Basso's "attempted-doper" !@#. And if he doesn't? Well, perhaps Ivan'll just be saving himself for the Alps and GC, expecting Gilberto & co. to prematurely exhaust their ancient bods in the Dolomites, but on the flip side, if St. Ivan of Varese does take the stage, I can at least look forward to the distinct possibility that the lately-saccharine Simoni'll finally lose his cool and go, as was his whiny wont, for the verbal jugular. But for my money, what would be even more entertaining long-term: if Basso shows any weakness at any time in the race, because dollars to Dolomites, Franco Pellizotti, who as one may recall went completely shrieking bat!@#$ when Liquigas hired the Comely One, will absolutely hard-core bushwhack him. Anyway, forza, forza Gibo; race commentators, please do not yap the words "Lance Armstrong" more than 800 times a minute any longer lest I officially pull a Linda-Blair-in-the-Exorcist and go all kinds of head-spinning projectile--well, I won't go into further detail, but anyway, it sure wouldn't be ladylike; and no offense, but stick with the Classics Cunego!

I Feel Piti/Oh So Piti: meantime, the ink was barely dry on the Italian narcs' 2 year ban of poor Alejandro "Piti" Valverde before (1) Valverde started yellin'; (2) the tifosi started celebrating; (3) Caisse d'Epargne started suin' and (4)Tour de France organizer Christian Prudhomme finally got his excuse to kick that dirty, dirty boy out of his race once and for all. Me, I'm starting to think that between the Italians having been dragged kicking and screaming into serious antidoping efforts only because they were pissed Valverde got off while Basso got nailed, the Spaniards hell-bent on protecting their national hero at any cost, and the French happy to see any foreigner go down to distract the masses from their own inability to win their Tour for the last decade, none of these clowns are in a position to complain about anybody. Anyhoo, good luck at CAS, Alejandro--as Floyd Landis or damn near anyone else could tell you, you're gonna need it!


Finally, a Giro d'Italia Coverage Haiku:
Aching emptiness
Yapping ignoramuses
Come back, Phil & Paul!

It's The 100th Giro d'Italia, Baby!

All right folks, I've already tormented both my faithful readers with Giro previews in prior years, so I'll spare you that but first, I'd like to warmly welcome any Giro d'Italia/Grand Tour newcomers--because even if you *are* only watching it because Lance Armstrong is riding it despite the fact that he is the least important and certainly most annoying aspect of this year's race, I love you anyway, and I know you'll come to adore the three weeks of hand-to-hand combat, spectacular climbs, thrilling sprints, fanatic-driven spectacle, and inevitable doping scandals that are the Giro as much as we do. So let's round it up, kids!:

The Team Time Trial: I'm not gonna lie to you, I had Liquigas pegged for this one, not because I didn't think Garmin Astana or possibly High Road couldn't beat them on the merits, but because I was damn near certain the Italians would've run visible IV lines directly from the team car to the rider's rear ends right in front of the cameras to keep some foreigner from taking the 1st maglia rosa in the 100th Giro d'Italia. So apparently they didn't, but I must ask: am I the only shocked by how well freakin' *LPR* did today? Not that I'm suggesting anything untowards here--after all, Danilo's Barbiesque post-race testosterone levels'll probably do that later in this year's race quite nicely on their own--I'm just sayin'.

The Quick and the Dead: okay, it's on to a day or two of sprint stages, and while with Bennati, Head-Butt, Hushovd and pretty well everyone except Petacchi and Cav out of the race the range of possibilities seems rather narrow at best, for my money the fun begins immediately thereafter in the Dolomites, where Gilberto Simoni will be blowing right by his home stomping grounds and hence desperate--no matter how Mr. Rogers our resident smack-talking peloton Mr. T has become of late--to slap around Ivan Basso one last time before he retires. Forza, forza Gibo!--I mean, you guys already lost a bucket of time this morning, so you might as well redeem yourselves in the mountains, right?

Paris Hilton On Wheels: like anything else matters but the Giro, but anyhoo, you've all heard by now that babelicious Belgian party-slut Tom Boonen has sadly tested poz for coke again, and now, sensing serious trouble apparently, he's ditching the rakish charm that's saved his !@# so far, expressing gratitude and regret to the family friends and team he's disappointed, saying he blacked out from drinking too much, and claiming he needs, and is now sincerely seeking, help. Y'know, only he can tell if it's just a club-happy frat-boy sympathy ploy, mindbending reckless career-trashing stupidity, or a genuine problem requiring professional aid, but either way, I hope Boonen, who is really quite thrilling to watch, comes back soon. Clean, this time, get it?

Holy Moly, Ivan Basso Really *Does* Walk On Water!: finally, from the opening festivities in Venice, I give you this proof of St. Ivan of Varese's supernatural talent (now stick with it, through the yappin'):

The 2009 Giro d' How the !@#$ Am I Supposed to Watch This Thing !@#Dammit!?!; and, an Update

Aaaaaaiiiiggggghhhhhh!: As if cycling.tv hadn't pissed me off enough already, I not only get a nice e-mail from them explaining that they're too cheap and crappy to get any rights to the Giro this year--and I don't know what the hell you people think we're paying you for, but as one might reasonably surmise from the name of your site, it's to *broadcast freakin' races*--but I next learn that, though the bullriding-addicted inbreds at Vs. can't be bothered with the Giro either, we're saved! saved! because "Universal" Sports will broadcast live in the US with not only no commentary but also no replay coverage. Now, I can do without the live commentary--my ears are still ringing lo these many months later, after all, from the excruciating aural assault that was The Trautwig--but no replay coverage? What the hell are we supposed to do if we *work* for a living, you thoughtless nits--get a !@#$ing note from the network? ("Dear Your Honor: please excuse RJ from her hearing today. She has to watch a bike race.") Well, it's all moot anyway, because "Universal" turns out to be the monster hyperbole of the century, as they don't even *broadcast* in my major metropolitan area. Can one even sense how very irked I am at this moment?!

All right, I'm off to find some solution to this hideous scandal, and if it involves selling off a couple of limbs or some extra relatives on the black market to scam a last-minute ticket to Venice, fine. You *suck*, Universal Vs. Cycling.tv and every other damn outlet on earth!

Update: Thanks to all for the advice on alternatives. Plus, Tom Boonen's positive for cocaine again. I don't know about you, but I sense rehab, folks, whether he actually needs it or not!

The 2010 Tour de What the Hell Are You Freaks Thinking?!

California, Here I Come--Not!: Is there a good reason why the organizers of the Tour of California want to tell every half-decent Italian and Spanish rider on the planet to eat it by scheduling next year's race right smack in the way of the Giro and the Volta a Catalunya? Y'know, I hope you goons aren't pandering to Little Lord Lanceleroy by scheduling it so he can use it to prep for the Tour in the off-chance he decides to crush Alberto Contador like a malaria-stuffed mosquito again next year, 'cause frankly, the old guy is gonna have to kick off (the bike, of course) eventually, and then what the hell was the point? And don't give me that crap about the weather, these boys ride in Belgium for heck's sake over the sleet-soaked cobbles of death so cry me a river if it takes the tropical fruit an extra day to ripen because it's mildly chilly out for one day in California. How dare you defile the Giro, after Paolo Bettini deigned to ride your lousy race?!

Katu-sh%@!: yes, we haven't even started the Giro yet, and if Katusha weren't already total pointless packfiller in this year's race with the absence of Robbie "Head-Butt" McEwen from the sprints, Christian Pfannberger has been suspended by the team for a doping poz just one day after sending the team a friendly note saying he was withdrawing from the Giro roster for "personal reasons," apparently because he, personally, is a low-rent, cheating spitwad. Aw, Christian, what were you thinking--*never* be the first guest at the party, if you'd only waited til an Italian came up poz for the Giro before you went on the juice, UCI'd barely've noticed!

Prince of Tides: and, I see Simoni's baby-bushwhacker ex-teammate Damiano Cunego is pegging himself a favorite for the race, which is pretty surprising considering his total karmic inability to come up with the goods since the Piccolo Principe's hype machine went into full power like 4 years ago, though I do hope he does well because his poor, loyal tifosi just seem so heartbroken whenever he proves, yet again, that he is--though noble is the endeavor indeed--a Classics man. Meantime, everyone else is swooning anew over the incomparably dreamy Ivan Basso for the win, and one of the really nice things I'm noticing about Alberto Contador besides his admiration for Ivan is how heartily he extends his good wishes to Armstrong to overcome that pesky collarbone and reign triumphant in...well, May, and that's pretty much it. Aw, don't worry little Contador, I'm sure that with Astana's current financial problems Lance won't even have a team to ride for in July! Oh, wait...um, maybe Katusha'd consider you for that newly-opened spot? Or, y'know, Caisse d'Epargne might be short a captain if the Italian narcs beat down Valverde..but then there's Luis Leon Sanchez to step in...Well, maybe one of the photographers'll let you ride on the back of their race moto--I mean, it's not quite the same as riding the actual race but you'll get a nice view of the eventual winner, right?

Welcome Back, 'Korouv: in other Astana news, I see Kazakh rock-star/erratic wingnut Alexander Vinokorouv is looking forward to completely destroying the perfect 2009 Vuelta with the foul acid-bath of his corrosive (if lively) returning presence, with the added bonus that he's gonna go for gold in next fall's Worlds. Gee, grab a trunkload of IVs, a couple of doctors of dubious credentials and swill-dwelling ethics, get ol' pal Kashechkin on his cell-phone, and Samuel Sanchez has got himself an actual rival this year!

Law Is A Many-Splendored Thing: finally, congrats and a passionate "in bocca al lupo, baby!" to the aforementioned Alejandro Valverde, who has decided that he's gonna sue the Italian narcs in the wild and astonishingly unlikely hope that he'd actually be better off getting his !@# adjudicated in front of the Spaniards. I mean, it's not like they've protecting him with all the gun-toting fervor of, say, Cadel Evans' formidable 2008 Tour de France posse, is it? Hmm, maybe I better rethink that...

RJ's Doping Dos and Don'ts

All right, pro riders. At the moment, damn near the lot of you make me sick. You've defiled this beautiful sport, made pure sportsmanship the scorned purview of the naive and stupid, and effectively mocked the un- and under-paid, hardworking, honest club and small-team riders who wouldn't think of polluting their bodies or love of riding for a better result even if they had your obscenely inflated salaries and 24/7 access to podium babes. That said, if there's anything that pisses me off more than a liar and a cheat, it's a stupid one. Ergo, dirtbags, in a rare act of mercy, I give you RJ's Doping Dos and Don'ts:

1. DO say you didn't do it *one* time, then shut the hell up for all eternity and refer all questions to your lawyers. Sure, you're lying, but at least we only feel like punching you once.

2. DO make a date with a good spa and, if necessary, a spectacular plastic surgeon. To the pretty go the spoils. Sound extreme? I got three words for you, buddy: Basso, Valverde, Boonen. Now fer heck's sake pout those newly-plumped lips!

3. DO stick with the party drugs. Hell, even that idiot Schumi got off easy for amphetamines. Yum--coke!

4. DO confess to old offenses. Exhibit A: Erik Zabel. Come on, who doesn't love Zabel?

5. DO stay on UCI's good side by crusading against everyone else doping to conceal the fact that without it you no longer get the same results. Works for David Millar, right?

6. DO, despite a lifetime of self-absorption, now crave the charity circuit. Oooh--waifs!

7. DON'T believe UCI when they say you'll be rewarded for helping them, ever. So, how's Jorg Jaksche doing these days?

8. DON'T claim that someone slipped you a mickey at the club or in your water bottle. Even if it's true--and it's not--you're asinine. If you're really that paranoid, pay your grossly exploited soigneur an extra 50 bucks a night out of your Ferrari budget to guard your drink and stop insulting us with that bull!@#$.

9. DON'T hide behind your wife, girlfriend, or mother. It makes you look like a wuss, and frankly, if you do it, you ARE a wuss. Riccardo Ricco', read and learn!

10. DON'T whap on so many testosterone patches, o esteemed women's peloton, that you suddenly sound like James Earl Jones, develop a suspiciously Ben Affleck jawline, or actually grow a working, visible penis. Folks do notice.

11. DON'T hide your stash in the home of your family or friends. You're a wank to implicate them. And this, children, is why God created safe deposit boxes.

12. DON'T ever, ever, ever use your innocent dog's name in vain by making it a code name on your blood bags or in any other fashion. Because you're gonna go to hell. And you'll deserve it.

Well, dope fiends, most of you will still continue to cheat like the opportunistic amoral podium-hos that you are, and a select, unlucky few of you may even get caught doing it. But at least this way I'll still respect you in the morning!

!@#dammit, Rebellin, You !@#$wad!

Aiiigggghhhhh!: okay, two cyclists are poz for drugs from the Olympics, and if my hopes already hadn't been crushed enough by this filthy disgusting cesspool of a sport by Iban and Roberto, from which I am distinctly still recovering and was just yesterday thinking how Heras' situation was all Denis Menchov's fault, now it's !@##$ing allegedly Classics god/aging-well Davide Rebellin down the tubes. Frankly, I don't care who the hell Scumbag No. 2 is, although if Valverde finally gets busted I suppose it'd be a glorious irony and if it's Samuel Sanchez perhaps that will send me quite over the edge, but I am extremely irked if for no other reason that someone who was buried in the peloton for the entirety of its prime doping years ought at least to have figured out how to do this !@#$ without screwing it up. What's far worse, this is just in time to completely jack over we-still-love-and-I-don't-give-a-crap-if-he-pimps-his-own-grandma-for-banned-substances-twenty-times-a-freakin'-day Gilberto Simoni for the Giro d'Italia. You moron, couldn't you have just stuck with the coke and X at the disco like everyone else?!

Gila Monster: of course, the big headline at the fawning princes of denial over at Gazzetta dello Sport is that, despite prohibitions against Pro Tour teams at such events, Armstrong is riding the Tour of the Gila, which, as long as we're exempting Armstrong from any rules whatsoever in order to kiss maximum cash-cow !@# we might as well just do with regard to everything else, including doping tests, the SATs, traffic laws, the criminal code, and the law of gravity while we're at it. I mean, I'm happy to see Levi and Horner ride, but man, can we act like there are *any* other riders left on Earth? Y'know, I'd like to suggest that the rules be similarly waived for, say, Floyd Landis so he can ride in Europe this season, but somehow I'm suspecting that suggestion wouldn't get quite the same reception....

I Wonder/I Wah-Wah-Wah-Wah-Wonder: why Liquigas, despite the formidable performance of St. Ivan of Varese in last week's Giro del Trentino, is still trumpeting Basso and golden-locked babe-muffin Franco Pellizotti as "co-captains" in the Giro? Just bluffing? Fear that a clean Basso of 2009 isn't quite the certainly-equally-clean Basso of 2006? Pellizotti threatening to sue their pants off for breach of contract? No, perhaps the two of 'em were given joint leadership to mollify 'em like tantruming tots when they were squabbling over preening time at the mirror in the team bus...

CSC What Happens When You Hose Wee Little Sastre?: yep, saving the Schlecks for the Grand Boucle, Bjarne's announced Saxo Bank's Giro squad, and though there's no GC contender in sight there is, thank goodness, Jens to randomly slap the field silly on the attack at will, JJ Haedo for the sprints, and Cancellara to hopefully herd the team to a time trial win. I know, I'll be rooting for the Italians in every other stage, cut me some slack--forza Jens!

You *Suck*, Cycling.tv!

Aaaaaaiiiigggghhhh! (Spoiler): you *blow*, cycling.tv! Here I am, enjoying my "live" coverage of the fabulous Liege-Bastogne-Liege, happily watching baby Schleck smile for the cameras as he's within 2k of the line with an unbeatable lead and indignantly wondering if I am the only person in the world who for once wanted to grab a fistful of doped-up syringes and collectively jam them in the !@#es of the lame disorganized numbnutted chase group to at least get them acting like it would be interesting to win or hell even halfway try to contest the race, when with 1k to go the picture entirely freezes up into a still photograph and I have to hear the race organizers describe in minute detail how little Schleck has all the time in the world to zip up his jersey give a victory salute come triumphantly across the line and, not incidentally, like half a freakin' hour to climb into the team bus for a nice massage and get back to the hotel for a nap before the picture unfreezes just in time to watch the rest of the boys straggle in after I've already heard what order they're in. What the hell, Cycling.tv?! We are in the absolute dead zone of cycling coverage here in the US, we're clearly ready to sell off excess body parts to raise money for the privilege of paying out the hoo-ha to get it, !@#dammit pay some chump with a videocamera charging on a stallion alongside the group as a backup if you !@#$ing well have to and don't lose us within like 20 yards of the finish line!

Thank you. And kindly don't even *think* of allowing this stupidity to happen during the Giro.

Regards,

Racejunkie

Tough Luck There, Alberto!

The French Back Off: yep, the pissy whiners at AFLD have finally decided to forgo any disciplinary action against Lance Armstrong for taking a post-ride shower and siccing Johan Bruyneel on their hapless urine-sample-collecting goon, citing, after intensive investigation, that "we look like a pack of !@#holes." Oh, poor little Contador--so close and yet so far--sure you don't want to offer to, say, start 'protecting' Lance's water-bottles from anyone (else) looking to take the King of All Creation down ahead of what would have been your Tour?

The Seventh Circle of Hell: indeed, that would be the latest address of we love Andreas Kloden, nut-kneeing the competition in the time trial Giro del Trentino (yes, I saw Simoni was 4th to Pampeago behind Basso's 2nd; he's just saving his legs for May, go to hell!) only to inform the press that Johan--I mean "Klodi"--'s decided to bag the Giro entirely in favor of the incredible honor and good fortune of being a totally subservient subhuman pace monkey to the overly-entitled supernova-of-an-ego that is Lance Armstrong at the Tour de France. Man, Klodi, bad enough that after repeat Tour podiums you were reduced to being Alberto's !@#$% (I could handle, if still be somewhat irked at, your being Levi's); how much lower can you go without actually being ordered to carry Lance up freakin' Alpe d'Huez tied on to your back? Now don't go getting any ideas, Johan...

Update: Yes, I read all about "T-Mobile" and "Klodi." I'm sure it's all a gigantic typo and Der Spiegel meant "Discovery" and "Armstrong." La-la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you-la-la-la....

Don't Mess With Bill (Lance, Whatever): Let's see. The Giro d'Italia race organizers are really excited that Lance is gonna ride their centenary Giro, even though he clearly doesn't give a rat's rump about the race, because he's gonna bring in more money and publicity than God. And Lance just happens to despise Italian national champ/anti-Lance activist Filippo Simeoni, who rides for Ceramica Flaminia, who the race organizers just barred from the Giro. And now, despite the outraged howls of Simeoni and Ceramica as to how a pack of--ack!--Spaniards at Xacobeo Galicia could be more deserving of riding the race than they, RCS is refusing to discuss their reasoning. Um, not to accuse RCS of cowboy-coddling or nothin', but I can't help but surmise that, since Basso, DiLuca, Petacchi, and the CERA-suckin' Ricco's alma mater Fuji are all being welcomed to the race, the problem sure as heck ain't Simeoni's doping history. Or am I just being paranoid here?

Now These Boys Have Their Priorities Straight: finally, for your delectation, here's a spankin' new bike-friendly ad from the fine folks at Stella Artois, for whom I am not a paid shill, for the record, though I am certainly open to soul-selling bribery:

Put Up Or Shut Up, Already!

UCI's Yippin' Again: yep, our intermittently doping-averse friends at UCI are almost on the warpath yet once more, warning us for the umpteenth time that they're really, really, really gone name some dirty, dirty dopers busted by their vaunted Biological Passport program, this time as soon as they have a nice cup of tea and read the morning newspaper, head out to the park for a romp with the dog, stop by mum's house for a chat and some of her famous chocolate-chip cookies, pick up the dry-cleaning, take out the garbage, finally get around to cleaning out the gutters over the garage and--oops!--time for dinner so I guess this'll have to wait for tomorrow now anyway. Damn, UCI, you already gave the boys more than enough time to amp up their pre-season blood values by announcing the program half a year before you implemented the thing--if you've managed to pull off even a quasi-sustainable poz out of this farce despite such stupidity, then either !@#damn name 'em or !@#damn shut up til you can actually justify one already!

B-b-b-bad To the Bone: and, controversy continues over the Theo Bos/Daryl Impey sprint incident at the Tour of Turkey, and while you can judge for yourself here,, for my money, when even notoriously cheap-shot-prone Robbie "Head Butt" McEwen thinks you've pulled a wank move, you're one testosterone-OD away from a Mike Tyson impromptu in-fight earlobectomy. Y'know, watching the replay, it is sorta like those helpful tifosi giving a gentle push to a struggling climber up a muscle-draining Dolomite pass, if you're also trying to shove 'em off the mountainside I suppose...

18 Days and Counting: meanwhile, it's less'n three weeks now til the 100th Giro d'Italia hits the road, and the Liquigas boys are out in force going over the team time trial course, leading to rapturous well-wishes by the tifosi and, in case any of you should remotely doubt St. Ivan of Varese's return to purity, even more irreproachable photos of him cavorting humbly with wide-eyed bambini on his website. Just look at 'im--who could doubt such a wholesome creature? So lay off him, you soulless, cynical vultures!

Coming Around Again: finally, I note with pleasure that for those of you still heartbroken that doper-haven Rock Racing is about to tank, Danilo Hondo is ready to take up the charge in his own native stomping grounds, already contemplating putting together a new squad of his own, not only with him to helm the professional medical needs of, I mean the professional development of, a pack of innocent newbies, but, he hopes, with we-still-miss-him-and-like-you-don't-either Jan Ullrich at his back. Oh, as if you won't enjoy watching 'em too, you lurid voyeurs!

What Else?

All right, we all know what happened: Tyler Hamilton came up poz on a banned substance, and retired. And the reactions have been all over the map, from "screw him, he's a lying !@#$%$#@ *again*" to "leave him alone, the poor guy's ill" to the tifosi's relief and pride Cipollini bailed out of that freak show to a burned-out "just go *away* already." Me? After agonizing over why I feel so ambivalent, I think we're dealing with basically three aspects of Tyler (or his career) here:

1. Tyler the Badass: love him or hate him, you gotta admit, even in a sport filled with perversely ecstastic masochists who live for pain--and I concede that, as someone whose greatest physical struggle typically involves manhandling a stubborn cork out of a wine bottle, I do find it mystifying--Tyler stands out. Climbing up some of the most fearsome mountains in the game while pounding on a broken collarbone with every twitch of your body, no matter how much crap you're taking to (1) get you there or (2) kill the agony itself, is nothing if not spectacular. On this one, he was unforgettable, and nothing else he ever did changes it.

2. Tyler the Lying Sack of !@#$: Whatever pathetic need to believe in this sport and its heroes that led me to deface one of his expensive charity's hats with a desperate blazing-red "Free Tyler!" was totally blasted out of the water when he claimed, among other ridiculous excuses, his blood values were off the charts because he ate his own twin. Ya doped--deny it and shut the hell up, or admit it and shut the hell up, but don't have the total lack of grace and the contempt for everyone around you to spew ludicrous bull!@@# like that. In fact, Captain Implausible, it's the reason that an awful lot of good and sympathetic folks now have the sneaking suspicion, or outright claim, that your latest wah-ing is just another in a long line of disgusting scam-artistry. And frankly, using your depression to excuse never owning up to what happened and to quash any entirely fair and reasonable questions about your actual motives now is a punk-!@#, cowardly move. Zero, zero, zero sympathy here.

3. Tyler the Patient: he's got an illness, it's still got a stigma, his facing it and, even more, going public with it takes strength. And part of what's so sad about this whimpering end to Tyler's career is that the antidepressants he was taking that apparently weren't working aren't even on the UCI's banned list. But as someone who lost her dear mom to cancer, I have to say that if he is *remotely* using for one iota of a microsecond her struggle and his reaction to it as a means to justify or garner sympathy for something as base, inconsequential, and stupid as a doping poz--and I will assume, because he's a human being, that he isn't and wouldn't--he oughta zip it right there, unequivocally, for good, and never speak to the press or public again. Meantime, I hope he finds whatever he needs to get and to stay well, because the last thing this sport needs is another Vandenbrouckian or Pantaniesque tragic downward spiral. And perhaps someday, he'll come to terms with owning up.

Oh, and Michael Ball, you couldn't've helped him. He had to find his own way there. But what you can do to help everyone incidentally, is stop hiring every !@#$%in' unrepentant dope fiend on the planet, dressing 'em up in terror-inspiring acid-green spandex, and calling 'em a cycling team.

All right folks, that's all the thinkin' I can do on a weekend without making my head hurt. Tomorrow, it's back to the trenches!

A Pound of Flecha

The Thrilla in...Well, Paris: so that was a roarin' Roubaix, with Hincapie and Devolder knocked out by the Worst Timed Mechanicals Ever, an enraged Leif Hoste--always the slightly-pitiable Dean Martin to Boonen's too-suave Frank Sinatra--sidelined by a careening Juan Antonio Flecha, a surprisingly strong we love Thor Hushovd done in by a slight misjudgment just as he'd surged ahead of Tom, and our Belgian babe magnet just powering away for the win as a booed-beered-and-spit-soaked Pozzato lumbers into second. The fallout? Pozzato cussing out the (pretty low-rent, I grant you) lougie-wielding fans, Boonen copping to indifferent form, Hushovd bemoaning his carelessness, Armstrong tweeting that he thought that watching a bunch of lame-!@# male debutantes at the Masters golf tournament was more interesting than the race, and freakin' everybody lamming into Flecha for (1) wheel-slurpin' laziness and (2) flat-out stupidity. Add to that, the poor fans seriously whomped by a moronothon race moto and the usual gauze-n-blood-covered body count, and you've got yourself a Classic! Question: so is Hincapie, having lost the big one once more at the fossilized age of 35, gonna call it quits, or is he gonna try to live the dream for one more year?

Prijs Release Me/Let Me Go: meantime, in today's action, Robbie McEwen is whining that someone else made him crash and burn *again*, Boonen's foot is disturbingly sore, and the Italians are already crowing that Petacchi's gonna beat the crap out of all the other big boys at the Giro. In related Giro news, dreamy-eyed ex--um, nothin'! he didn't do nothin! Ivan Basso sez he's on smashing form, leaving the tifosi in paroxysms of all-caps-and-exclamation-point-laden ecstasy over his inevitable grasp of the final maglia rosa in May. Hell, more likely him than Cunego, right?

Pimp My Website: yep, Tour hopeful Cadel Evans' new site is up, and to his credit, it's buckets jazzier'n his old one, with the added bonus that you can leave him cheerful notes of encouragement as to his form and Silence-Lotto's excruciating inability to give him the backup firepower he'll need in July. Even better, elsewhere on the web Pippo Pozzato'll actually respond to you if you drop him a note, so if you're Belgian, still can't let go of the Flanders wheel-suck debacle, but were unfortunately too well-raised to actually go up and spit on 'im, you can simply insult him in writing and likely receive an interesting response. But perhaps he could use a little love after this week!

You Ain't The Only One, Honey: finally, if I were ex-Liberty Seguros (alleged!) lab rat Alberto Contador, I'd've thunk twice last week about crowing over how blown away I am by my own shockingly instantaneous improvement in the time trial of late, if only because every time someone totally physically unsuited to the discipline suddenly goes into hyperspeed in it--like his old teammate we-still-love-him-because-he-was-a-perfect-climber-so-bite-me-you-merciless-goons Roberto Heras--he inevitably ends up in the headlines with an IV in disconcertingly close proximity to every single vein in his body. Begging for a twice-daily visit from the narcs, are we?--you better be grateful AFLD likes you better'n Lance, kid!

It's Not Easy Being Green; and, A Call To Action

...Or A Guy Dense Enough To Name His Blood Bags After His Dog, Either: yep, despite the objections of the rabidly anti-doping Spanish authorities, Alejandro "The Green Bullet" Valverde's hearing in Italy is set for May 11, where our still-unscathed hero is gonna have to try to delay any ban from riding on Italian soil til at least after the Tour de France, which, of course, should the ban be in place, would DQ him from riding for GC in the Tour because one stage crosses briefly over into Italy. Given how ticked off they are over Basso's cruel 3-year exclusion, good luck with that one Alejandro! Oh, well, you could always pull a Ricco' and keep yourself busy teaching spinning classes--at least then you won't have to face the press after blowing the Grand Boucle *again*!

It's My Body and I'll Cry If I Want To: so Lance, predictably, has gone on the offensive over the French accusations of grievous etiquette violations, claiming of course he couldn't give a blood or urine sample til after he'd had time for a nice hot shower and his manservant Johan spent half an hour checking the narc's credentials anyway. Okay, Lance, it was an inconvenience, and I sympathize with the hideous damage to your beautiful coiffure, but am I the only one who remembers poor shocked Kevin Van Impe being accosted for a doping control then threatened with sanctions right after he'd learned his infant son had died? Yeah, Lance, *that* it ain't. So suck it up, quit whining (as should the French, while we're at it), and move on already--and oughtn't you at least pretend to keep an eye on the surging Contador?

World's Dumbest Criminals: and, congrats to alleged master thief Lee Crider and general master doofus Dung Le, busted for, respectively, stealin'-and-sellin' and possessing Lance and two other Astana boys' incredibly inconspicuous specially-pimped bikes from a team truck at the Tour of California. Um, I don't remotely want to encourage this sort of knavery, but neither of you two rocket scientists ever heard the handy phrase "repaint it first"?

As If!: meanwhile, I see time trial genius (oops, almost) Stefan Schumacher, banned for 2 years after an exceedingly impressive 2008 Tour de France, has appealed his case to the CAS, which, particularly since he's protesting his actual innocence, sez it unfortunately won't be able to hand down its predetermined screwover til the near-end of the season. !@#dammit, Schumi--quit yapping about this meaningless "justice" crapola--just grab yourself a forlorn-lookin' baby to kiss and start chasing down the paparazzi with it already!

Yes, We Can!: finally, I've just learned the European wine industry is in serious trouble, and folks, as lovers of international cycling, it's frankly our duty to fix it. Therefore, in the interests of saving our beloved sport, and because I just plain like alcohol, I propose a new drinking game: (1) every time the Italians wank about Valverde, toss back Chianti Classico. (2) every time the Spaniards complain about the Italians wanking about Valverde, it's a glass of Tempranillo. (3) every time the French whine about--jeez, what don't they whine about come to think of it, but let's stick with Armstrong anyway--snarf up a nice Bordeaux. I guarantee, with these options, we will have this industry back up and rolling within days. Now get out that corkscrew, and allez, allez!

Foiled Again!

Nasty Boy: yes, the triumphant French narcs over at AFLD have nailed Lance Armstrong at last: they've sent a scathing report about his--you guessed it!--behavior during his recent hair-sample gathering to the guardians of etiquette at UCI and WADA, which means, of course, they've failed to get him for actual doping *again*. A violation of politesse by this uncouth barbarian cowboy-pig--quelle horreur! Um, not to tell the French how to prioritize, but isn't there, say, one or two other podium-shot riders we can all think of, perhaps even in the same team kit, who they might more profitably turn their attention to ahead of July?

I Feel a Hot Wind/On My Shoulder/Must Be the Breath of Stijn Devolder: wow, did race fave Pippo Pozzato hose himself suckin' on Tom Boonen so tightly, and while those two trade whines over their colossal mutual woof, I must concede that, while I was actually rooting for we love Thor Hushovd because I'm still stinging from big Maggy Backstedt's casual remark that he oughta be Heinrich Haussler's lead-out--and even a bit for Tom just because hardly anyone picked him either--Devolder's whomping two-fer of a breakaway-shattering solo run absolutely kicked !@#. Oh well...at least Pozzato looks very "Make Me a Supermodel" on his slinky new website!

Killer Queen: meantime, the Queen of Classics, Paris-Roubaix, is almost here, and in my usual paean to losing causes I'll say flat out I desperately want Hincapie to take it, if only because anyone who has the craptastic luck to have his steerer tube shear off his bike while in great position for victory and the stellar reflexes not to impale himself on the thing like he's committing hara-kiri has really, in my view, already earned the thing. Heck, the world owes him *some* justice for killing himself at Lance's service for so many years with only one lousy Tour de France stage win as his thanks in return!

Take On Me: finally, as the Italians continue to pursue Alejandro Valverde in vengeance for Ivan Basso being justly busted for Op Puerto, I see the Spaniards, who in the last years've masterfully avoided taking any action against anyone among a whole peloton's worth of drugged-up home-grown skankballs, are suddenly aggressively declaring jurisdiction over Alejandro, no doubt so they can help make sure those old needle marks are well-covered by makeup by the time he's forced to testify about a truckload of blood bags that not only belong to someone else's dog entirely but will also almost certainly mysteriously disappear sometime this week and render the entire inquiry moot before he even has time to lose this year's Tour in his own right, *again.* See, Italy, they're all for equal punishment for equal crimes--if you're Italian or German, that is!

Wow Italia!

On the Attack: so with Giorgia Bronzini smoking the trackies, Pozzato finally reeling in the wins, and even LPR taking a team time trial this week, the real surprise is how good Damiano Cunego, whose record of choking in three-week stage races since his inaugural win as a baby is matched only by his fanatic tifosi's spectacular denial of same, is looking. With Garzelli and Simoni aging, DiLuca being hosed out of Classics--and thus valuable training--left and right despite LPR's apparent compliance with the useless biological passport, Basso improving but not enough yet to confirm he's gonna be who he was two years ago, is it possible this all-talk-limited-action Giro aspirant could really take the whole show in May? Holy moly, we might really have an actual competition here!

Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?: meantime, the ever-doormat that is Andreas Kloden is feeling confident about Astana's killer squad for the Tour, and also saying he has no plans whatsoever to retire any time soon, as the poor doomed sod has a contract with Astana through--gnurk!--2010. Oh Klodi, you've tasted multiple Grand Tour podiums, you could no doubt do more, you're far too good to be some wanky little brat's and past-his-prime giganto-ego's pacesetting !@#$%--how many times must I plead with you people, GEEEETTTTTT OUUUUUUUUTTTTTT!

The First Annual Let's Celebrate Diversity Day: yep, lest anyone think it's only the Spaniards who have an all-star doping doc in the person of Dr. Eufemiano "Gyno to the Male Stars" Fuentes, former T-Mobile mastermind Rudy Pevenage is here to enlighten: France, Belgium, Italy and Switzerland have their unsung medical heroes, too, except no-one's had the stones to rat them out. The French, doping--no! Oh, wait...no wonder the Spaniards feel picked on!

Jailhouse Blues: and, I see Bernhard Kohl's manager, arrested earlier in the day for pimping doping producs to athletes including the above, has already confessed to blood-transfusing him, which is presumably the subject of Kohl's press conference set for this evening. Luckily, he seems to have been the supplier for athletes other than cyclists as well, which gives some hope that someone, somewhere, in the Austrian peloton remains clean. Anyone willing to hazard any names--or are we all too used to being disappointed by now?

The Law of Unintended Consequences: finally, as the world eagerly scans every gross photo of Armstrong's gory surgical dressings, if I didn't already love gazzetta dello sport enough for its relentless coddling of all riders Italian, here's another reason to love it even more: perfectly juxtaposed with the video-feed headline "Contador on Armstrong's Injury" is a still shot of our princeling weighing in--and he's smiling broadly. Perfetto, Gazzetta--you may now resume complaining about Alejandro Valverde!

Oh, and we love Jens!

Sowing the Seeds of Love

You're My Best Friend: as the love-fest continues between the recuperating Lance "I Like You, I Just Think You're Stupid" Armstrong and Alberto "Get Well Soon So You Can Ride the...Giro" Contador, I must say I find it equally heartening that the same good feeling flows from Contador to we love Levi Leipheimer, for whom Alberto is generously delighted to domestique, so long as the old bat doesn't get all uppity over a paltry handful of Grand Tour podiums and a wunk of stage wins and unquestioningly takes his place beneath Contador's nut-kicking bike cleats in July. Aw, someone learned their lesson on "sharing" in nursery school!

The whole problem, of course, could be easily solved by Lance's following through on his reported interest in buying up the Tour de France, which'd not only have the so-sweet satisfaction of humiliating the French even more'n their losing the last 20 Tours to a pack of low-life McDonald's-sucking foreigners, but would also, one imagines, give a certain amount of influence over who snags an invite to the Grand Boucle in the coming years. You want it Alberto?--wag your !@@ and bark like a dog for it! I said BARK, Fido!

BalaBiteMe: meantime, Alejandro "The Green Bullet" Valverde, who joined the Vuelta a Castilla y Leon in a last-second snit he was starting to get overshadowed by Lance and Alberto, I mean, in a thoughtfully-calculated modification to his originally-planned training program, had two great rides at the Vuelta, reminding the foaming-nationalist Italian tifosi how incredibly pissed they still are that the Green Bastard's been winning races the last two years while fellow Op Puerto culprit (and not even really a culprit! just an *attempted* culprit!) St. Ivan of Varese has been cruelly and unjustly banned from the bike. Don't worry, Alejandro, I'm sure they'll get over it in time for your grandchildren to race in Italy without the fans hunting 'em down like wild boars...'til then, enjoy the sunny weather in Spain, or take yer chances!

Back in Black: finally, it's a tentative welcome back to disgraced-yet-beloved (oh, give me a !@#damn break, like you don't miss him!)perpetual-trainwreck Jan Ullrich, whose ol' mentor in blood-value adjustment, Rudy Pevenage, reports may join the management team at Rock Racing, which, incidentally, is looking for an even more unbearably egomaniacal showman of a sponsor than Michael Ball, so long as he's got the dough to ease the pain. Come back, Jan--wouldn't it at least give you great publicity ahead of your promised tell-all?