Cycling’s Dopage Debacle: Or, Answering Some Tricky Questions

So Kohl is a loser. A doped-up, dishonest, cheating loser.

The reason I’m so annoyed is that I trusted Kohl. I thought he was a really top-quality rider who (no surprises here, girls), I’d hoped would help get Cadel up mountains in the 2009 Tour de France. I thought he’d be Silence-Lotto’s saving grace.

Well, I thought wrong. The Kohlmaster has personally admitted to taking CERA, first to ‘help him get over an injury faster’, and then (my words) ‘just to help him go faster’. He had a bit of a cry in that press conference (hopefully, he’s woken up to himself) and I almost felt a slight pang of sympathy for the man, or I would have, if he wasn’t such a doper. He brought it on himself and he deserves his ban and his null-and-voided SL contract. At least now he has two solid years of Nothing To Do in which he can watch Tour de France DVDs and have a good hard look at what makes a true cyclist a true cyclist. Let’s hope it dawns on him that it aint CERA after all.

I would have loved to hear Cadel’s response when he heard that his Go-To Man for the Mountains got called in to the Anti-Dopage clinic to answer some tricky questions. I imagine it would have been something along the lines of “thanks for nothing, you bloody stupid fool” plus swearwords, plus threats, plus screaming, plus throwing of kitchen sinks + plates.

And I don’t blame him. Hell, if I wanted to win the Tour de France in the year that had the Albertinator, MasterLance and Schleck Junior to contend with, and my team couldn’t leg it with me past the foothills, I’d be pretty cranky too. I’d be thinking “Crap, I’m pretty stuffed.”

Maybe Silence-Lotto needs to put an ad in the local paper. It would have to be something like this on the left.

I’m getting to the stage where I’m dreading every news update in the morning because there might be something on the Latest Cycling Doper. And if that Latest Cycling Doper is ever a favourite of mine [Cadellio, Schleckers senior and junior, Fabster, O’Grader], I think I’ll just about renounce this pucked up, helmeted, Phil Liggett-commentated world for good. Can’t promise anything, but you never know.

BTW, does this now mean Frank or Sastre 'inherits' the King of the Mountains jersey?

[Oh yeah - Stuart O'Grady is gonna win the Jayco Herald Sun Tour! What a champ. Today he won “the first timetrial he’s ever won in his life”. Tomorrow he’s off on his ‘Champs-Elysees” ride in Melbourne. God love him.]

What Makes Hot Cyclists Hot?

What Makes Hot Cyclists Hot?

So, I’ve been thinking. What makes hot cyclists hot? Is it their tight lycra-clad bods? Their be-mulleted hair tufting out of helmet-holes? Their nut-brown limbs in contrast to their pasty-white chests? Their slinky bibshorts glimpsed when they’re cycling like they mean it up mountains? Or is it the fact that their legs – and arms, and faces, and chests - are smoother than yours?

Personally, it’s the shaved legs that do it for me. It just looks so carpetburn-free, and it speaks volumes for how far cyclists are in the cycling world – the less hair, the better the cyclist. Which is why Frank and Andy are so bald. And I’m just such a sucker for the mental image of Andy bent over with Gillette in hand, shaving cream at the ready and his leg up on the bathtub. Hot. See photo for Andy's look of concentration that would surely extend to his trusty Gillette.

But then, I also like the Cyclists’ Tan a fair bit. The way their Hawaiian Sunset legs give way to blinding porcelain thighs in a definitive cut-off point. I’m a special fan of the Helmet Strap Tan; the line of nylon that cuts through the Egyptian Bronze below the jaw and above the neck. As exhibited by sexy Austrian Bernie Kohlmaster. Look to see what a beauty he possesses.

And oh the bibshorts. They say clothes maketh the man. And they couldn’t be more right. In particular, bibshorts maketh the man. There’s nothing more swoon-worthy than the sight of nude-coloured bibshort straps glimpsed between the flapping jersey-tails of a cyclist while he’s working hard up a mountain. And bibshorts are such a dinky invention because not only do they look hot, they also keep their bikeshorts up. Genius.

This leads us on to the lycra-clad bodies. There are two categories for this and I’m a fan of both:

1. The Fabster Cancellara.

2. The Schleck Bruvvies.

The Fabster obviously represents the Not Quite So Scrawny category. He just manages to bypass the Scrawny Cyclist Tag with his beefcake shoulders and v8 thighs. All slathered firmly with CSC-themed lycra. One could say he looks quite good in it.

The deliciously skinny Schleck Bruvvies represent the Quite Scrawny category. The sign of a good climber is the fact that there isn’t much sign of them – they’re barely there. Sure, the Bruvvie’s BMIs might be 6-8 points off 19, but who even notices when their faces are so pretty? And their tight CSC-themed lycra emphasizes their climber’s muscles (so well shaved and tanned, I might add) rather than their bones, so all’s fair in love and war.

The difference between The Fabster Cancellara and The Rest (we'll leave Frank out of this one) is clear. He's certainly in the Not Quite So Scrawny category. The two little dudes either side certainly are not. Which isn't to say either one is better, because a Hot Cyclist is a Hot Cyclist, no matter what the body size, type of bibshorts, colour of the Cyclists' Tan, or size of the mullet. This is what I think makes a Hot Cyclist Hot. Not even the shaved arms, legs and chests can take away a Hot Cyclist's Hotness.

Druggies, Hotties and Cadellio

Okay, better make my first blog memorable. Or at least not totally forgettable.

My blog won’t be only about cycling, The Schleckers, The Fabster, Cadellio and all the other random plebs. I’ll also mention other sports – cricket, AFL football, tennis, swimming, the Olympics in general, soccer… but only occasionally.

So mainly I’ll be putting my spin on the cycling world. This time around it’s Stefan “The Hotdog” Schumacher and his drugcheat ways. Oh yeah, and Piepoli too – who saw that one coming? It’s not like he’s bunkbuddies with Ricco Suavez or anything. Weird.

So, the Hotdog. What. A. Cheat. I could feel that one coming like a train wreck. As if he was good enough to beat The Fabster on his hometurf in the first place. Twice. And then, to make matters even more suss, he goes on to DB (that’s dog’s breakfast) in the Beijing Olympics, as if he’s never seen a timetrial before in his life. Well, he hadn’t – not without a body chock-full of EPO, anyhow. Too scared to cross the Beijing Dopers ey? He must’ve thought France was going soft. Well, wrongo. The cycling world’s better off without him, I say. Oh yeah, and Piepoli too.

Now for Frank. I wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on at the moment. But I’m sure he isn’t involved in all that EPO Fuentes Burillo pet dog friend swiss bank account cheating pullava. You get what I mean. I just don’t believe he’d do that to his brother, who adores him almost too much. Put Andy’s career in jeopardy? He couldn’t – he shouldn’t – he mustn’t – wouldn’t! (wow, had a Grinch moment there) So I hear Andy’s also taken the rest of the year off to recuperate from the emotional trials, because it must have been grueling for him too. Either that, or he saw the great opportunity to have three months worth of race-and-responsibility-free sleepovers with bruvvie Frank. And can you blame him?

Lastly – Cadel Evans. Cadellio. I see a lot of Cadellio-hate circulating in the blogspot world, and frankly I’m not comfortable with it. He’s a little Aussie battler who tried his arse off without a team 90% of the tour and 100% of the mountain stages, with a pucked body and certain CSC’ers playing puckups on certain mountains. And he only lost by less than a minute, and frankly, while Sastre displayed some impressive tactics, he didn’t put in the hardyards like Cadellio. And it helped that Sastre had a team to help him up mountains and keep him up mountains. Cadellio had no such luxury.

And so Cadellio’s got big eyebrows. And he headbutts cameramen. And he threatens people with decapitation. And he punches motorists. And he gives anyone close enough the stiff middle-finger salute. So what? Got to admit it sure makes the guy interesting.