Tuesday, February 17, 2009

All that talk of opportunities, TV breaks and movies rang true

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

I need to throw something up here, to move my petty bad-loserness even a couple of inches down the computer screen.

How about some cycling? Tour of California is providing much thankfully distracting entertainment at present, mostly due to its hilarious weather conditions. I feel heartily for all those bitter Benelux riders who jumped at the chance to avoid any number of miserably wet and windy, freeze your bollox off European classics in favour of a pleasant nine day jaunt in the warm and sunny Golden State.

'Oh vat vun ve shall haf! Nobody gives a vuck about the result except Leipheimer and with Lance and Floyd and Ivan back ve can do all ze drugs vat ve vant! That's vat ze sanctioning body are zaying, no?'

And they arrive in Sacramento to begin their mini-break only to discover rain and gales to rival a Brittany beach. Conditions have been so bad that the planes that are used to bounce the live pictures about have failed to take off, and therefore provide coverage for large sections of the race. This has led to the joy of watching two struggling internet commentators attempting to find something to talk about for hours on end. Frankie and Beardy guy they have been christened and I'm beginning to get the impression that the younger, broodier Frankie is sleeping with Beardy's wife. Beardy knows it, too. It makes for delightful viewing.

So Levi's got the jersey, his team mate Lance is backing him up by swerving into him occasionally (just keeping you on your toes, bitch) and yesterday brainless Brit bruiser Mark Cavendish completely fucked up a sprint. Other highlights include Landis's anonymity, not so easy without a testosterone patch, is it Floyd, and the sidebar chat client that ticks pleasantly over in the window pictured above. We mostly just bitch about the commentators, us California tour tracker chatters, but occasionally we take time out to blame Al Quaeda for Lance's cancer.

Coverage starts at nine tonight, here. Be there, kids.

12 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Rosie said...

you might as well have posted about football.


Radge said...

And I have the cheek to call myself a sports journalist.

We could use something like this.

stipes said...

Hopefully I can tune in. Its not just about the bike y'know.

Sassy Sundry said...

I hadn't put the two together. Hee hee.

gimme a minute said...

At least I posted, Little Miss Rare Post.

Giz a job.

It's not even about his stolen time trial bike though it's hard to tell this from the way he keeps going on about it.

Al Quaeda and cancer? Or Frankie and Beardy's wife?

Conan Drumm said...

So is Lance "never took drugs" back on the Tour this year?

savannah said...

yeah, i'll tune in, sugar...




gimme a minute said...

He is, the big doper. It's at times like these that I'm glad I don't have an extensive readership.

Doper! Doper! Doper!

Can't say anything cause I'm too infinitesimal to be arsed with!

You wouldn't even have to stay up late!

But a petualnt teenage 'whatever' right back at y'all.

Andrew said...

Fuck, I wanted to whinge vicariously through you for a while. C'mon, there's heaps of mileage in this yet, just think of the injustice...

problemchildbride said...

Competitive cycling is completely unwatchable. It sounds like it ought to be a lot more fun than it is. But somehow it manages to be not.

Lance Armstrong said...

I'll see you in fucking court.

gimme a minute said...

You're dead right, he should totally not have been allowed compete without six months of previous drug testing.

One rule for Armstrong, one for everyone else.


You are so very wrong. Sitting down to watch a mountain stage of the TDF with enough beer and drugs to last the four hours or so, is one of my favourite things to do.

The action unfolds slowly, ritualistically, like a physical chess game or an improvised dance.

But you may not be a big fan of those either.

Lance Armstrong:
Dude, commenting on a blog while cycling out of Merced at 30 mph is probably a little unsafe.

No wonder you keep crashing into your personal photographer.

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