That’s a phrase I lifted from Richard Russo’s “The Risk Pool,” and I use it to describe any day when the League of Small Hat Sizes is out in force. Like today.
I cheated death a thousand times during an hourlong bike ride this morning, dodging oblivious asshats of all stripe and color. There was the [...]
Well, that was interesting, eh? ‘Berto Contador croaks Fabian Cancellara and everybody else on a longish, mostly flat time trial. It sent Spartacus straight to the pub to slam a cold one and wonder aloud whether the gendarmes’ motorcycles might have given AC a bit of a tow.
I had wondered about that myself, frankly. But [...]
I missed delivering the daily dose of snark yesterday due to a combination of deadlines, writer’s block and insomnia; sorry ’bout that. So I’ll just say that the Astana boys really screwed the pooch, and if I were Alberto Contador I would give my time-trial bike a good going-over for sidewall cuts, severed cables and [...]
Busy, busy, busy. It was amusing watching Saxo Bank try to croak the Astana boys today, especially when the apparently shelled Texus Maximus went rocketing up the hill as if he just couldn’t wait for another dope test.
But seeing poor Jens Voigt hit the deck at speed took a lot of the fun out [...]
Frank McCourt, author of “Angela’s Ashes,” dies at 78 of metastatic melanoma. Ah, but what a book he left us with. As The New York Times recalls:
“When I look back on my childhood, I wonder how I survived at all,” the book’s second paragraph begins in a famous passage. “It was, of course, a miserable [...]
‘Berto Contador laid a patch about 6km long en route to Verbiers today, leaving everyone — including Texas Maximus — choking on the burning rubber.
The old fella looked like he’d thrown a rod by the time he finally crossed the finish line, more than a minute and a half later, and no wonder. Chasing that [...]
The Tour of the Living Dead rolled on toward the Alps today, and I’ll be damned if I have any idea what the hell was going on. So many stories, so little time. Tell you what, though — these guys can’t be too tuckered out, ’cause a bunch of ‘em were anaerobically jacking their foaming [...]
Walter Cronkite, dead at 92.
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