Race of truthiness
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 wired lumps of Semtex before climbing into the start house this morning.
Today we heard that big George Hincapie may have cracked a collarbone in a crash yesterday but is racing anyway (chapeau); Texus Maximus may be riding for Radio Shack next year (please fire the surly bitch at Bibleburg’s 8th Street location); and Cuddles Evans is still displaying signs of a serious short-circuit under the helmet, pissing away more time in the early going of the ITT. And now it appears to be raining, which could turn the GC war into the Battle of Jutland. More as it develops.
• Note to Phil and Paul: Shut the fuck up about Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance, please. Jesus.
• Alberto Indurain: Contador slays all in the time trial.
• Killer dope, man: And oh, yeah, Danilo Di Luca tripped the Dope-O-Meter® for EPO CERA during the Giro d’Italia. He’s innocent, naturally.