Cadel Evans packed it in today. The last straw was a crook gut — well, that, and a Team Sky support crew that appears to be composed entirely of old Superman robots laid off by the Fortress of Solitude during this interminable economic downturn.
I’ve watched more than a few of these Tour de France thingies over the years, for free and for pay, and this drawn-out foregone conclusion won’t leave even itty-bitty mousie tracks on what remains of my mind come Sunday. It was decided at the first time trial, way back at stage nine, when the song-and-dance team of Bradley Wiggins and Chris Froome tap-stomped the allegedly clean pee out of everyone save Fabian Cancellara. To him, they granted the lowest step on the podium. (“Arise, Sir Fabian. But not too far.”)
Wiggo’ had nearly two minutes on Evans after the time trial, and by the time ‘Is Lordship reaches Paris the defending champ will need to hack into the Very Large Array to see Wiggins and Froome ascending the podium.
A crypto-PETA vet would have put this wobbly mutt down long ago. Yet we in the sporting press must watch it limp two-legged to the Champs-Élysées on Sunday, powerless to bust a cap in its raggedy ass lest it cease sweating money into our beggars’ bowls.
Meanwhile, chapeau to riders like Peter Sagan, Thomas Voeckler, Chris Anker Sorensen, Tejay Van Garderen, Jens Voigt and the others who have pre-empted this tiresome funeral march with their valiant quests for stage wins, team glory or the lesser grails — green, polka dot and white.
Feel free to add your own heroes in comments.
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