Introduction
As I’ve blogged before, there’s a benefit to bike race coverage that doesn’t try to be unbiased or
fair. Sports fans have their favorites
and so should commentators.
At the end
of my last post I declared that I was done with watching the Tour de France. But I actually got some protests from by
biking pals, mainly to the effect of “Don’t stop writing—watch the Tour so we
won’t have to!” So in that spirit, I
tuned in to today’s coverage of a flat sprinters’ stage.
Biased blow-by-blow – Tour de France Stage
12
As I join
there’s 20K to go, with a breakaway of four 36 seconds ahead of the peloton. In other words, I’ve missed nothing. Juan Antonio Flecha is in this break, but do
you really care? The gap is now down to
28 seconds in the time I took typing that.
And I’m a pretty fast typist.
It’s nice how with cycling you can join late and still get the gist of the race. In contrast, consider your
average American ball game. The sports
fan tunes in an hour or more ahead of time, even more if it’s a big game. He watches an endless pre-game show, during
which he consumes probably most of the 2,000 calories that the federal
government recommends for the whole day. Why didn’t I say his/her? Because women don’t watch ball sports. Not really.
Some of them fake it, to try to please their boyfriends, but it’s a
charade. Do women watch bike
racing? I have no idea. They sure aren’t watching it just because the race
leader is hunky or something.
Every time
Sean Kelly fields a question from his Eurosport co-commentator, he starts his response with “Yes.” Now, Declan is no fool—he would never ask a simple yes/no question because then the entire response would be that one word. But he’ll say, “Belkin has become the kind of
team we’re always seeing on the front, why would you say that is?” Kelly replies, “Yes ... the pace is very high
and they’re making sure they keep their riders out of trouble.” As a racer, Kelly was
famously quiet—the only rider known to answer questions with a head nod during
a radio interview. I’m now picturing him, in his early days as a commentator, on the couch working with a therapist who helpfully suggests, “You can always
say ‘yes.’ That should get things
started.”
There’s not
much to report about this race. It’s a
simple, straight, wide, flat course on a nice sunny day. The breakaway is mostly over, with just one
guy still up the road, getting free publicity, getting his five minutes on TV
simply because the camera is obliged to cover any breakaways, no matter how
doomed. Have you ever seen a
speed-walking race? It’s the dumbest
thing I’ve ever seen. I think they used
to have it in the Olympics even. There
are strict rules preventing you from going faster—that is, to make sure you’re
still technically walking. I always
fantasized about getting really good at it, just to make the Olympic team, and
then on the big day I’d let myself fall behind a bit and then break into a full
run, easily blowing past everybody and making a mockery of the entire
event. And you know what that would
remind all you cycling fans of?
Yes. Chris Froome mocking the
sport of cycling with his synchronized-doping team and his little training
island and his double helping of secret sauce.
This is a
great stage to watch because I’m pretty sure a born climber who dopes can only
fake it in time trials. So I don’t see
Froome soloing today. I don’t think I
could handle that again. (Yes, I skipped
the time trial stage entirely.)
You know,
Flecha is taking the gap back up again.
It’s at 22 seconds now. He’s got his wrists draped over the tops of the
bars, hands wrapped backward around the brake levers. I think he got this idea from watching
somebody on the Stairmaster at the gym, instinctively adopting the most
efficient position, which on the Stairmaster means paddling her legs uselessly
over the steps while supporting her weight on her wrists.
It’s 7K to
go and the peloton is hovering just behind Flecha, maybe 10 seconds, toying him
like a cat with a snake. I suppose
something crazy could happen and he could ... never mind, he’s caught.
Saxo-Tinkoff
is massing at the front “to keep Contador out of trouble.” Well guess what, Alberto ... you’re already
in trouble. The detente has been
disrupted, the power has shifted, and Sky has the bomb.
5K to go and
Declan is talking about “pure, undiluted” sprinters. Is “undiluted” a doping reference? As a bike club pal pointed out recently, Paul
Sherwen was commentating on the time trial the other day and said, “You have to
dose your efforts....”
An
Orica-Greenedge guy at the very front of the peloton just stacked in a fairly
gentle curve. It was crazy, his front
tire just washed right out. I’d like to
find out what brand of tire he’s using and ban that company for life.
Sylvain Chavanel (Omega-Pharma) is
on the front, easy to see with his orange bike.
“Argos-Shimano
are going to inject the hyper-pace!” Declan says. Where did Eurosport get this guy?
Whoah,
another pileup. Man, it’s just an
amazing tangle of bikes and limbs. That’s
got to hurt. What a mess.
Greipel has
lost his lead-out men. It’s Omega-Pharma
and Argos-Shimano on the front. Froome
is only about ten spots back—maybe he feels just that good today, to go for
another stage win? And next year he’ll try kick-boxing?
It’s less
than 1K to go! Everybody looks really
tired, bigger gaps than usual opening up in this field sprint, but they’re
still flying.
Oh no! My feed is blocked!
“That was
amazing!” Declan yells. I’ll have to
take his word for it.
Okay, here’s
the replay. It looks like Kittel edged
Cavendish at the line with his bike throw.
Kittel does a unique victory salute, an underhanded sweeping motion,
that looks like a little kid flinging water in the tub to make a big mess for
his parents.
I really
wish I got to watch that sprint. I mean,
I bothered to show up half an hour in advance, all to see this final handful of
seconds, and instead I just got a pop-up ad.
Wow. Just saw another replay of the sprint, from
above. There’s no doubt about it, Kittel
overpowered Cavendish. I’m not sure I’ve
ever seen that before ... sure, Cav has failed to win, but usually because his lead-out got screwed up or something, not due to simply being less fast. This time Cav had a straight shot for
the line and was well ahead, but Kittel just came around him.
I’d never even heard of Kittel before this Tour and now he’s won three
stages.
By the way,
the racers came in about twenty minutes ahead of schedule today. I can’t believe they were all too busy to
text me and let me know. I could have missed the finish! Oh, wait ... I did miss the finish.
Kittel is
being interviewed: “I had to go on his
wheel to went for my sprint and I started my sprint then. It was close.” It’s tempting to take shots at Kittel’s
English, but actually I would make no more sense, even in my native tongue,
after an exertion like that. He
continues, “I would like to dedicate the team to ... to decicate to my team
this win. I really love my team.” Awwwwww.
Now the Lotto manager is being interviewed: “Greipel was
behind him and he stayed still, so it’s over.
I don’t talk to a time for anybody....
It’s difficult but we are have our own train, and it’s over for us.” This time I am really,
really tempted to take shots at his English, but then again, I couldn’t handle an
interview in a foreign language, not even in French though I studied it for years.
My wife
comes over just in time to see a replay of the big crash. “They look so vulnerable, on
the ground,” she says wistfully, no doubt thinking back to my big crash.
Perhaps this isn’t the greatest timing for her to take a peek at the
race. Why couldn’t she see Kittel’s
victory salute, so replete with childlike glee?
Now it’s an interview with Michal Kwiatkowski (Omega-Pharma), I have no
idea why, and Erin expresses her utter disgust at his thinness in such graphic
terms she’s forbidden me to quote her. “If
you looked like that...” she continues, with the edge in her voice that keeps
me in the ice cream.
Roland gets
another polka-dot climber’s jersey. He
has matching shorts, white with red polka-dots, and looks absolutely
idiotic. He reminds me of that weird
doglike thing in “Put Me In The Zoo!” (remember that book?).
So, I’ve
heard it said that a real pocket-climber can be distinguished by the size of
his wrists. Try this: touch the tip of your index finger to the tip
of your thumb. The circle that makes
will easily wrap around the ankle of a pocket-climber. Is Froome a true pocket-climber? Well, looking at him on the podium just now I
realized I could easily wrap my thumb and index finger around his calf. Can pocket-climbers excel at time trials? Sure, if they’re coked to the gills on the sweet PEDs! Just look at Tyler Hamilton, Alberto Contador, and Levi Leipheimer....
Froome is
being interviewed. He is blinking
continuously. I wouldn’t think anything
of this if he weren’t one of the great liars in sport right now, already giving
performances that are Amstrongian in their boldness (though nowhere near as
realistic). I’m not going to quote
anything Froome has said because it was utterly dull and without substance.
One of my blow-by-blow
readers (my mom, to be precise) has sent in a comment: “Kittel sure looks like an übermensch. I feel
sorry for Cavendish.” I replied, “Cav
has 24 Tour de France stage wins, and over 100 career wins, and he’s still
pretty young, so we shouldn’t feel too bad for him. Maybe this new competition
(from Kittel and also Sagan) will be the shot in the arm he needs.” Right after hitting Enter I became aware of
my unintentional—or was it merely subconscious?—pun. Actually, I distrust sprinters less than GC
riders. It’s one of the reasons I
bothered to watch today’s race at all.
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