Draft Day Suit

My husband and I have two dogs.  We have a yellow lab named Blue, which makes perfect sense because we hate Michigan, and a black lab, named Daisy, which is ironic because I kill a lot of those in my garden.

At the bottom of our road there is a bike path.  Every day, my husband walks Blue and Daisy down the path.  Off leash.  While my husband covers about three miles, the dogs likely cover twice that distance because they are free to run.

The bike path is not just for bikers, but there is a yellow line stretched down the middle and a lot of people wearing helmets who speed up behind you yelling things like, “On your left!”

I won’t even get into how much I hate to walk the dogs with my husband when he does this off-leash thing, even though I realize that if the dogs don’t get their exercise they will eat toilet paper or chew up Sharpies all day.  The idea that one of my dogs could chase a chimpunk into the path of someone on a Sunday ride makes me a little anxious.  I know that if I was a biker and I flipped over my handlebars because of a dog, I would be pissed.

Now, let’s consider that it’s not someone on a Sunday ride, but instead it’s a guy who eats, breathes and lives cycling.  Let’s pretend that he’s on the ride of his life and is participating in the Tour de France which, if I’m being honest, is kind of a brutal race.  There are mountains and stuff.

Andy Schleck, either after crashing or before hitting the port-o-potty.

This year’s Tour has been especially tough and has been plagued with crashes, and all of those cracked ribs are not going to feel too great when the riders cover seven miles of cobblestone on the next leg either.

There have been a lot of reasons for the crashes.  Streets crowded with spectators, slippery roads, tight turns and people who don’t put their dog on a leash.  That’s right.  Two bikers crashed because a dog ran onto the track, or, more to the point, because people are stupid.

It’s pretty sad when the pet owner is the one who needs obedience training.

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Be careful what you wish for; just ask Lance Armstrong.

Not only is the super-cycler capable of crashing like my son who is just learning to ride a bike but he is not immune from lashing out. His tweet on Thursday called out the media. Via twitter.

Versus cut away from the last mile of the race to break into hockey. While it’s crunch time in the hockey world, it wasn’t even a cut away for an awesome goal or a good ole brawl. We’re talking pre-game hockey. They mentioned some muck about contractual obligations. Of course, hockey is no stranger to getting the slight on coverage, much like Game 5 in 2007 when they got the shaft (to Versus!) so that they could get in the pre-race coverage of the Preakness. Apparently we’re just passing around the “No One Cares About Your Sport” click of a switcher button.

All that said, I bet Armstrong wishes the media wouldn’t have been covering it as well when he found himself tumbling along the road face first just hours after he had to publicly deny a doping charge by fellow Tour de Fance cyclist Floyd Landis. Perhaps you get what you ask for because his bloody face is all over every sports news site, blog, and, yes, twitter. The doping claim has over 1800 Google links. Looks like he found himself some coverage. I’m thinking this isn’t the coverage he was seeking.

At the same time, the Huffington Post takes it one step farther and asks if his crash was karma throwing a wrench in his spokes for actually doping and denying it. The thing about karma is that if you mock someone else’s karma, it can come back to bite you, too. That said, maybe HuffPo has it wrong on what exactly karma was tossing Armstrong’s face at the pavement as payback. Perhaps it was because he called someone a dumbass. No one likes to be called a dumbass.

Perhaps Lance can make peace with the hockey players that he likely ticked off by whining about coverage and compare battle wounds though I might suggest that he waits until his stops oozing.

I think it’s a shame that he ate the pavement and is out of the race. But I think we can all count this as a lesson in being careful what you ask for because you just might get it. Along with stitches. And a bit of crow.

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[Photo: @LanceArmstrong.]

. . . .

Jenna agrees with Lance; who cares about hockey now that the Penguins are out?

You know you’re a dick if Lance Armstrong is calling you out.

On Twitter.

I may not be a fan of summer but I love the Tour de France. It got underway yesterday and makes July tolerable. I watch every stage, usually finding it impossible not to check the Tour website during the day. I should really wait to be surprised during the prime time TV coverage but I can’t do it.

When I started watching the Tour many years ago I was oblivious to the unsavory side of bike racing. It has become impossible to remain under that particular rock, but to all the people who tell me doping has turned them off cycling I say, “pfffft.” Yeah, it’s important, no doubt about it, but watching these guys flying through a time trial or pedaling in agony on Alpe d’Huez is still amazing. That they do it day after day for three weeks is incredible. After following a few riders on Twitter for the past few months, it seems the drug tests are frequent and relentless. I am confident those who are doping will pay the price, one way or another.

Fantasy fans may enjoy the Versus Fantasy Cycling Challenge. It’s pretty simple. Pretend you are Johan Bruyneel and assemble a team of riders, starters and bench, staying within a “budget” of $500. The first four stages are practice, meaning you can change your roster at will. Beginning with stage 5 it all counts. I missed that important detail last year and still finished in the top 4000 or so, and even beat at least one of the Versus crew. If you decide to give it a try be sure to join the DraftDaySuit league and see just how well you kicked my butt.

If you want another way to participate in the Tour from the comfort of your recliner, check out Chalkbot. In a nutshell, Chalkbot will write your 40 character message on the road during a stage of the Tour. How cool is that?

So you know where I’ll be just about every night this month, glued to the Tour. My inner twelve year old boy loves to hear the commentators say “Liquigas”.