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Sunday, May 3rd Full Flower Moon

09 March 2008

Kiss of Death for Fredo and Tyler, too

I don't normally read pro cycling news sites. In these days of drug-addled (and not the good kind) false hard men, they don't speak to me. But I'd been directed by people who know to see Brian Vernor's (of bike movie fame?) article on the Tour d'Afrique on Velonews' site. And while there, I looked at the videos section and saw the interview with Rock Racing's Oscar Sevilla, Santiago Botero, and (yes) Tyler Hamilton. Or perhaps it was his chimerical twin, it was hard to tell with the stupid hat on. (I can't link it, so if you're innerested in seeing it, go there yerself. )
The reason I mention it is because I learned that the jackasses I referenced several posts ago weren't in fact solely corporate posers blocking traffic pretending to race, they were also "ex"doped up racers unable to participate. And the reason I'm bitter about the whole thing is that Tyler was my Golden Boy.
Everbody knew Lance was doing something, but Tyler held out the promise of the plucky underdog suffering through by grit and intestinal fortitude. In spite of his relationship with Risse. The busted collarbone in the cold and wet? I'm not ashamed to say I still have that poster up. I am confused and amazed at my own capacity for self delusion, but not ashamed of the awe and admiration with which I look at that little man squint and climb and hurt. But the lies and the unborn doppleganger speak just cheapen the pain. If the drugs they're taking aren't hindering them by making them unsteady and a little silly, then I just can't get behind them. That's not recreational drug use, that's...medication. And now there's synthetic blood that aspirates out of your illegally oxygenated circulatory system in hours? WTF? I don't wanna watch androids. Eff those guys.
I want effing Hampsten on the Gavia. I want those scrawny pro mutha _uckas to hurt beyond the capacity of the rest of us. To show us what the real capacity for suffering is. To push the edge a little further out. Riding a little further out is different from marching into Bioengineered Super Soldier Land. And yes, I realize it's thin black ice I'm coasting along on here. Anquetil hisself said the Tour was not won on mineral water alone. I get it, but I don't want to. This worship of the heroes of the Old School and denial of the new skool is unrealistic. It's disturbingly similar to the the general acceptance of Established Religions and the ridicule of upstart cults (viz. Mormonism). In each case, the old guard gets a pass because they've became enshrined in Time. No questioning them now, is there? But the new kids are playing the same con, it's just herandnow so we're able to peak behind the curtain.

So what are you gonna do? Me, I'm gonna pull the wool over my own eyes and find a Church with a curtain we can all fit behind. Safety first and all.

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