My morning reading was interrupted when I attempted to leave Tam's blog via South Park Pundit, and was denied. I got this message:
..Sorry, this page is not available..
If you are the owner of this site and believe this message to be in error, please contact support.
Josh's URL directs to this address:
http://klee.hmdnsgroup.com/suspended.page/
They can't do this, I have to read the post that got him suspended!
It's a moral outrage I tell you. First ColtCCO gets manhandled, and then SPP gets suspended. Next thing you know, Tam will get suspended. Then there will be hell to pay.
And maaaaan I mean it.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Friday, June 08, 2007
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Frank Vandenbroucke Suicide Attempt
Via La Gazzetta dello Sport.
I pray that Frank makes it. His career is an example of the tragedy the doping has brought to the sport of cycling.
I raced with Frank once in his career, during his single season as an Amateur. I sat next to him in a garden shed getting ready for a race in West Flanders. I told several American riders with me that they were sitting in the presence of a young man with a good shot at a Tour De France victory. They looked around the cramped shed at all of the Belgians. I pointed out Vandenbroucke.
"We will try and stay with him". They said.
"Good Luck"! Was my reply. I was going to try to stay with him too. I knew I would probably fail.
The race started and I rode in the front. The pace was high and about 5 riders sliped off of the front and gained 30 seconds. I saw Frank next to me before the only hill in the course, and I got on his wheel.
He made his move about a 50 meters into the hill, which was short, and not very steep. When he stood up to go, I stayed with him for about 50 meters. I remember watching his cadence, turning in a gear 2 cogs higher than mine as he rode that hill. I remember his pale calves, large for a guy just moved up from the Juniors. He was packing a lot of muscle mass. He accelerated and caught the front group which stayed away and he went on to win the race.
There were dark rumors swirling around Frank even then, it must have been in the spring of 1993.
"It was Deca-Durabolin". Said one Belgian teammate of mine.
"No, it was something else". Said my team manager. "And he had been on a year suspension with the Juniors".
After that one season, or perhaps just half a season as an amateur, Frank went on to the pros. Right away he won races.
Once he won a pro race in Antwerp in which he rode the last 20 km dangling several hundred yards off of the front of the charging peloton. The rode like madmen behind him and could not catch him. After the race, the press asked him how he managed to hold them off.
I remember his quote was something to the effect of:
"Easy, I just looked at my heart monitor and kept my heart rate at 230 beats per minute for the last 20 km".
After 220 km of racing against European pros. At 60 kph. Ouch.
Later he was busted with Amphetamines in the trunk of his car.
He was caught with EPO in his possession. He claimed it was for his dog.
Imagine what he could have been.
Should we pity him or despise him?
I pray that Frank makes it. His career is an example of the tragedy the doping has brought to the sport of cycling.
I raced with Frank once in his career, during his single season as an Amateur. I sat next to him in a garden shed getting ready for a race in West Flanders. I told several American riders with me that they were sitting in the presence of a young man with a good shot at a Tour De France victory. They looked around the cramped shed at all of the Belgians. I pointed out Vandenbroucke.
"We will try and stay with him". They said.
"Good Luck"! Was my reply. I was going to try to stay with him too. I knew I would probably fail.
The race started and I rode in the front. The pace was high and about 5 riders sliped off of the front and gained 30 seconds. I saw Frank next to me before the only hill in the course, and I got on his wheel.
He made his move about a 50 meters into the hill, which was short, and not very steep. When he stood up to go, I stayed with him for about 50 meters. I remember watching his cadence, turning in a gear 2 cogs higher than mine as he rode that hill. I remember his pale calves, large for a guy just moved up from the Juniors. He was packing a lot of muscle mass. He accelerated and caught the front group which stayed away and he went on to win the race.
VanDenBruoucke Winning The 1999 Liège-Bastogne-Liège. Michael Boogard, I feel your pain.
There were dark rumors swirling around Frank even then, it must have been in the spring of 1993.
"It was Deca-Durabolin". Said one Belgian teammate of mine.
"No, it was something else". Said my team manager. "And he had been on a year suspension with the Juniors".
After that one season, or perhaps just half a season as an amateur, Frank went on to the pros. Right away he won races.
Once he won a pro race in Antwerp in which he rode the last 20 km dangling several hundred yards off of the front of the charging peloton. The rode like madmen behind him and could not catch him. After the race, the press asked him how he managed to hold them off.
I remember his quote was something to the effect of:
"Easy, I just looked at my heart monitor and kept my heart rate at 230 beats per minute for the last 20 km".
After 220 km of racing against European pros. At 60 kph. Ouch.
Later he was busted with Amphetamines in the trunk of his car.
He was caught with EPO in his possession. He claimed it was for his dog.
Imagine what he could have been.
Should we pity him or despise him?
Belgian Federal Police Raid Quick Step Team Homes.
Via Velonews:
Early morning police raids on the homes of Quick Step staff and riders have resulted in the seizure of doping products, a Belgian prosecutors' spokesman said Thursday.
Early morning police raids on the homes of Quick Step staff and riders have resulted in the seizure of doping products, a Belgian prosecutors' spokesman said Thursday.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Kalashnikov Patent Enforcement
Via the Russian News and Information Agency:
Russia is trying to recoup monetary losses related to the immense global sales of Kalashnikov clones.
Good luck!
Russia is trying to recoup monetary losses related to the immense global sales of Kalashnikov clones.
Good luck!
State of Zen
This morning I left the apartment to walk the dog in the "no mans land" patch of grass next to our apartment complex property. The high majestic clouds left from last night's early summer rains were blowing to the east, the orange-pink sun was rising through a gap between cloud layers. The retreating clouds had revealed the half moon in the Western sky, framed in spent cumulus.
I suddenly felt very small, and at peace. I realized that we humans live in two plains. One, the physical is what really matters, but we take it for granted. The second is the plain of human built society, and it is upon this that we focus most of our energies. Does it really matter if we get a speeding ticket on the way to work? The human written rules tell us that it matters, but does it really? With these feelings of cosmic significance and a palpable feeling of peace deep in my soul, I realized that I did not need anything. I don't covet a car, new cellphone, or even a new firearm. I felt like i did not need those possessions that I do have. They are options that I choose to own to help me integrate in this life, which I also choose.
I felt complete, and must have looked something like this:
In this state of bliss, I walked back to the apartment, the now emptied, and equally blissful dog in tow. Up the steps, we walked and I jiggled the keys and prepared to unlock the door when I noticed a pile of dog turds on the mulch next to the door. Instantly I glanced down at gizmo, who looked back at me with the dopey expression of a mutt with his brain on autopilot. Had he? I wondered. I scrutinized his face for the slightest look of guilt, and he saw me staring at him and knew that I suspected him. He started to cower and look guilty, but it could not be for the pile next to the door. He had no time to do it. Someone else had left the pile. Somebody that weighed between 35 and 50 pounds, and by the looks of it ate dry dog food, and lots of it.
My Zen state slightly diminished by the turds left by the Rogue Pooper, I went inside.
On the way back out, I saw our new neighbor standing at her door, she had a sheepish expression on her face. Odd, I thought, that she should be that sheepish, I have not even met the woman.
And then I saw it.
A boxer, about 40 pounds worth, hunched in "the position". Out of it's rear it was extruding a steaming fresh lookalike of the poop next to our door. Now I was straddled by poops. It was as if he was ranging on me, and I was right between his long and short rounds. Soon I would have to tread a mine field to get to the door. The neighbor and the boxer both had the same look on their faces. A bit sheepish, as if..... as if they knew better than to leave dog turds at the door of the apartment but just didn't care about anyone else.
My blissful expression changed to this:
Walking to the car I thought to myself. Our Neighbor has a boxer. A boxer that she lets out in the morning. Without a leash. That is a State Law Violation Right There Missy! She stands there in her apartment door while the boxer walks five feet and takes a dump. And our apartment door is four and one half feet from her door, and That is Against Apartment Policy! My Zen like state evaporated as quickly as a single raindrop evaporates from the hood of a black Cadillac barreling down Alligator Alley at noon in July.
Now I wanted to use the Human Built System Of Rules to protect the soles of my shoes from Greasy Brown Boxer Turds.
I've got problems, I thought to myself. This lady is an EMT. She dedicates herself to saving lives (a noble calling), I don't want to piss her off. How do I kindly and gently say that I think it would be better for all involved if she made the time investment required to walk to the grass?
The frailty of human bliss. I find it funny that bliss can be shattered by a few ounces of misplaced dog crap.
Zen question: Is bliss that appears with the moon and disappears with the turd really bliss at all?
I suddenly felt very small, and at peace. I realized that we humans live in two plains. One, the physical is what really matters, but we take it for granted. The second is the plain of human built society, and it is upon this that we focus most of our energies. Does it really matter if we get a speeding ticket on the way to work? The human written rules tell us that it matters, but does it really? With these feelings of cosmic significance and a palpable feeling of peace deep in my soul, I realized that I did not need anything. I don't covet a car, new cellphone, or even a new firearm. I felt like i did not need those possessions that I do have. They are options that I choose to own to help me integrate in this life, which I also choose.
I felt complete, and must have looked something like this:
In this state of bliss, I walked back to the apartment, the now emptied, and equally blissful dog in tow. Up the steps, we walked and I jiggled the keys and prepared to unlock the door when I noticed a pile of dog turds on the mulch next to the door. Instantly I glanced down at gizmo, who looked back at me with the dopey expression of a mutt with his brain on autopilot. Had he? I wondered. I scrutinized his face for the slightest look of guilt, and he saw me staring at him and knew that I suspected him. He started to cower and look guilty, but it could not be for the pile next to the door. He had no time to do it. Someone else had left the pile. Somebody that weighed between 35 and 50 pounds, and by the looks of it ate dry dog food, and lots of it.
My Zen state slightly diminished by the turds left by the Rogue Pooper, I went inside.
On the way back out, I saw our new neighbor standing at her door, she had a sheepish expression on her face. Odd, I thought, that she should be that sheepish, I have not even met the woman.
And then I saw it.
A boxer, about 40 pounds worth, hunched in "the position". Out of it's rear it was extruding a steaming fresh lookalike of the poop next to our door. Now I was straddled by poops. It was as if he was ranging on me, and I was right between his long and short rounds. Soon I would have to tread a mine field to get to the door. The neighbor and the boxer both had the same look on their faces. A bit sheepish, as if..... as if they knew better than to leave dog turds at the door of the apartment but just didn't care about anyone else.
My blissful expression changed to this:
Walking to the car I thought to myself. Our Neighbor has a boxer. A boxer that she lets out in the morning. Without a leash. That is a State Law Violation Right There Missy! She stands there in her apartment door while the boxer walks five feet and takes a dump. And our apartment door is four and one half feet from her door, and That is Against Apartment Policy! My Zen like state evaporated as quickly as a single raindrop evaporates from the hood of a black Cadillac barreling down Alligator Alley at noon in July.
Now I wanted to use the Human Built System Of Rules to protect the soles of my shoes from Greasy Brown Boxer Turds.
I've got problems, I thought to myself. This lady is an EMT. She dedicates herself to saving lives (a noble calling), I don't want to piss her off. How do I kindly and gently say that I think it would be better for all involved if she made the time investment required to walk to the grass?
The frailty of human bliss. I find it funny that bliss can be shattered by a few ounces of misplaced dog crap.
Zen question: Is bliss that appears with the moon and disappears with the turd really bliss at all?
Friday, June 01, 2007
Helmut Lotti Singing About Johan Museeuw
This cracked me up. Lotti makes fun of Johan's dope use and sniveling attitude. "Ik wil an wesp in mijne hesp" loosely translates to "I want a wasp(sting) in my ham". Wespen nest is the code word that Museeuw allegedly used for Aranesp, a brand of EPO when sending text messages to his dope supplier.
An open letter to Lance Armstrong
Mr. Armstrong,
As seven time Tour De France winner, former World Professional Cycling Champion, Cancer Survivor, and Hero To Many, you alone have the power to change the culture of doping in the world of professional cycling.
You have stated repeatedly that you have never tested positive for banned substances. That is true, as it is true for many professional cyclists. This is not due to their clean behavior, you know as well as I that the culture of the sport is so dirty that bribery, extortion, dishonesty and graft overcome sportsmanship at all levels, from the juniors to the pro ranks.
I know how it is to live with an overwhelming desire to win. To suffer through spring races over the cobbles to come into your moment in the summer. What if you don't peak at the right time? What if you catch a bug? Your soigneur chastises you for wearing a low collar and exposing your neck to the nasty European air, then chides you because your power is off, manneke. Your hematocrit has dropped to 42, which means that you won't be able to climb with Ulrich, who you know for sure is on the juice.
You don't trust your soigneur with preperation tips, as the last guy who followed his advice wound up in the ditch clutching his chest while turning blue about the lips. It's better to go to a sports Doctor. You know that the Doctor is right, you could take Iron and hope for your hematocrit to rise, but that is not a sure thing. You could sleep in an altitude chamber, but that takes time. Aranesp, the Doctor suggests, does exactly the same thing as the altitude chamber but is much quicker and certainly less of a hassle. What do you do? Everyone else in the peleton has done it, it's the only way to level the playing field. At least half of the amateurs are on the juice, next thing you know they will be pros and you will be washed up. You've got house payments, car payments and your cellphone bill was $2200 last month. Your contract for next year depends on your hematocrit getting above 49, which is where it was naturally before your last bout with the stomach bug. Medical preparations, tough decisions, what do you do?
So flash forward a few years. Floyd has won the tour and done something silly. Did he forget to pay off the "neutral observer"? Was the "neutral observer" paid more by someone else who is tired of Americans winning the Tour De France, or are they truly neutral now? Floyd has compounded silliness upon silliness and treated a lot of people very badly, dragged cycling in the mud for almost a year. It's only going to get worse, but there is an out. Here is what I suggest:
Come clean. Admit everything. Out the entire sport, so to speak. Name names, products, preparation schedules the whole ball of wax. Use your gigantic clout to turn the sport around. Start an organization of pro riders against preparation, working with the UCI and global anti-doping agencies. Change the rules in order to punish those guilty of using banned substances, so that it becomes an untenable risk.
It would be the toughest race of your life, with the biggest stakes. Who cares about the house payment? The future of cycling hangs on your words. In moments of turmoil and confusion, a single man with honor and integrity can change the world. Acts of selflessness are never punished in the long term, but I guarantee that the short term will be excruciating. What is there to loose? At worst you could loose all of your wealth. Is it worth trading your fancy trappings for the chance for the world to know the truth and to have a shot at cleaning up cycling?
Which is better:
Be remembered as the guy who won the Tour De France seven times and then disappeared.
Be remembered as the guy who won the Tour De France seven times and then went on and changed cycling (and perhaps all sports) forever.
Without a change in cycling would you want your children to race professionally, with all of the things that are entailed?
Flash forward 10 years and picture a young amateur with his stagair contract and nervous excitement at the start of his first pro race. Will he have to pay for preparation, with all of the accompanying worry, doubt and self hatred just to stay with the pros, or will he be able to ride and compete with his God given talent?
It's up to you Mr. Armstrong.
As seven time Tour De France winner, former World Professional Cycling Champion, Cancer Survivor, and Hero To Many, you alone have the power to change the culture of doping in the world of professional cycling.
You have stated repeatedly that you have never tested positive for banned substances. That is true, as it is true for many professional cyclists. This is not due to their clean behavior, you know as well as I that the culture of the sport is so dirty that bribery, extortion, dishonesty and graft overcome sportsmanship at all levels, from the juniors to the pro ranks.
I know how it is to live with an overwhelming desire to win. To suffer through spring races over the cobbles to come into your moment in the summer. What if you don't peak at the right time? What if you catch a bug? Your soigneur chastises you for wearing a low collar and exposing your neck to the nasty European air, then chides you because your power is off, manneke. Your hematocrit has dropped to 42, which means that you won't be able to climb with Ulrich, who you know for sure is on the juice.
You don't trust your soigneur with preperation tips, as the last guy who followed his advice wound up in the ditch clutching his chest while turning blue about the lips. It's better to go to a sports Doctor. You know that the Doctor is right, you could take Iron and hope for your hematocrit to rise, but that is not a sure thing. You could sleep in an altitude chamber, but that takes time. Aranesp, the Doctor suggests, does exactly the same thing as the altitude chamber but is much quicker and certainly less of a hassle. What do you do? Everyone else in the peleton has done it, it's the only way to level the playing field. At least half of the amateurs are on the juice, next thing you know they will be pros and you will be washed up. You've got house payments, car payments and your cellphone bill was $2200 last month. Your contract for next year depends on your hematocrit getting above 49, which is where it was naturally before your last bout with the stomach bug. Medical preparations, tough decisions, what do you do?
So flash forward a few years. Floyd has won the tour and done something silly. Did he forget to pay off the "neutral observer"? Was the "neutral observer" paid more by someone else who is tired of Americans winning the Tour De France, or are they truly neutral now? Floyd has compounded silliness upon silliness and treated a lot of people very badly, dragged cycling in the mud for almost a year. It's only going to get worse, but there is an out. Here is what I suggest:
Come clean. Admit everything. Out the entire sport, so to speak. Name names, products, preparation schedules the whole ball of wax. Use your gigantic clout to turn the sport around. Start an organization of pro riders against preparation, working with the UCI and global anti-doping agencies. Change the rules in order to punish those guilty of using banned substances, so that it becomes an untenable risk.
It would be the toughest race of your life, with the biggest stakes. Who cares about the house payment? The future of cycling hangs on your words. In moments of turmoil and confusion, a single man with honor and integrity can change the world. Acts of selflessness are never punished in the long term, but I guarantee that the short term will be excruciating. What is there to loose? At worst you could loose all of your wealth. Is it worth trading your fancy trappings for the chance for the world to know the truth and to have a shot at cleaning up cycling?
Which is better:
Be remembered as the guy who won the Tour De France seven times and then disappeared.
Be remembered as the guy who won the Tour De France seven times and then went on and changed cycling (and perhaps all sports) forever.
Without a change in cycling would you want your children to race professionally, with all of the things that are entailed?
Flash forward 10 years and picture a young amateur with his stagair contract and nervous excitement at the start of his first pro race. Will he have to pay for preparation, with all of the accompanying worry, doubt and self hatred just to stay with the pros, or will he be able to ride and compete with his God given talent?
It's up to you Mr. Armstrong.
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