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February 14, 2010
By Jeremy Arnold
Perhaps the culprit is old age. It may also be a result of the economy. There is no question that Winter is at least partly to blame, and the sad end of Jersey Shore on MTV is certainly a factor. Whatever the combination of reasons, I’ve been a bit depressed lately.
The Super Bowl was a nice distraction, and I was happy for New Orleans but the viewing experience ended up being bittersweet. The commercials almost ruined it for me. My expectations were pretty low to begin with (since I do not particularly enjoy talking babies or snack and beverage-related humor) but I was especially bummed out when Joe Montana somehow ended up on a Sketchers ad for those ridiculous-looking clubfoot sneakers. It was so bad that he didn’t even show his face and only did a voice-over with his name on the screen but still. This is not something that the best quarterback of all time should have been doing. The 49ers would never have won four Super Bowls with a Sketchers-wearing QB, and you can be sure that Ronnie Lott would rather cut his whole arm off than do a commercial like that.
It was also somewhat odd to see Lance Armstrong and various other people acting like Lance Armstrong in a Michelob Ultra commercial. I didn’t mind the stunt-doubles and uber-extremeness of drinking low-calorie beer but I think that they officially killed any hope of coolness by using that freaking “Woo Hoo” song by Blur (Google “Woo Hoo Song”). That song actually makes me angry at this point. But strangely, it also makes me want to consume some crappy light beer while watching stupid movies starring Denise Richards and Drew Barrymore. Seriously though, that song came out in 1997…can we get some tunes from this century on the extreme playlist?
Oh wait, I just remembered that the Halftime Show featured a band of 65 year old dudes, so…maybe 13 years isn’t that bad.
Anyway, it’s not like I’m sitting in a dark room listening to Cure records or anything but I have been a bit gloomy lately, and am trying to locate the positive mojo that usually influences my demeanor. The problem is that the world is often a horribly depressing place, and it is sometimes quite difficult to remove oneself from the soul-crushing weight of reality on display in places like Haiti, the UCI, Iraq and Massachusetts.
But the problem is not really reality. Reality and I have always had a somewhat contentious relationship anyway (I did grow up in Marin and Boulder…) so its influence on my mental state is debatable at best. Like many Americans, I will always have to shield myself from reality in order to avoid oppressive feelings of guilt for being so obscenely, ridiculously lucky. Again, reality is not the problem.
The problem is that my relationship with professional athletics – the primary tool with which I have historically detached myself from reality – has been damaged to the point that I am now having trouble separating the sanctity of sports from the nasty truths of human nature and life on planet Earth. There is no escape anymore.
The sports world is largely entertainment, but it is so much more. Professional athletics allow us a rare glimpse at a world which acknowledges concrete rules of play, with exceptionally qualified performers operating in a constantly shifting and unpredictable environment. Sure, there are always people who circumvent the rules but more than most, it is a world that overwhelmingly rewards those who deserve it.
What makes sports even better is that we have access to highly quantifiable statistics of performance that confirm the value of professional worth and success. There are very few cases of nepotism in sports and no one simply inherits a career as an athlete. Regardless of circumstance, the sporting world does not tolerate notions of entitlement. Unless you are a football coach (which seems to be the only profession that appreciates Bush-level name recognition) there are very few opportunities to coast on the efforts of your relatives or the relative size of their bank accounts.
For the most part, this is a great phenomenon but it can lead to some potential problems with how we, as a culture, view professional athletes as human beings. For example, just because some guy from a tough neighborhood can catch footballs exceptionally well and endorse a line of shoes does not mean that he is necessarily an excellent person off the field. But for some reason, our culture often views world-class athletes as better human beings, not just better physical specimens. Perhaps this is why we are so often disappointed by them.
In reality, the gift of supreme athletic prowess is arguably more random and unfair than any inheritance or trust fund could ever be. Physical superiority in sports is far more rare and discriminating than any Good Old Boys Network or family business could ever be. After all, you can’t buy things like coordination, size and speed.
All of these factors have likely contributed to my appreciation for cycling, a sport in which physical gifts and family finances are important but often trumped by determination, effort and sheer force of will. All things considered, bike racing favors those who have experienced adversity and possess the character to fight through suffering, not those who were conveniently born taller or wealthier than most.
I learned early on that professional athletes and other celebrities are really just normal, flawed people who happen to have benefitted from a rare combination of luck and talent. There is no doubt that most of them are very good at what they do, and probably work very hard at certain times, but I have never been under the illusion that they are somehow better or happier than most of the more anonymous people I have met in my life. It seems that the only real difference lies in the fact that normal people don’t have a vicious pack of reporters and pundits destroying them in the national media whenever they happen to get in trouble. Such is the price of fame in 2010.
The problem is that until recently, I have been able to remove the cold reality of normal life and human nature from my blind appreciation of professional sports. I used to be able to forget that my favorite baseball players were probably on steroids or that many of the players on my favorite football team were most likely not the kind of guys I would want my little sister to go on a date with. I knew these things from the start but at least I could suspend my criticism long enough to escape into the excitement of the competition for a few hours.
I fear that I no longer have this luxury anymore, as professional sports continue to become just another tabloid media-covered minefield. Thankfully, I still believe that professional cycling has one of the highest ratios of “good guys” to “bad guys” but it’s been a long time since I thought everyone who could ride a bike fast was a decent person. With that said, I think I’d be pretty cool with my little sister dating a bike racer, especially considering my prior hope that she would hook up with a professional golfer. Yeah…not so keen on the golf guys anymore.
In an effort to maintain this depressing theme, as well as the portrayal of cyclists as a pretty decent group of people to root for, please find the following 2009/2010 sports stories that have broken down the wall between the joy of entertainment and cruelty of life below. I have tried to limit these to one sentence because this stuff should not really be news to anyone at this point.
Football - Chris Henry died after falling off the back of a pick-up truck being driven by his wife, with whom he was arguing at the time of the accident.
Basketball – Gilbert Arenas was convicted of felony gun possession charges after displaying three firearms in the Washington Wizards locker room, then verbally challenging Javaris Crittenden, with whom he had gotten into an argument over gambling debts.
Baseball – Mark McGwire finally admitted to using performance enhancing drugs during his career, including the year that he broke the homerun records of Babe Ruth and Roger Maris.
Tennis – Serena Williams was fined a record $83,500 for verbally assaulting a line official at the U.S. Open who later claimed that she feared for her life.
Soccer – John Terry, captain of the English national team, has been accused of having an affair with the wife of a former friend and teammate.
Golf – Tiger Woods got caught with his pants on the ground many, many times.
Hockey – I can’t think of many scandalous hockey stories right now but I’m pretty sure there are toothless maniacs getting into trouble somewhere.
Yeesh. There are obviously many more examples of scandalous behavior among many other athletes in many other sports but again, this should not be a surprise to anyone. At least John Edwards and Charlie Sheen don’t play sports for a living. Woo Hoo!
Posted by CaliRado Cyclist
Filed by admin at February 14th, 2010 under Featured, Saddle Bagger
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October 6, 2009
By Jeremy Arnold
Regardless of any formal training or specialized credentials, I consider myself something of a Scientist. Not traditional, lab coat and Bunsen Burner science mind you, but more of the psycho-social, holier-than-thou kind of science that usually involves a healthy dose of self-indulgent over-analysis, qualified speculation and inactionable conclusions. Perhaps it is for this reason that my degree from the University of Colorado has the initials B.A. and not B.S. on it. Although one could argue that a Bachelor of Arts degree merely reflects the ability to make B.S. an art form. And I am determined to put that diploma to good use.
So it makes sense that Interbike, for me, rapidly devolved from a Bicycle Industry trade show into a Bicycle Industry freak show of sorts, a global bike-culture circus of one-upmanship and false posturing for me to document, recount and ultimately ridicule. Just like a good scientist should.
Perhaps viewing Interbike attendees as a Species is more accurate, if not, at the very least a little more sympathetic. This perspective then makes it easy to break down various sub-species according to the kind of bikes they ride or if they even ride at all. Further analysis of physical features such as hairstyle (both head and leg, male and female), visible tattoos/piercings and wardrobe can then be cross-referenced with a linguistic database of words like “sick” “chamois” and “resistance” to create a complete taxonomic map of Interbike attendees. With some additional funding from the National Science Foundation and Trek Bikes, it is my assertion that this data can then be used to create a formula to accurately predict behavior patterns in this population during at least 85% of normal daily activities. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
The point is that the Bicycle Industry, as much as any other I can think of, contains people that really look like they are in the Bicycle Industry. For better or worse. There are a number of individuals (usually with titles like Vice President of Something or Whatnot Director) who looked like they could have been in another industry (and probably have been at some point) but with the exception of many similarly logoed shirts, the crowd at Interbike tends to look like the crowd at the Solvang Time Trial in the Tour of California. Only slightly younger and less well-dressed.
Don’t get me wrong, I think this is a good thing. I was never able to wear shorts and running shoes when I worked Laser Industry trade shows and am admittedly bitter that I was grilled on technical specs by physicists and engineers, not bearded bike shop managers from Vermont named Grizz. Again, the fact that wearing a suit and tie at Interbike would be the equivalent of wearing cut-off jeans to Photonics West is not a bad thing at all. Although I am certainly not advocating cut-offs, but that is kind of missing the point. It’s the freedom to wear them that makes the bike industry cooler than most…albeit, more prone to otherwise-inexcusable wardrobe choices and guys with strange nicknames.
One of the things that I have noticed about Interbike and cycling culture in general, is that there is often very little visible difference between the best athletes in the world and some random, relatively fit person with shaved legs, colorful athletic shoes and a Lance Armstrong wristband. To the untrained eye, it must seem like there are at least 20,000 professional cyclists in Boulder alone. But the interesting thing is that most of the professional cyclists at Interbike (at least the Road and Mountain riders – BMX is a whole different beast) actually seem to dress the most normally, often in a manner that shows no signs of aforementioned casual bike-wear conformity seen on so many non-pros. But ironically, by dressing so normally they almost stand out more. It is an interesting phenomenon.
As I mentioned earlier, the BMX scene is a very unique sub-species in the Biker Kingdom. Possessing the most youth appeal and highest ratio of ink and metal-to-skin at Interbike, the BMX Zone was pretty cool to walk through at a brisk pace. Even though I started riding similar bikes at a young age, the haunting memory of having my Predator stolen from out in front of Der Weinerschnitzel in 1986 was just too much for me to handle. Especially with so much caffeine, guarana and B-Vitamins coursing through my veins, causing horrible flashbacks of corn dogs, root beer and that sickeningly empty bike rack at the corner of Camino Alto and East Blithedale Avenue in Mill Valley.
BMX has changed a lot since back then though. I thought I was badass when I would ride on my pegs and get more than 6 inches of air on any jump. Now guys are doing flippity-flips, tumbly-twists and other stuff that could be considered far more athletically challenging than riding up or down a hill quickly. It’s too bad they all look like felonious thugs wearing shirts that are too small, pants that are too big and hats that look like they will blow off when the air conditioning kicks on. I actually thought a lot of the bikes and equipment were pretty cool but sadly, the collar on my shirt and plaid on my slacks made me feel uncomfortable in the BMX Zone and I had to hastily retreat to the safety of the Media Room for a cup of coffee and some stale pretzels.
The Media Pavillion at Interbike is basically a big room in the middle of the show floor with glass walls, a bunch of lunch tables and so many chairs that it’s impossible to walk through without banging your shins repeatedly. There is another stage room where televised interviews take place but the main draw for most of the writers is the snacks. Every so often someone re-stocks the coffee and if you are incredibly lucky you can actually get a bagel or a cookie to nibble on. There were rumors of brownies and fruit but I never saw them and think the whole story may have been exaggerated for the sake of a few gullible and hungry journalists. With no brownies or cookies, I was left to sit alone at a table in the middle of the room, staring out through the clear walls at the Interbike population – taking notes, laughing to myself and furiously adding data to my taxonomic ranking of the Biker Species as I finished off the remaining coffee and pretzels.
Check Back for The Real Interbike – Part Four: It’s A Small Interbike World
Posted by CaliRado Cyclist
Filed by admin at October 6th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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September 30, 2009
As I entered the exhibition hall, momentarily paralyzed by the neon lights and smell of new Lycra, I experienced my first flashback of the trip. In my professional life so far, I have somehow managed to find myself at no fewer than eight trade shows, each passing quickly through my mind as I sternly pretended to look at the exhibitor list. These past experiences have varied greatly, depending on vital factors associated with the particular industry, organizational affiliation and, perhaps most importantly, the location of the event. However, none of the aforementioned conditions holds a candle to the importance of whether you experience the show as an Exhibitor or Attendee. It’s almost like the difference between being a Prostitute or a Pimp. Or so I’ve heard…
Considering that this is Las Vegas, it is understandable that one would be so desensitized by the billboard-scale public nudity and fleets of Hooker Trading Card Distributors on every street corner that he or she is either unwilling or unable to identify the similarities between what is going on out in the streets and what is taking place in the air-conditioned rat maze of Interbike. Sadly, this psychological avoidance is understandable, since the majority of people in the bike industry are exploited even more heinously than those within the other, slightly less-dysfunctional profession. But the health and benefits packages are strikingly similar.
Seriously though, this is a town where you can never really be sure if that late-twenties to mid-thirties woman in the mini skirt being paraded around on the arm of the strutting 50-70 year-old schlub in the Tommy Bahama shirt is really his wife or girlfriend or simply a short-term business associate, and there is an unavoidable synergy to the whole Trade Show/Flesh Trade relationship. The fact that Las Vegas proudly boasts a devotion to both excess and the almighty dollar bill acts like lighter fluid sprayed on a stagnant barbecue, exciting the flames of greed and moral sacrifice beneath the Big Burger of Capitalism. Because of this, there really is no better backdrop for an Industry trade show than Las Vegas, although it is unlikely that these observations will ever make the pages of your favorite bicycle-related media outlet or marketing campaign. “Come to Interbike in Las Vegas! Where obscene greed and unsolicited exhibitionism are not only accepted, they’re encouraged!”
At this point, it should be acknowledged that I am using this inflammatory analogy in specific reference to the relationship between the Exhibitors (Manufacturers and Suppliers of Goods and Services) and Retailers (Resellers of Goods and Services), since these groups comprise the majority of Interbike participants. Operating somewhere on the fringe are the Media and a handful of Pros and Personalities, doing everything from on-site product reviews and interviews to networking with sponsors and signing autographs. Or just kind of walking around, taking pictures of cool things and occasionally talking to people, like I did for hours on end each day.
Strangely, I have had a full media credential for two years running and have still yet to perform any of the aforementioned activities in a formal capacity while I was there. It seems that anything truly important should be followed up on after the show, so the extent of my on-site analysis was a reckless pillaging of various weakly-monitored booths containing a plethora of substances promising to elevate energy levels. Unfortunately, the lack of a predetermined scientific hypothesis and properly qualified control group will probably render my experiment/overdose unfit for academic publishing but there may be some use within the fields of Chemical Toxicology or Clinical Psychology, depending on the severity of my current laundry-list of post-Interbike, free sample-induced health concerns.
Regardless, it should be recognized that there are two primary goals for most of the people and companies attending Interbike, depending on which side of the so-called Pimp and Ho/Retailer and Supplier Fence you happen to fall on. Understandably, these are often complicated relationships, fraught with potential conflicts of interest and guarded communication. Especially in the bicycle industry. Being dangerously juiced up on Sport Beans and GoFast only exacerbates the tension.
On one side, the Exhibitors go out of their way to make themselves look as superficially attractive as possible, slathering a thick layer of makeup on blemishes in recent product offerings and hoping no one notices the nasty scars and burn marks they have likely accumulated over a lifetime in the business. It’s not exactly the Red Light District in Amsterdam but there is certainly a come-hither vibe emanating from many of the booths. After a while I would just refuse to make eye contact with anyone, for fear that they would ask me if I wanted to hear about their latest product line or whether I was looking for a good time.
You see, the Exhibitor’s best hope is to align themselves with competent and proactive Retailers, aggressive and reliable business people who will pursue new business while providing a certain level of protection and support when things get a little freaky. The best ones will even step in when some customer needs to get slapped around a little bit, but this is not as common as it once was. It is also important for the Retailers to determine the suitability of a certain Exibitor’s Product for his or her market. For example, the big names like Specialized and Oakley know that they appeal to a large audience and can command a premium. But there are always those weirdos and fetishists who are into freaky stuff and like certain features, proportions, colors or recumbents. The Retailer must know the desires of the customer and have the necessary inventory in stock.
While the Exhibitor controls the Product, it is the Retailer who assumes the position of power in the Interbike relationship. As a result, there is a noticeable stench of desperation permeating the Sands Expo, the byproduct of hundreds of businesses realizing that their success or failure is largely dictated by Retailers who may or may not ever consider using their product and may or may not have multiple facial piercings and a neck tattoo. Apparently these features guarantee that you are fit to represent the industry to the general public and are the Interbike equivalent of leather and denim at a Hells Angels rally.
Just as it is difficult to determine if the blonde in the high heels is a wife or an escort, it is nearly impossible to tell if the guy in the ripped jeans and greasy t-shirt is the store owner or some guy who snuck in the service entrance. It has been said that Las Vegas is not all that it seems on the surface, so it makes perfect sense that the same can also be said for Interbike. But after some more thought, all these flashing lights and tight clothing really do remind me of the Red Light District, only with carbon fiber and chrome as the bait. Perhaps there is more truth on the surface than we were told.
Check back for The Real Interbike – Part Three: I’m Not A Pro But I Play One In Public
Filed by admin at September 30th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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September 29, 2009
On the surface, Interbike is the biggest bicycle industry trade show in North America. But beneath this glamorous exterior, it is a bubbling cauldron of gratuitous bike porn, blatant posing and institutionalized class discrimination…among other significantly less-distasteful things. I understand that this may sound a bit heavy to the casual observer (considering that it really is a very pleasant and well-run affair) but after reading numerous safe/bland descriptions of the event recently, this seems like an opportune time to provide an in-depth look at what The Show is really like. However, it should probably be noted from the outset of this personal account that the consumption of a near-fatal mixture of energy drinks, gels, bars, chews and beans over the course of my 48-hour Interbike experience has left me in a hyper-paranoid, borderline-psychotic state from which I may never fully recover. As in all tales, both fact and fiction, there is usually some truth to all sides of the story.
Let me explain…
I arrived in Las Vegas at approximately 9am on Thursday, after a whopping three hours of restless sleep. Since the Divine Airline Math Network (D.A.M.N.) determined that it was somehow cheaper for me to to fly to Phoenix first, this meant a 2:45am wake up call in order to get to Denver for my flight. There is something unnerving about drinking coffee at three o’clock in the morning but I knew it was better to start warming up the system early since it was sure to be a marathon/death march of epic proportions in Vegas. I couldn’t check in to my suite at the Bellagio (or was it a Standard room at Bally’s?) until much later in the day so the plan was to catch a shuttle to the Venetian and head over to Interbike at the Sands Expo immediately upon my arrival. Certainly not ideal, but that was the plan.
The sensations of arriving and departing any big city are unique but McCarran Airport in Las Vegas probably has a wider spectrum of energy and hygiene between “coming” and “going” than any place I can think of. The people coming in look like they are getting ready for the best time of their lives and the ones going out either look like the worst rejects from the Real World or undercover junkies and coke-dealers from a lost Miami Vice episode. There is a tangible excitement among the recent arrivals – usually an inexplicable assortment of people from all over the world who curiously decided that spending their money and time in Sin City was a good idea – which inevitably rubs off on you somehow, even if, like me, you are already anxiously awaiting a return to the sanity of home before you even get off the plane. As for the people leaving…honestly, I’d rather spend the night in a graveyard on Halloween than a departing gate at McCarran Airport on any Sunday of the year. Grim is not a strong enough term.
Strangely, even though I have voluntarily traveled to Las Vegas on multiple occasions, I still can’t help but wonder what possesses most human beings to actually want to fly there. At least I had work* as an excuse this time, and therefore avoided most of the unpleasant internal arguments over situational morals, ethics and economics which have tended to plague my voluntary visits. Sadly though, possessing a conscience is clearly a detriment to fully enjoying any Vegas experience, regardless of circumstance. *Definitions of “work” may vary.
So after dodging multiple limping Del Boca Vista Retirement Community refugees in matching sweat suits and trying desperately to rationalize the fact that I had recently overheard TWO separate conversations about fake tanning products (including an impressively detailed comparison of application procedures and unwanted side effects) I finally made it through the terminal and into the brisk 90-degree heat of mid-morning in the desert. Apparently there was some kind of contest going on in town where being tan was a huge concern but unfortunately, I was unable to identify a particular skill or talent among those discussing it. Other than being really, really tan of course. Keep in mind that I came in on a flight from Phoenix.
After identifying the proper shuttle, it was a pretty quick jump to the Venetian. The best part of the ride from the airport to the Strip is that it passes numerous super-cheesy billboards for an array of humorously outdated acts, providing ample opportunity for jokes about Donny and Marie Osmond or seemingly anyone who may have been on TV between 1978 and 1984. Donny and Marie are the easiest though. Apparently, what happened in Vegas (30 years ago), stayed in Vegas (and plays 5 shows a week at the Flamingo).
It was almost 10:30 when I finally got to the Sands Expo, seemingly located within the bowels of the still-impressive Venetian Hotel. Entering the main doors of the Venetian, it takes about 15 minutes of snaking through the noise and lights of the casino floor to get to the show area. Thankfully, there are signs hanging from the ceiling with arrows pointing to various places of interest within the maze. Not so thankfully, they are placed in such a manner that you almost inevitably end up running into a cocktail waitress, drunk guy in a tank top or elderly person holding the equivalent of their next Social Security check in a giant plastic cup of quarters as you are trying to read which way to go. If you are very lucky, you can make it through the labyrinth without being cursed at or assaulted (much) and will hopefully manage to avoid being run over by someone recklessly driving one of the 150cc Rascal Power Chairs that the hotels seem to give out to anyone who asks – regardless of any apparent handicap other than inebriation. You could easily lose an Achilles Tendon or blow an ACL from one of those things.
For the record, later in this very trip I witnessed an old man knock another less-old man all the way to the ground with his Power Chair as he sped down one of the faux-cobbled streets at the Paris Hotel. He hit this poor pedestrian so hard his rear wheels nearly came off the ground and then he just took off like he had merely grazed a curb or something. But even as the victim was cursing and picking himself up off the ground after being struck in a blatant hit-and-run Rascal violation, everyone just kept going about their business like it was totally normal. I wanted to help the guy out but I was eating a $10 crepe and didn’t feel like picking up all of the coins that he spilled out of his giant plastic cup after getting drilled. Vegas is freaking crazy.
Anyway, I knew I was in the right place when I saw Tyler Hamilton standing in the hallway outside the main entrance, smiling and pleasant as always. Various other “industry” acquaintances began to appear and suddenly the sloppy, glitzy buzz from the casino dropped down to the slightly less-sloppy, slightly less-glitzy vibe of Interbike. A quick trip to bag-check and the media room for my pass and I was ready to go. Or so I thought.
Immediately outside the showroom doors was a display of Pro bikes from Thor Hushovd and Denis Menchov which halted my progress even before I entered. I’m always curious about how people set up their bikes and Interbike is a cool opportunity to see some race-ridden rigs up close, so I stood there for a few minutes checking out the little details that set these machines apart from most. Then, after admiring Thor’s green-highlighted Zipp wheelset for one last time, I showed my media pass to the clearly unimpressed security guard, pulled open the door, and anxiously stepped into the two-wheeled madness of Interbike 2009.
Check back for The Real Interbike – Part Two: The Best Little Bike House In Vegas
Posted by CaliRado Cyclist
Filed by admin at September 29th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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August 26, 2009
Sadly, it’s been nearly a month since the Tour de France ended and I still find myself habitually channel surfing over to Versus (aka The Mensa Channel). Most of the time I find enlightening programs that showcase noble endeavors such as a) Kicking and punching human beings inside of a cage, b) Shooting and killing unsuspecting wildlife, or c) Hooking, torturing and possibly killing marine creatures while wearing a trucker hat and speaking with a Southern accent. Good wholesome fun for the entire family.
But on the flip side (I am going to try to start using that phrase more) Versus did just show the Tour of Ireland which was cool and they have been kind enough to broadcast the Track & Field World Championships as well as daily re-runs of Bloodsport. Opportunities to view any of these spectacles are always appreciated. Especially Bloodsport.
We will get to the Tour de France and some other topics shortly but in the meantime, I must confess that Bloodsport remains one of my favorite films. It may not be a cinematic masterpiece but it is highly re-watchable and actually gets funnier every time I see it. The fact that Forest Whitaker was a supporting actor to Jean-Claude Van Damme in Bloodsport and went on to win an Oscar for playing Idi Amin always blows me away. Do you think JCVD called him when he won Best Actor? Did Chong-Li need to wear a Bro or a Manssiere? Why did JCVD have a perm in the beginning of the movie? Were we really supposed to believe that Jean-Claude Van Damme was in the U.S. Army? Was it a Belgian Army exchange program or something? And whatever happened to the blonde reporter that JCVD hooked up with? So many questions…
During one of my last viewings I also couldn’t help but notice how much the musical score of the training scene in Bloodsport sounds like the beginning of “Money For Nothing” by Dire Straits. It’s crazy. I kept waiting for Mark Knopfler to bust in on the guitar as Jean-Claude Van Damme was having his legs ripped off on Shidoshi’s torture rope machine. Since when does being able to do the splits confirm that you are ready to fight in the Kumite? It’s like the producers just asked JCVD what kind of weird things he could do and wrote “can do the splits on chairs and stuff” into the script. Perhaps they overestimated his “can fight as if temporarily blinded” skills though. That final fight scene has not aged well.
For the record, I know it’s strange that I cannot stand watching real-life fighting, hunting or fishing on television yet three of my favorite movies are Bloodsport, Predator and Jaws. Go figure. I guess I just prefer my death and violence in fictional form – and apparently starring heavily accented European men. Or Richard Dreyfuss.
Anyway, it seems like enough time has passed that we can now look back on the Tour de France and determine what really went down in the Grand Boucle. For instance…
Code Red aka Garmin-gate aka You Can’t Handle The Truth
Sticking with the movie theme for a moment, I am happy to say that I am re-writing the screenplay to A Few Good Men but will be changing the venue from the Marine Corps to the Tour de France. Please keep in mind that this is a work in progress as there is still some confusion about the actual events. As it stands now, the popular character choices are as follows:
Pfc. William Santiago (the guy who had the Code Red ordered on him) will be played by George Hincapie.
Lance Cpl. Harold Dawson (the guy who was ordered to execute the Code Red order) will be played by David Zabriskie.
Pfc. Louden Downey (the other guy who followed the Code Red order) will be played by Danny Pate.
Lt. Jonathan Kendrick (the guy who passed Dawson the Code Red order) will be played by Matt White.
Lt. Col. Matthew Markinson (the guy who wanted Santiago transferred) will be played Jonathan Vaughters.
Col. Nathan Jessup (Jack Nicholson, the guy who ordered the Code Red) will be played by Matt Johnson.
It remains to be seen what actually happened on the road during Stage 14 so the actors could change but this seems about right from the evidence out there now. I still can’t figure out how Tom Cruise and Demi Moore fit in there though. And I should definitely try to get Melanie Hincapie involved somehow…
Cruel Shoes aka Black Shoe Sheep aka Weekend Warriors
Okay, can we all just come to an agreement that black cycling shoes have no place in the Tour de France anymore? Unless I am mistaken, there were only three riders in the 2009 Tour who regularly wear black shoes: Yaroslav Popovych, David Millar and Lance Armstrong. I see tons of black cycling shoes (often accompanied by neon jerseys and helmet mirrors) on the roads of Bouder every weekend but they just seem awkward in the European pro peloton these days.
Armstrong wears black socks all the time, which makes it seem like he’s wearing thermal booties but at least it looks consistent. Millar seems to go back and forth with his socks but the black shoes certainly make him look British (if that makes any sense). And Popo almost always goes with the white sock/black shoe combo, perhaps as an homage to the old Russian national teams…or Cosmo Kramer.
Regardless, after watching roughly 500 hours of Tour coverage during July I realized that, with the exception of the aforementioned cases, there were only white, silver/grey, red and yellow shoes in the event this year. Understanding that Mavic is responsible for all of the yellow ones, this truly makes Popovych, Millar and Armstrong black sheep. Come on guys, it’s 2009…let’s get with the program.
It’s funny that 99% of Europeans always wear black casual shoes but white cycling shoes are pretty much the ultimate Euro statement. I’m also curious how black cycling and soccer shoes gradually gave way to the rainbow of colors we see on the road and pitch today. They must have had the technology to make different colors for a while so there had to have been some influential athletes who made them acceptable to wear for the rest of the public. Kind of like Michael Jordan rocking baggy shorts or making it cool for balding guys to shave their heads.
Looking back, I recall white shoes becoming popular in the late 1980’s when Andy Hampsten won the Giro in his white Lakes and then Delgado led the way for Time to outfit entire teams with their sweet looking white, grey and red kicks. I still think the second-generation Time model was probably the coolest looking cycling shoe ever. Or should I say…of all Time.
Sorry…I will recount more of the 2009 Tour someTime. I need to go to Time out.
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Filed by admin at August 26th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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July 16, 2009
After winning his fourth stage of the 2009 Tour de France and reclaiming the Green Jersey in the Points Classification, Columbia-HTC rider Mark Cavendish has announced that he would like to be known as “Bishop Magic Mark” from this point on.
During the press conference following Stage 11, the sprinter from the Isle of Man asked the media to address him by the new title and name at all times. He then paused and conceded that it would also be acceptable to simply call him “Bishop” if you are “really in a hurry.”
Most in attendance seemed unsure of what to make of the statement at first but after a few minutes, a curious journalist slowly began to ask some questions regarding the origin of his newfound personality.
“My new name and title are all because of the one and only Archbishop Don Magic Juan, a man without whom I could not have pimped all these stages and raised my game to level of a true player,” Cavendish stated matter-of-factly to the confused crowd.
Following a few seconds of awkward silence while he adjusted his green glasses, green hat, green kit and green shoes, he continued to explain.
“After my disappointment at the Olympics last year and missing out on the Green Jersey because of it, I was searching for guidance. I needed a life coach and a spiritual advisor. But most importantly, I wanted someone who could understand just how much I like the color green. Obviously, it didn’t take a genius to realize that Archbishop Don Magic Juan was the best person to educate me on the true nature of the game.”
The brave journalist then asked who Archbishop Don Magic Juan was and quickly received an angry glare from the Columbia-THC rider. Taking a step back from the podium, Cavendish took a long drink of Cristal’s new recovery drink from his jewel-encrusted water bottle and composed himself before responding.
“Look…we all know that pimpin’ ain’t easy, and neither is sprinting in the Tour de France. But ever since Rolf Aldag and Bob Stapleton started making us listen to their hip-hop mixes with lots of Big Daddy Kane and Ice-T songs on the bus, I figured that pimpin’ was probably harder. So naturally, I went to see the Archbishop Don Magic Juan at the Player’s Ball and the rest is history.”
“You see, most people don’t know that Archbishop Don Magic Juan is actually a huge cycling fan and a really good rider. He’s got a super-fly custom-made Eddy Merckx that is actually covered in emeralds and gold. He and Eddy have been friends since the 60’s. And we all know how that worked out for the Cannibal…and he didn’t even take the full nickname,” explained the rider formerly known as the Manx Missile and Cav.
“So basically, since he’s the Archbishop that means that I have to stick with just Bishop for now. Even though a lot of people mistakenly call him Bishop and not the more accurate Archbishop, I recognize that I still have a lot to learn about how to keep my pimp hand strong and make sure the player haters don’t salt my game. I am not worthy of the Archbishop status and my name is not Don, so I couldn’t use that either. But both of us are still Magic though, for the record.”
The room of journalists still seemed somewhat confused as another reporter stood up and asked about the most valuable lesson Cavendish had learned from Archbishop Don Magic Juan.
“That’s easy,” exclaimed the leader of the Tour de France Points Classification with a laugh, clearly showing his newly acquired grill of gold teeth and pointing to his completely green outfit.
“Green is for the money! Gold is for the honeys!”
He then put his hands in the air, dropped the podium microphone to the ground with a thud that echoed through the silent press room and proceeded to walk off the stage without another word.
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Filed by admin at July 16th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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Is it just me…or is Astana kind of like Def Jam Records? Think about it, they’ve got Johan Bruyneel as the mastermind of the organization, just like a Belgian Russell Simmons. Then there’s Ekimov dropping the science like Rick Rubin, only in the team car instead of an NYU dorm room.
Obviously, Lance Armstrong and Alberto Contador are like Run-DMC and the Beastie Boys; two contrasting styles battling for the top step while operating on the same team/label and vying for the favor of Johan Simmons/Russell Bruyneel.
Like the Beasties in their younger days, Alberto is a bit rebellious and prone to bursts of immaturity at this point in his career but you can tell that there is some deep talent that will likely age gracefully and successfully. I’m not sure if Contador will end up organizing Tibetan relief bike races or marrying Diane Court from Say Anything…but again, like the Beasties, this guy can pretty much do whatever he wants so you never know.
“You gotta fight, for your right to the Yellow Jersey.”
Then there is Lance as Run-DMC, a lock for the Hall of Fame but still tries maybe a bit too hard to play the tough guy. But despite the hardcore image, they also both effectively catapulted their genre/sport into the mainstream U.S. consciousness. Interestingly, Run-DMC had the help of Adidas and Aerosmith, whereas LA got his name out there by associations with Nike and Sheryl Crow. Coincidence?
“Now me and my Nikes do the illest things, we like to stomp out pimps with diamond rings.”
Next up you’ve got Levi Leipheimer, who is clearly LL Cool J, right? I mean, the physical similarities are obvious enough but replace the “J” with “Heimer” and they may as well be twins. I don’t know if Levi will carve out an acting career that includes WB sitcoms and movies like Rollerball…but I can see him listening to “I Need Love” as he reads all of the predictions about LA and Contador.
“When I’m alone in my room sometimes I stare at the wall, and in the back of my mind I hear my conscience call.”
I can’t decide if Kloden is more like EPMD or Slick Rick. Both were pretty solid but a little inconsistent and plagued by some external drama. I guess it all depends on the final verdict in his doping case. If he ends up getting caught out, he’ll definitely be more like Slick Rick. Or the Public Enemy of Germany.
“Flava Kloden got problems of his own.”
Okay, I think we’ve worn that one out enough so let’s look at some fun Tour de France nicknames that riders would have if they were rappers or a band:
Bradley Wiggins – Wiggie Smalls
Fabian Cancellara – Swissy Elliot
Mark Cavendish and Columbia-THC – Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch Sprint Train
Cadel Evans – No Faith Evans
Luis Leon Sanchez – Kings of Leon Sanchez
Frank and Andy Schleck – Schlecks-n-Effect
Thor Hushovd – Bjork ?
Sorry Thor, I couldn’t think of anything good there. We’ll see if we can come up with something better by Paris.
As a final note on the Tour so far (you know…because the repetition of media coverage and the fact that the race has really only just begun) it should be noted that Alberto Contador is kind of beginning to remind me of Norman Bates from Psycho. There is a little bit of a physical resemblance but it’s mainly just the sense that there is some serious stuff bubbling under the schoolboy façade.
In fact, I have likened his climbing style to that of a “crazed spider monkey” in the past, but perhaps he is a little more like Norman at the Bates Motel. Ideally, his seething internal aggression and psychotic desire to slaughter people will make for some good racing…and no unfortunate accidents in the shower.
He’s not rooming with his Mother, is he?
“Psycho Killer. Qu’est-ce que c’est?” (“What is it?”) – Talking Heads
I don’t know what it is yet…but it should be an interesting road to Paris.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Pre-Tour de France Predictions:
Stage 1 – A. Contador or Jens Voigt
G.C. – (1) A. Contador, (2) C. Sastre, (3) L. Leipheimer
Mountains – A. Schleck
Points – M. Cavendish
TV Watching – Me
Posted by CaliRado Cyclist
Filed by admin at July 16th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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June 7, 2009
Maria Nasif Giro Photos Gallery
Filed by admin at June 7th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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May 28, 2009
The Italian cyclist edged past Felix Rafael Cardenas of Colombia and Danny Pate of the United States, with all of them recording the same time of four hours, seven minutes and 41 seconds over the 113 miles (182 kilometers) from Sulmona to Benevento.
Russian rider Denis Menchov retained his 26-second overall lead after finish back in the main pack ahead of Friday’s testing climb up Mount Vesuvius.
His nearest challenger is still the 2007 winner Danilo Di Luca, while another Italian — Franco Pellizotti — is third, two minutes off the leading pace with just three days left in the race.
American legend Lance Armstrong remained 12th overall, more than 12 minutes behind Menchov.
Filed by admin at May 28th, 2009 under Featured, Saddle Bagger
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May 22, 2009
these photos are from the tour of maylasia… enjoy
Filed by admin at May 22nd, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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May 18, 2009
The final series of Jelly Belly at Malaysia from: Hazrin Yeob Men Shah”.
Check out more Photos here: Flickr
Filed by admin at May 18th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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April 17, 2009
Beat the Bookie
The races are coming fast & furious now! Next up, this Sunday’s cobbled classic, Paris-Roubaix. The race Bernard Hinault won while in the rainbow jersey and allegdly promptly said, ‘Paris-Roubaix is plan stupid’, never to do the race again.
This year the odds on favorite is former winner, classics specialist & former world champion, Tom Boonen. So, make your pick, so long as it is not Tom Boonen, and you will be eligible to win some Two Johns swag.
Will it be a member of the Blue Man Group seen above (the blue slipstreams with white lettering would go well with those kits)? It would be hard to bet against Lefevere’s teams success in the Hell of the North, but you never know who will have an untimely puncture, get caught behind an unfortunate crash, crash themselves or be on the form of their life and well-nigh unstoppable.
Remember, the more information you provide, the better your chances of winning if you & someone else select the winner rider. Prediction window closes at time of race roll out.
Let the prognostication begin!
Filed by admin at April 17th, 2009 under Saddle Bagger
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