Well, on a literal level, there are in infinite number of answers to the OP's question. I think one of the most unlikely would go something like this:
A man, lets call him Timothy, takes off in a plane from New York on his way to Nice France to arrive on July 22nd. Well, unfortunately for him, he decided to eat at a Mexican restaurant, Caliente Cab Co on 7th Ave. in NYC. Now, he loves Mexican food, especially Beef Tongue Tacos, and though he has never eaten at this particular restaurant, he orders them because he just freaking LOVES beef tongue tacos. Well, unbeknownst to him, Rivas, the on again off again heroin junkie who sweeps and cleans toilets for $50 per day got a case of the runs from a bad batch of General Tso's Chicken from Charlie Mom Chinese Restaurant on Avenue of the Americas. See, Rivas has worked at Caliente for awhile and doesn't really dig Mexican, plus he has been off the heroin for about a week and a half, and his sweet tooth is freaking wicked bad and that General Tso's is like chicken candy.
Anyway, the bug picked up by Rivas was Entamoeba histolytica, and man, is it nasty, and man, Rivas is not the cleanest dude on 7th Ave. Well, after one particularly bad reenactment of what it would look like if Rivas were the Space Shuttle, his diarrhea were the rocket exhaust, and the toilet was the launch pad, Rivas just gives his hands the old rinse over with no soap, and then goes back to sweeping the floors.
Well, Eduardo, the cook at Caliente is in the weeds with his orders because its lunch rush, and he is one man down due to the fact that his dishwasher, Charlie, the ex-con had his regular meeting with his Parole officer today of all freaking days. So Eduardo really needs someone to get that freaking beef tongue taco plate over to the window, and he yells at Rivas to pick that fu*king thing up and put it in the window venga venga.
So Rivas picks up the plate and his thumb slides into the refried beans up to the first knuckle, and well, that once over with the water didn't quite hit the thumb, and the thumb was on the business end of the wipe job Rivas did with the cheap fu*king one ply sandpaper they use at Calinete for toilet paper, and well, that thumb hit paydirt...a couple of times.
So Sonya picks up her plate for table 16 where some bald guy in a nice Brooks Brothers polo, and sunglasses around his head is waiting for his lunch.
Well, Timothy scarfs down his beef tongue tacos and refried beans and heads out because he still hasn't freaking packed for his trip to Nice to meet his family for a little vacation and maybe a run to Monaco for some gambling, and damnit, his plane leaves late, and he has lots of sh!t to do.
Flash forward to a point in the flight where Timothy starts to feel a rumble in his stomach. "Stewardess, do you have some Pepto?" "Yes Mr Dumas, just a minute." Flash forward 45 minutes, Timothy is beginning to realize that his plane ride is about to be spent in a 3'x3' room right next to the cockpit door because, no joke, that last cramp almost caused him to leave a puddle of pudding right there in first class.
Well, 4 hours later, Timothy has had enough of that fu*king plane, and just about enough of the banging on the door because for all that is fu*king holy, he is pretty sure that the next thing to come out of his a$$hole will be his stomach. He has lost all control of his bowels and his senses because dehydration is getting the best of him, and rational though left a long time ago...again with the fu*king BANGING. Timothy unlocks the door to find Charlene the jet trash stewardess who was probably good for a late night beer goggle hook-up in 1953 at Sullivan University, but right now because of the fact that has no moisture left in his eyes and everything looks like one of those pictures where the camera lens had vasilene smeared on the glass, Charlene looks like a freakish vision from Dante, and Timothy isn't about to deal well with that.
Timothy throws Charlene aside and starts screaming in the incoherent babble of the incredibly dehydrated intestinally compromised, and begins to throw anything he can manage to grasp. Unfortunately, in his maelstrom of vengence, he happens to grab the handle to the door of the airplane, and with one quick jerk the door flies open and out goes Timothy. Well, the perfect aerodynamics necessary to carry Timothy from the door into the Rolls Royce engine just happen to exist, and those blades meant to handle a frozen turkey are not as adept at handling a 195 body, and well, some of Timothy is still pretty intact and flushes out the back of the engine at 25,000 feet (because they are just beginning final descent into NCE) and part of Timothy's right leg and torso start to fall and accelerate at 30 feet per second squared, aimed straight at this beautiful mountain below.
Well, it just so happens that at that same time, Alberto Contador is at the 1K to go on the Tourmalet, having dropped everyone on the early slopes and is now soaring like an eagle up the climb to claim his second Tour de France in row, when WHAM!!!!!!!!!!!! all of a sudden there is nothing but blood, flying body parts, and carbon fiber going in every direction. People will later say that it looked like a bomb went off, but as we know now, it was part of Timothy.
Well, a monument now stands just inside where the 1K to go banner stood for the 2010 Tour de France in memory of a great champion Alberto Contador. As for Timothy, that last half a second before impacting the blades of the jet engine was the best he had in hours. The cool wind made him feel okay...for just a moment. His family set up a scholarship fund at Sullivan University to kind of make up to Charlene for the near death experience she had because of Timothy. She survived only because on Timothy's last shove, she became lodged sideways in the door of the lavatory and didn't get sucked out by the immediate depressurization, and fortunately, because they were on initial descent, all of the passengers for once had put on their seat belts.
Rivas? Well, he started with the bang bang again, and got busted boosting car stereos on 6th Ave and went to do a couple of years time, where, in a strange twist of fate, he was the cellmate of Charlie the ex-con who got sent back in for a parole violation. Now Rivas calls Charlie "Big Papa" and they are both relatively happy with the relationship.
I hope this helps explain how Contador could lose.
Funny, funny, stuff there my friend. Chapeau!
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