After witnessing their ludicrous dominance of stage racing, boring racing style, arrogance, contempt for tradition, shameless association with Rupert Murdoch and consistently bad breath over the last two years, I think anyone wise enough to post on this forum can agree that team Sky in general, and Chris Froome in particular, are clearly, obviously, transparently, blatantly and incontrovertibly so high on PEDs that their biggest risk of losing the tour would be if they decided to fold wings out of those sinister black constumes and fly up Alpe d'Huez, all on the power of their freakishly skinny arms; an eventuality that would jeopardise their success not so much with the risk that they wouldn't still get there first or the chance that, still more laughably, anyone would try to disqualify them for it, but because they would risk being brought down by a horde of crossbow-wielding Frenchmen.
Happily, it's likely to be a few more years but before those evil, conniving, feckless anti-doping authorities get around to finding any of their precious "evidence" that they insist on waiting for - spurning the far more effective and credible policy of simply giving on-the-spot lifetime bans to the winner of any mountain stage and the top five on GC - which leaves us with plenty of time to feel smug about our non-naivete and decide once and for all the answer to the far more important and interesting question: "Who is the most sure that Sky/Froome are dopers?"
Now wait a minute, I hear you say. Surely all but the crassest of July-only cycling fans could not be any less than 100 % sure, thus making us all equal in our certainty? Perhaps once that would have been true, but in today's era, in which 110 % is the bare minimum that any professional athlete would ever admit to giving, the Sky really is the limit on certainty. Please vote in the poll or reply below to explain why you think you, or a nominee of your choice if you're the humble type, deserve to be acknowledged as the Surest Of Them All.
First I must beg your indulgence while I tell my own story of why I hope to be considered for this greatest of honours. I know that my post count - that well-acknowledged barometer of cycling knowledge - is likely to count against me. I can only ask that you disregard it long enough to grant me fair hearing.
I first met Chris Froome many years ago, when he was but a lad and I was- well, still an old man, but not so old as now I suppose. I had taken a year away from the dope-fuelled bedlam of European cycling to search the highlands of Kenya for a future super-star who could win the world's biggest races, and win them clean. Suffice to say that Froome was not that star.
I sighted him from a distance on the lower slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. I could see it was a boy on a bicycle, but was puzzled to see that he did not seem to be making rapid progress towards me, as I would have expected on such a descent. Gradually he grew larger and I realised that he was not cycling downhill. He was going the same way as me, yet I was catching him up!
"Well," I said to Daffodil, my faithful yet lame donkey, "there's a boy who certainly isn't going to win the Tour de France one day."
"True." She replied, eyeing his flabby frame, covered in the kind of body tissue that no dietician could hope to ever rid him of. "Though he does look like he'd be a strong blood doping responder."
Eventually we plodded past him, and I would have most likely forgotten him entirely had he not cried out for help. He was a sorry sight and I could not help but take pity. I shared my provisions and my fire that night and in the morning I woke to find him gone, along with my donkey. It took me all these years of wondering the wilderness before I managed to find my way home, which is why I have been unable to post on here before. But after seeing Froome go from being overtaken by a lame donkey before Sky, to what he is today, I hope to at least stake a claim to the title of The Surest.
Happily, it's likely to be a few more years but before those evil, conniving, feckless anti-doping authorities get around to finding any of their precious "evidence" that they insist on waiting for - spurning the far more effective and credible policy of simply giving on-the-spot lifetime bans to the winner of any mountain stage and the top five on GC - which leaves us with plenty of time to feel smug about our non-naivete and decide once and for all the answer to the far more important and interesting question: "Who is the most sure that Sky/Froome are dopers?"
Now wait a minute, I hear you say. Surely all but the crassest of July-only cycling fans could not be any less than 100 % sure, thus making us all equal in our certainty? Perhaps once that would have been true, but in today's era, in which 110 % is the bare minimum that any professional athlete would ever admit to giving, the Sky really is the limit on certainty. Please vote in the poll or reply below to explain why you think you, or a nominee of your choice if you're the humble type, deserve to be acknowledged as the Surest Of Them All.
First I must beg your indulgence while I tell my own story of why I hope to be considered for this greatest of honours. I know that my post count - that well-acknowledged barometer of cycling knowledge - is likely to count against me. I can only ask that you disregard it long enough to grant me fair hearing.
I first met Chris Froome many years ago, when he was but a lad and I was- well, still an old man, but not so old as now I suppose. I had taken a year away from the dope-fuelled bedlam of European cycling to search the highlands of Kenya for a future super-star who could win the world's biggest races, and win them clean. Suffice to say that Froome was not that star.
I sighted him from a distance on the lower slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. I could see it was a boy on a bicycle, but was puzzled to see that he did not seem to be making rapid progress towards me, as I would have expected on such a descent. Gradually he grew larger and I realised that he was not cycling downhill. He was going the same way as me, yet I was catching him up!
"Well," I said to Daffodil, my faithful yet lame donkey, "there's a boy who certainly isn't going to win the Tour de France one day."
"True." She replied, eyeing his flabby frame, covered in the kind of body tissue that no dietician could hope to ever rid him of. "Though he does look like he'd be a strong blood doping responder."
Eventually we plodded past him, and I would have most likely forgotten him entirely had he not cried out for help. He was a sorry sight and I could not help but take pity. I shared my provisions and my fire that night and in the morning I woke to find him gone, along with my donkey. It took me all these years of wondering the wilderness before I managed to find my way home, which is why I have been unable to post on here before. But after seeing Froome go from being overtaken by a lame donkey before Sky, to what he is today, I hope to at least stake a claim to the title of The Surest.
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