I am personally mourning the absence of Andy Schleck, only because I enjoy saying 'Andy Schleck' a lot more than saying 'Frank Schleck' but fate has been kind and given me a gift in the form of Edvald Boasson Hagen and I challenge any person alive not to think fondly about waffles and icecream when saying 'Boasson Hagen'. Sometimes I whisper it softly to myself as I squirt Cottee's Ice Magic on a Pop-Tart and shed a single tear for 2011 edition Andy Schleck. His sorbet blue helmet left a hole in my heart.
|Come back, Pastel Andy Schleck!|
Of course, Australia is almost as emotionally invested in the 2012 Tour as they are in say, Olympic Curling - thanks to the defending champion being ONE OF US. Yes, like a marsupial transmitted urinary tract infection, I am supposed to feel the sting of patriotism deep inside when I see Cadel Evans - But instead I suffer from what can only be described as extremely localised Tourette's syndrome. Whenever I see his 'Thunderbirds puppet who was too wooden for Thunderbirds' visage, words spill from my mouth entirely beyond my control.
"Muppet. Muppet face. Muppet face butt chin."
|"For goodness sake, cut back on the waving before you get his string tangled."|
So long as our internet connection remains, there will be little respite from the testosterone driven glory of the Tour de France and my chances of a mutually upright bicycle with Ginger (Not a euphemism) will be slim to none as the fever takes him. I must resign myself to the endless whirr of the bike trainer, be-lycraed bottoms flashing across my screen and the fact that not even my traditional methods of communication will break through his mania:
|"Over here! Booooooobeeeeeees!"|
And pray to the Roadie Gods that he doesn't find out about 'Bicycle-jersey.net' because I don't know if I can stand to see car advertising wobbling along in front of me without stabbing it with a fork.