Pro Cyclist Accused of Doping Actually 'Fesses Up

Bort Schmelve, third-year pro with the Russian OGO-Vlermdeher squad, recently tested positive for blood doping resulting in unusually high hematocrit levels in his biological passport.

Addressing the media in a press conference Tuesday, Schmelve openly admitted his guilt.  “Yep, I did it.  I doped and got popped.  I am prepared to accept whatever punishment the UCI hands down.  I regret it, but I knowingly and willingly did something wrong and understand that I now must face the consequences and pay the penalty.”

Schmelve’s statement elicited a swift and strong reaction from the UCI.

“We cannot just accept his bold confession,” explains UCI spokesperson, Jacques Vassier.  “This is unacceptable behavior for a rider accused of doping.  There are proper protocols.  If he thinks he can get away with this, he’s got another thing coming.

“First, he must publicly and vehemently deny any wrong doing and proclaim an exhaustive list of possible explanations.  He must do his homework here to understand what excuses his predecessors have used.  Chimeric twins, tainted beef, poppy-seed muffins, South American candy, and shots of whiskey are some of the classics.  But they’ve been disproven – he must impress us with something new and outlandish like ‘I thought I was putting Splenda in my coffee but it turned out to be cocaine’ or ‘my elevated testosterone levels were from watching a WWF pay-per-view marathon.’  We may go lighter on him depending on the novelty and creativity of his explanation.

"Then, he must assemble an army of lawyers and medical experts to provide their own arguments and evidence debunking the UCI’s position.  These investigations and proceedings must be dragged out for many months if not years.  He must sue and file every legal claim imaginable to ‘defend his honor’ and postpone as long as possible his inevitable suspension from the sport.  Filing a lawsuit against ‘persons unknown’ for being ‘poisoned’ is one of my personal favorites.  That was some real out-of-the-box thinking there.

“When it is ultimately clear that he is guilty of doping, he must still, under no circumstances, admit guilt or apologize to his fans.  Instead, and only then, must he sheepishly accept his ban and skulk off into the shadows to sulk for a few years before ‘launching a comeback,’ all the while maintaining his innocence.

“After returning to the sport and floundering fruitlessly for a couple of more years (without the benefit of doping), he must then retire.  It is then common to write a book – perhaps admitting doping, perhaps not – and/or to return to the sport by creeping under the slipcover of a team as director or assistant.”

By accepting that he got caught straight away, “(Schmelve) is brazenly defying this rich tradition.  It is an affront to the sport and frankly, the fans deserve better.  I mean, c’mon – at least put up some kinda fight.  It makes for good drama,” continues Vassier.  “He must respect and adhere to established processes without exception.  By admitting guilt without throwing a tantrum like a 2-year-old first, we may increase the severity of his punishment.”

“He’s really asking for it.”

Pro Cyclist Cites Outback Steakhouse Bloomin’ Onion for Poor Race Performance

With claims of stomach virus rising to unprecedented levels as an excuse regarding rider race performance (or lack thereof), there are some who still take responsibility for their actions. Greg Ballard of the Outback Steakhouse presented by Maalox squad is one such rider.

“We were finishing a training ride and I noticed an Outback on the way to the hotel. They’re our principal sponsor, so it just seemed like a good idea.”

“With the Hurp Blord race the next day, none of the other riders wanted to take a chance. But at the team dinner that night, I just picked at my food and went to the Outback afterwards.”

The allure of the “Bloomin’ Onion” was too much for Ballard to resist.

“It was the first thing I saw on the menu. It looked so enticing, I couldn’t take my eyes off it,” recalls Ballard. “With no teammates to share it with, I ended up eating the entire thing myself. Big mistake.”

The concentration of greasy fried batter had a devastating impact on Ballard’s digestive tract.

“There’s nothing like two pounds of deep-fried onion to turn your intestines into a knot – or a superhighway depending on how you look at it,” describes Ballard. “It sure tasted good going down, but it wasn’t so pleasant…er,…later.”

The grease-laden onion delicacy presented a new level of intestinal distress.

“I’ve been all over the world with the team and eaten some questionable things – from some sort of spicy battered insect in Jakarta to boiled chicken feet in China,” continues Ballard. “But the Bloomin’ Onion beats them all hands-down.”

“Forget about irritable bowel syndrome. My bowels were downright pissed off at me. You could have hung a ‘two exits – no waiting’ sign around my neck. That’s one sure-fire way to get a hotel room to yourself, though. My roommate couldn’t clear out fast enough.”

Ballard’s race performance the next day suffered considerably due to the dietary indiscretion.

“After a night of backflips on the toilet, I was completely knackered at the start of Hurp Blord. It’s a good thing I was at the back of the pack.

“It would not have been pleasant for anyone behind me.”

Unknown Rider Wins Prestigious Bike Race, Tests Positive for Spinach

“Everybody just went ‘Whoah…who the hell is that?’ when he shot out of the bunch,” explains Kjel Schokked. “Immediately the speculation began. Riders began whispering he’s probably leafing.”

Leafing is the common slang of the pro cycling peloton for eating spinach – the iron-laden vegetable banned for its potent and often unpredictable performance stimulation.

WADA has yet to perfect testing protocols to detect the presence of the highly nutritious leafy green. Abuse is feared rampant among pro cyclists, however only the most seasoned riders are able to avoid suspicion by controlling the boost in strength eating a packet of spinach can bring a rider.

“Some say he popped a LEG (leafy edible green) packet back among the team cars,” continues Schokked. “The surge of vitamins and nutrients made his legs swell abnormally. I guess he’s more of a climber, but when he went by me, he made (Eric) Heiden look like (Alberto) Contador. They were circus-freak massive.”

WADA is frustrated in their efforts to catch leafers.

“There are no effective tests for leafing,” bemoans WADA president, Dick Pound. “In the absence of the ability to directly detect spinach, we look for external signs. Sudden and often violent performance bursts are key indicators. Freakish swelling of leg muscle tissue is usually a dead giveaway. Add to that an unhealthy attraction to abnormally skinny, homely, and whiny women and you’ve probably got yourself a case of leafing.”

Other tell-tale behaviors can betray a potential leafer.

“Sometimes a leafing rider goes into a mysterious, euphoric state and can only utter ‘Ack-yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk’ repeatedly. Strangely, we’ve often found a corn cob pipe in the possession of riders suspected of leafing, but we’ve yet to determine its purpose.”

The shroud of mystery around the rider doesn’t stop at leafing, Pound continues.

“We believe he was also gussing (loading up on asparagus before a race) to benefit from the combined effects of the two incredibly healthy, vitamin-rich vegetables,” Pound suspects. “But again, gussing is something we’re unable to test for. No-one will go near their urine sample.

“Man, does their pee stink.”

Sleep-Deprived Feed Zone Worker Hands Rider Musette of Biohazard Waste

Yort Fergnid, a third-year pro with Klerd Throopmor (Danish manufacturer of industrial insulation spackle) was finding this running of the Werg Plloopfrap challenging enough – before being accidentally served a musette filled with spent growth hormone vials, blood bags, and syringes. “It’s only my fourth race with the squad, and they’re already trying to kill me.”

Fergnid describes the scenario.

“I went through the feedzone and instinctively grabbed the first bag handed to me by someone wearing our trademark pea-green and chartreuse jerseys. Though to me they’re really more of a drab olive and lavender. With just the slightest hint of eggplant. But I digress.

“When I went to grab an energy bar, I was stabbed by about fifteen needles. There are a lot of unusual things about our team, but that’s just messed up.”

An absent-minded soigneur was soon implicated.

“I thought immediately that that glassy-eyed stoner probably had something to do with it. That guy is completely spaced out half the time. I mean, he once tried to apply ten Newton-meters of torque to my stem bolts rather than nine. Unbelievable! I’m also forever reminding him that I need a hypoallergenic pillow, and prefer a lemongrass hair conditioner. Sheesh.”

Tristan Warner, a soigneur for the squad blames a lack of sleep. “From washing down bikes, doing laundry, confirming reservations, rider room assignments, mapping the route to the next day’s stage, etcetera, I’m working on, like, 14 minutes of sleep since Saturday.

“Everyone on the team thinks I’m stoned, but in reality, I’m just loopy from not sleeping. But what I wouldn’t give for a joint right now.”

Warner explains the mix up.

“I was supposed to have dumped it outside the hotel where some other teams were staying, but somehow, in the rush to get everything together this morning, it wound up with the feedzone musettes. I think I must’ve dumped the team’s mail instead. Oops.

“The authorities didn’t believe that the medicine was for my sick iguana, Quincy. He’s got some weird glandular thing that makes him look like a horny toad with leprosy. No-one will take care of him while I’m gone, so I’ve got to bring him with me. It’s really unfortunate that he’s been prescribed transfusions and EPO. It’s all really just a big mix up, but WADA has no sense of humor. I swear, their own mothers don't love them.”

The UCI levies their initial findings.

“Even if it was all for his goddam lizard, how the spent medicine ended up with the feed bags indicates a staggering lack of rider safety controls,” proclaims UCI spokesperson, Klaus Molle. “I had an iguana once too and am sympathetic to Mr. Warner. The bond between man and reptile is very special. But that's no excuse… I miss my scaly little guy. Godspeed, Mr. Pickles!”

Though no riders were immediately named, the incident likely spells the suspension of the team’s license until the investigation is complete.

The squad has been under intensifying scrutiny ever since the Ronde von Frondenfloom spring classic during which its star rider, Lars Pluf, was disqualified for taking a fistful of Flintstone chewable fruit-flavored vitamins from his team car.

Although Pluf claimed to have a Therapeutic Use Exemption permitting the vitamins, observing race commissaire, Rolf Tressier, was quick to point out sub-clause c.3d.F.34534 of section 8U.3.e.X9t.k of the UCI regulations which clearly forbids riders from ingesting “any crunchy children’s vitamin even remotely shaped like cartoon cavemen.”

With the team now embroiled in Iguanagate, Tressier explains that “the incident could extend to the broader peloton. We also found in Mr. Warner’s possession a list of what he claims to be his iguana’s pet names.

“No way we’re not falling for that one again!”

Dead, Irrelevant Brands Turn To Cycling for Revival

It seems that long-forgotten brands are seeking to return to former glory by employing their sponsorship of pro cycling teams for promotion.

“Why should RadioShack be the only dinosaur brand out there?” asks Penny Mortensen, Director of Marketing Communications for Team Bennigan’s. “We figured why the hell not? Nothing else has ever worked.”

The new channel has given new enthusiasm to those tasked with reviving fading brands.

“We haven’t been relevant for years and we thought this would be a good way to blow the dust off our brand,” continues Mortensen.

“We’re either going to come out looking cool by getting involved in something hip and fashionable, or we’re going drag the beautiful sport of cycling down with us. Screw them and their sissy shorts. It’s not like any one of them has ever come near one of our delicious burgers anyway.”

Others businesses desperate to breathe new life into their image are quick to follow suit.

“RadioShack’s move was unprecedented,” explains Brad Gorman, Director of Team Gleem announced last month. “The rest of us in the Forgotten Legions of Obsolete Products and Services (FLOPS) just went ‘Whoah! Those clever bastards!’”

Soon to be announced are teams from Der Wienerschnitzel, Montgomery Ward, Hush Puppy, Fuller Brush, and most recently, RC Cola.

“We’re tired of being the third or fourth cola choice. We want to knock those jerks at Fanta off their high horses,” proclaims Terry Rombauer-Platt, Marketing Manager at RC. “Ok, so maybe we’re more like the fifth or sixth choice… Definitely no lower than eighth. Honestly, we’re looking to crack the top ten. Shut up!”

Some dismiss RadioShack’s move as foolhardy, but “I disagree,” says Mort Krumpton, Chief Marketing Officer for Chic Jeans. “It isn’t easy to sustain a brand for what, like, 170 years? You don’t last that long solely on chumps buying adapters and batteries from geeky, pimple-faced idiots.

“They were selling cheap electronic crap before there was electricity. No, someone with a brain is behind it all. Unless there’s just been a revolving door of incompetent CEOs driving the brand deeper into the ground while sucker shareholders think ‘Maybe this one will turn it around.’ What? Really?!? Oh...”

Krumpton, who until recently served as Chair for the Desperate Organization of Laggards Trying to Survive (DOLTS), oversaw the merger of his organization with FLOPS earlier in the year.

“Through the potent combination of FLOPS and DOLTS, we will create even more new and exciting ways for consumers to find relevance in our brands. Either that, or we’ll live forever in infamy on YouTube for running pathetic and tasteless commercials that flushed the last of our money and sent us into bankruptcy. Again. That, and forcing otherwise respected and proud athletes to act as shills for our worthless dreck.

“At the very least, we hope to end up with some cool cycling gear we can probably sell on eBay.”

Contador Arrested for Launching Series of Attacks on Quiet French Village

Amid Alberto Contador’s bid for the 2009 Tour de France title, French authorities arrested the Spaniard at the conclusion of Friday’s stage for the “unconscionable disregard for humanity” he demonstrated in the series of attacks he launched against his adversaries, particularly during the final ascent of the Col du Grabasse, which passes through the previously peaceful village of Duvet.

“We’ve never seen anything like it,” exclaims elder resident Raphael Dornier. “Alberto showed no respect for any human life, including his own. His complete and utter annihilation of other competitors was so merciless that we had no other choice than to notify the local gendarmerie.”

“France has been attacked by many countries over the years, but never by Spain. I don’t think,” observes local teen Antoine Telmosse. “Maybe once or twice. But that was, like, back in the Stone Age or something.”

Witnesses described Contador’s attacks as “brutal,” “vicious,” “savage,” “searing,” and “like, really, really fast.”

Astana’s Directeur Sportif, Johan Bruyneel, reacted to Contador's arrest with shock and disgust. “I havenever and could never imagine such a development. Never has the Tour, a team, and a rider been so disgraced by the intrusion and intervention of the authorities.”

“Contador is completely innocent,” continues Bruyneel. “If anyone is guilty here it’s the other self-proclaimed ‘GC contenders’ for being so pathetic in their inability to match their bold words to the press. ‘I will attack.’ ‘I will prevail.’ Yadda, yadda, yadda. Pffft! They forgot ‘I will bonk and abandon.’ The only thing Alberto is guilty of is keeping his word and bringing honor to the sport and the grandeur of the Tour.”

Bob Roll, observing from the VS. network commentator’s booth, was rendered nearly catatonic by the devastation he witnessed and could only utter “Boom! Pow! Zoom!” Clearly traumatized and scarcely intelligible, Roll was taken away for psychiatric observation.

Visiting Americans “Totally Blank” on What to Write on Giro Course

Visiting American cycling fans Tony Marzavas and Mark Horton were recently frustrated as they tried to think of something clever to write on the Giro d'Italia course.

The two pondered what to write in the road on the ascent of Croce d’Aune during the Giro’s fourth stage on Wednesday from Padova to San Martino di Costrazza.

Horton explains that after traveling all the way from Columbus, Ohio “we were pretty flustered when we couldn’t think of anything clever.

“We staked out the perfect spot – right near the King of the Mountains sprint at the summit. But by the time we got situated, we both just kinda looked at each other. We totally blanked.”

Their momentary lapse in concentration made them uneasy.

“We tried not to panic. After leaving our families and spending thousands to get here, this was our chance to get a nanosecond of television coverage and cement our legacy. If we wrote something poignant, the riders would notice it and fondly recall later, ‘Remember when we were climbing Sestrière and someone had written Go Levi! in the road? That was nice.’”

Once their creative juices started flowing however, the pair was dismayed to realize that many of their favored options were already taken.

“We’re here to support Astana, but by the time we found a good spot, somebody had already written Levi! Levi! Levi! nearby. A little bit further up, someone had written Go Lance! in giant letters. Right below it, there was a big Chris Horner. I mean, who’s left? Popovych? Brajkovic?!? Are you kidding me? There’s no way in hell I’m going to try to spell either of them and risk a typo that might be seen by millions of viewers. Plus, I’m pretty sure they’re not American anyway.

“Of course, someone had already drawn a giant penis. Damn.”

Undeterred, the duo dug deep to think of something that would stand out. “We finally ended up writing Vive le Giro. We got a few funny looks from some Italians – or maybe they were French. But I think they were just jealous that they didn’t think of it first.

“After some initial panic about our options, we were satisfied. It’s not in direct support of Astana per sé, but reflects our passion for the Tour. I mean Giro. I can’t wait to check the DVR when we get back to see our work immortalized.

“I wonder if the news will be waiting for us at the airport when we return.”

Drunk Belgians Argue: Who Was Better? Thorju Yosteen or Justeen Thoryos?

Alcohol-fueled tensions were running high among Belgian cycling fans Saturday night at Le Fluurgen Klopp, a popular pub in the working class suburb of Assebroek* outside the industrial city of Faargenkold.

The topics of tonight’s heated debate were the storied careers of two unsung Belgian amateurs. In between orders for another Stella Artois, the argument raged.

“Thorju Yosteen!”

“Justeen Thoryos!!”

Yosteen won the coveted Blort-Flerg-Blort in 1972, just edging his more seasoned teammate, Thoryos, as members of the short-lived Zoop Knurd squad. Thus began an intense rivalry that characterized many Belgian amateur races throughout the seventies.

Few Belgians will forget when Thoryos won the ’73 Shaartsnortt kermesse series. Yosteen claimed that Thoryos had given him a ‘Belgian hickey’ —licking his pinky finger and sticking it in Yosteen’s ear, thus distracting him to gain the victory. Officials failed to witness the alleged offense, and despite Yosteen’s protest, Thoryos retained the win.

Their intensely competitive tactics continued in the ’74 Korntuurd Classic when Yosteen gave Thoryos a ‘Belgian rugburn’ —lighting Thoryos’ jersey on fire as they rode, and escaping for the win amid the confusion and disarray as Thoryos flailed to remove his flaming garment.

Thoryos saught revenge in the 43rd running of the Hoon Vaarg Vannddderrrdaasssen Boont in 1975. Thoryos co-conspirators saw to it that Yosteen received a ‘Belgian lunchbag’ —a musette filled with lead weights. As Yosteen sped through the feed zone, he crashed heavily and dislocated his right shoulder as he reached for the approximately 200 kilo food tote.

When Yosteen resumed racing in the 1976 Puupfaart Race, their aggressive racing action turned borderline murderous when Yosteen gave Thoryos a ‘Belgian appendectomy’ —stabbing Thoryos in the side with a tire iron.

Sadly, both riders’ careers ended prematurely when during the 1977 Ronde Van Boogerflikk, they received lifetime bans after mutually attempting to inflict a ‘Belgian waffle’ —throwing popular breakfast pastries at each other during the race.


*This is a real town in Belgium. Look it up. All other names of pubs, cities, riders, teams, races, and 'Belgian anything' (except waffles) are fictional. Duh.

Directeur Sportif Can Yell “Go! Go! Go!” in Seventeen Languages

“I can also shout ‘you’re worthless!’ and ‘you’re not getting paid this month!’” proudly proclaims Stein Van der Plorken, Directeur Sportif for the Danish continental squad, Hoonvurp KD.

“Our team is like the goddam UN,” explains Van der Plorken. “In team meetings, when I speak in my native tongue, I get blank stares from most of the room. And don’t even get me started on the friggin’ Kazakhs.

“I know they can understand me, but they still just sit there – making me look like an idiot.”

“He thinks we’re from Uzbekistan or someplace,” explains neo-pro Yurpi Devnichek through a translator. “He’s always shouting some crazy language at us. It sorta sounds like Russian, but Mirka (Tserdignyev) and I are Albanian. Stein thinks if he repeats himself louder and slower, we’ll somehow understand. We have no idea what the hell he’s talking about until Prevak, the soigneur, tells us.

“It’s tense for a moment or two, but it’s kinda fun seeing him get so worked up.”

The demands on his knowledge of languages frustrate Van der Plorken. “When we signed the new kid from Estonia, I about lost it. Great! There’s another 100 Euro I get to spend on RosettaStone just so I can talk to some guy for a couple of months before he quits or we sack him. I should own stock in that goddam software.”

Van der Plorken explains his approach to conversing with such a diverse squad. “It’s impossible to be fluent in all the riders’ languages. I learn the bare minimum just so I can communicate the essentials. Principally, it’s what needs to be said on the road to motivate them. Phrases like ‘go faster or you’re fired!’ tend to be the most effective.

“Another useful phrase is ‘your mommy isn’t here.’”

Van der Plorken continues, “I don’t care what country you’re from, everyone understands ‘doping control!’ Man, it’s fun to yell that in the middle of the night and watch them scurry like roaches.

“Take that, you wise-ass Kazakhs.”

Cycling's Sages: Age and Guile beat Youth, Innocence, and a Bad Haircut*

Armstrong. Hincapie. Leipheimer. Voigt. McEwen. Just a few of cycling’s elder statesmen that are still mixing it up and dishing it out in what is supposed to be the twilight of their careers.

Cycling, like any sport, is one in which a pro’s successes – and ability to remain competitive – are largely a function of how old (or young) they are. All of the aforementioned cyclists are 35 or older and still racing. And winning.

Armstrong, until his recent collarbone fracture, was an instrumental lieutenant in Leipheimer’s Tour of California victory. Oh, and let’s not forget about his plans to make a run at the Giro as well as the Tour this year (despite his accident, he still may). George Hincapie claims to be as strong as ever, and has his sights on the spring classics – notably the Tour of Flanders and Paris-Roubaix. Jens Voigt just cleaned up at the Criterium International, and Robbie McEwen is still one of the top sprinters. And until recently, you could include the likes of Zabel, Cipollini, and the ever-present Ekimov as contenders.

So what gives? What’s with these comparative codgers still enjoying the top ranks of the sport? Ah, these wise sages – the Yodas of pro cycling if you will – have done enough Tours of duty to know that the sport is as much about mental savvy as athletic prowess. What subtle indications betray a particular rider’s fitness (or lack thereof)? What moves to chase? Whose wheel to follow? When to time your attack?

At this level, and frankly, at their age, the ability to perform is as much about energy conservation as it is about energy reserves (strength). It is the knowledge of how to preserve what precious little there is in the tank and exactly when to floor it and cross the line on fumes. Also, having another ten years of training and racing at the sport’s top level over the ranks of young bucks hasn’t hurt. All the while under the careful direction of their battalion of directeurs, doctors, coaches, nutritionists, midwives, rhinoplasty surgeons, and astrological advisors.

Are these masters-level cyclists the only ones winning? Hardly. There is strong pressure from the undergrad ranks to make sure that any potential fish head is mercilessly jettisoned from the peloton before it even has the chance to stink. Any bearded, bespectacled, trudging post-doc, though admired for their accomplishments – some of which pre-date the birth dates of the rising class – come race day, are scrutinized for any weakness, and ground up and spit out like chaff at the first sign of cracking.

However, the names mentioned are giving off no indications of foul odor, nor would appear to anytime soon. Quite the contrary. But are they the exception to the norm? Perhaps. They didn’t get to where they are without being meticulous perfectionists, mastering both the nuances of live-fire races and rigorous training regimens. They have much to teach, and those their junior have much to learn regarding their approaches to success.

Much has already been written regarding Armstrong’s return to the sport and what it portends. Some liken the current Astana lineup as a tinderbox destined to spontaneously combust. Surely, so many superstars on one team can only spell disaster. Witness the late T-Mobile team of 2005 boasting a trifecta of Tour podium contenders in Ullrich, Vinokourov, and Klöden. The infighting destroyed the hopes for any of them. With so many individual agendas, the result was foretold and obvious to everyone – apparently save for the team management and sponsors.

With Astana, I am not so naïve to not realize that this year’s Tour is shaping up to be a dramatic soap opera. Will Armstrong make good on his overtures to work for Contador, or will the whole story unravel like the infamous Hinault-LeMond duel of 1986? Teammates in jersey only with faux smiles and stilted, uncomfortable congratulations?

If Contador has any sense, he’ll look at Armstrong’s presence not as a potential threat to his GC chances, but as an opportunity to learn from (arguably) the sport’s greatest. Even if Armstrong pulls an Hinault and goes for personal glory, my advice to Contador borders on Zen: Study. Learn. Practice. Master. Wear clean underwear. Respect your elders.

If you’re going to get schooled, get schooled by cycling’s sensei. There’s no shame in it, and the lesson will serve you for years to come…so you may ultimately pass your wisdom of the ruthless ranks of the pro peloton on to your own understudies someday.

Ultimately, the declining physical ability of those highlighted here (and this is by far from an exhaustive list) will more than offset any advantage provided by their mental acuity and they will fade from their present glory. But until then, they have a lot left to teach, the younger ranks have much to learn, and we have an incredible amount of awesome cycling to enjoy.

*With apologies to P.J. O’Rourke, whose book of the same name is pure genius and should be required reading of all who are literate.

Tyler Farrar: Man or Myth?

The cycling world is a-buzz, or perhaps more accurately in this age, a-“Twitter” with the promise foretold by Tyler Farrar’s surprising win in the third stage of Tirreno-Adriatico last week.

Judging from the photos, no-one was more surprised than a certain mister Cavendish. I’m sure he would rather see the pictures of him looking astonished to his left as Tyler edged past him in the final meters disappear from the web. Cavendish was as disappointed as much as Farrar was elated at having let this one slip.

But let’s break it down. There are many complex variables in a sprint, a critical one being “luck”—or the ability to make one’s own luck. Farrar made his own luck in textbook fashion to notch “the biggest win” of his career to date. To be sure, Farrar is a sprinter. He’s won sprints before and will again. But it has never been against such a potent gathering of the world’s best. That he outfoxed, outkicked, and outlasted the likes of Boonen, McEwen, Hunter, Hushovd, Petacchi,—and, oh yeah, Cavendish—should not be discounted. But nor does it necessarily announce the arrival of the next great sprinting hope and the demise of the greats.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This was one sprint in one multi-stage race. The stars aligned for Tyler this time and he pulled a coup of great magnitude, but he must prove consistency against this caliber of greats before we necessarily become as excited as he is. Even Farrar noted that Cavendish slowed towards the end allowing him to slip past. Was Cavendish legitimately spent having mis-timed and gone for it too early, or did he think he had yet another sprint in the bag and just let down his guard a fraction—and a fraction too early? The photos suggest that Cavendish was full on the gas and Farrar was simply the fastest man on the day.

But to make this a regular occurrence vs. isolated incident, the Garmin Chipotle team needs to gel a bit more as a lead-out unit for Farrar. The edge goes to Team Columbia in this regard as they’ve had more practice, and a more singular focus in launching Cavendish from their train as the Big Engine That Could. Plus, they’ve arguably got more battle-hardened booster stages for Cav in the likes of Eisel, Hagen, and Griepel. And even aging Hincapie has been known to mix it up in the sprint (he was the second highest-placed Team Columbia rider on this stage). They let one get away this time, and trust me, they’ll be reviewing the game tapes, but they’re not panicking. Yet.

Garmin Chipotle has the building blocks of talent, and Vaughters has the intellect and ingenuity (read “moxie”) to put it together and make it happen. They are perhaps a season or so away from truly establishing their formula in this aspect of racing. Or at least taking their current sprinting construct to the top ranks of the world’s stage and dishing out another royal, nose-thumbing smack down. Vaughters’ renegade, scrappy approach needs a bit of smoothing out to make Farrar’s win truly replicable, and Garmin Chipotle’s sprint successes more the norm rather than the exception at this level, against the sport’s top sprinters.

Is this the one and only time we’ll hear from Farrar? No. Should the current top-rank sprinters take note? Indeed. Should we be more excited than ever for these types of sprint finishes? Youbetcha.