With the official selection just hours away, some fairly serious brain cells are being burnt in pursuit of diving the home team’s startlist at the over-a-month-away World Championships—which is kind of amazing. It wasn’t too long ago that this part of the season was a wasteland, people begging for the Vuelta to bring something back into the headlines, with the World Title as something of an afterthought.

In 2005, I even attributed part of the Rainbow Curse to the falling stature of Worlds among cyclists—even the great one-day riders seemed focused on the Tour, and only the historically-snubbed made a concerted effort for lArc-en-Ciel. Safe to say things have turned around a bit since then.

While my thoughts on competition along national lines remains unchanged, I have to say I do enjoy the additional wrinkle national squads add to the UCI’s big event. We could very likely see three riders from the same squad on the podium at Melbourne this October; certainly Matt Goss made a convincing case for team leadership at GP Plouay, Greipel has already been tabbed as the German hope, and an anemic British squad has no choice but the rockstar himself.

If the HTC boys can pull it off, it would be the second time in a decade that Australian soil has played host to such a spectacle—though given the animosity between Cav and Greipel, it would almost certain have to be honestly contested this time around.

After citing a lack of “scientific evidence” (there’s actually a bit here and there, if you’re truly curious) presented in the press thus far, Daly attempted to play up the “witch hunt” aspect of the case, saying:

“If Lance Armstrong came in second in those Tour de France races, there’s no way that Lance Armstrong would be involved in these cases,” Daly said. “I think that the concern is that they are caught up in the pursuit of a celebrity to catch him in a lie.”

Bryan, that is a terrible point and you’ve brought shame to your law firm and alma mater. Let’s take a look at the legal histories of the second-place finishers in Lance Armstrong’s TdF wins:

• 1999 – Alex Zulle: Caught in Festina Affair in 1998, admitted to EPO use; found to have 52.3% hematocrit months afterwards.
• 2000, 2001, 2003 – Jan Ullrich: Implicated in Operacion Puerto in 2006; DNA matched to nine Operacion Puerto blood bags in 2007; paid 250,000 EUR fine to avoid prosecution on doping charges in 2008; former manager admitted his and Ullrich’s role in Operacion Puerto in 2010.
• 2002 – Joseba Beloki: Implicated in Operacion Puerto in 2006; “cleared” by Spanish courts (just like Alejandro Valverde, currently serving a suspension for his role in the scandal); further investigation likely stymied by end of career.
• 2004 – Andreas Kloeden: Implicated in 2006 pre-Tour doping trip to Freiburg with then-teammates and convicted dopers Patrick Sinkewitz and Mattias Kessler in 2009; additional positive tests/DNA links from teammates include Ullrich, Sergei Gonchar, Alexandre Vinokourov, Andrey Kashechkin; later Bernhard Kohl.
• 2005 – Ivan Basso: Implicated in Operacion Puerto scandal in 2006, confessed to preparing to dope later that year.

While I will readily admit that there’s a positive correlation between depth of investigation and rider celebrity, when only a single second-placed rider has dodged either serving a suspension or retiring under a massive cloud of doubt, I hardly think you can slap the “witch hunt” tag on the investigation.

If anything, it’s the near-universal guilt [cached version] of the riders Lance vanquished that should should raise the biggest questions in the rational mind over whether or not Armstrong raced clean.

Podium Cafe and the Boulder Report have had some good summaries and scenarios on how the chips might fall since the end of the TdF; as a late-comer to this game, I’ll just await Riis’ announcement and make some inferences from there.

Not that there’s a lack of races to cover at this time of year—Greipel stacked up another “meaningless” win at the Tour of Poland—but the results taken now likely won’t have a major impact on where riders end up next season. Despite the UCI’s flimsy “no official comment” rule, the lion’s share of negotiating contracts, securing sponsors and preparing rosters for next year seems to happen—without any “official” confirmation to the press—well ahead of or immediately following the Tour de France.

And, of course, everyone is tired of race news after (or fully in withdrawl from) the Tour de France, so speculation makes a nice change of pace for the media and fan base alike. The attentive or cynical reader might suss out the same effect in the plethora of doping-related stories bubbling their way into the post-Tour spotlight—outside of the Lance case, of course. As a story, the scope and appeal of that story is so far-reaching that it has already moved from cycling, through the mainstream media, and into a host of other niche markets.

Most of the race—certainly its chaotic opening—still seem compelling; Chatreau and Pineau trading off breakaways and battling for KOMs was good fun while waiting for the GC riders to open hostilities. And seeing the aggression pay off for so many breakaways was a nice change—something many have taken as the sign of a cleaner race, though others are not so convinced.

Cav did make the sprints something of a foregone conclusion toward the end of the race, but his early struggles and the drama surrounding the Renshaw ejection certainly had me looking forward to the final three kilometers on nearly every flat stage. Petacchi might not have been the sentimental favorite for Green—even without the whole perfluorocarbon investigation, Cav was flat out faster, and Thor made a more concerted effort at chasing the points crown—but Ale-Jet brought enough to the competition that I wasn’t sad to see him win it.

Looking back today, though, I’m really wondering at all the excitement I felt for the GC race. Sure, the narrow time margin between Schleck and Contador for much of the race kept the tension high, but really, where were the differences made? A slipped chain? Holding Cancellara’s wheel across a section of pavé? A ham-fisted, bobbling attack on a Third Category climb?

While the time gaps were smaller this time around, what made the 2003 Tour an awesome spectacle was the way the GC favorites seemed to just trade haymakers. On Alpe du Huez, Armstrong claimed yellow, but lost two minutes to Iban Mayo. Vino’s eff-you attack on the descent into Gap the next day lead took Beloki out of the race, and led to the now-famous shortcut. Then there was Jan Ullrich’s leg-shattering TT effort on Stage 12, Armstrong slowly bleeding time over the following days, break pads, Ullrich’s attack over the Tourmalet, Luz-Ardiden, fog, musette bags, the final TT, the rain…

I’m not saying the 2010 event wasn’t a great race, full of all the right kinds of intrigue and polemics. I’m not even saying that the battle between Schleck and Contador wasn’t a good contest—they worked together to distance their rivals, then took their shots against each other. I don’ think either left anything out on the course—and in the case of Contador, some are still arguing he tried a little bit too hard.

But for me, the greatest GC battles are back-and-forth affairs—rivals constantly trying to leverage their strength against their opponents weakness, and struggling to limit their losses when the tide turns the other way. Maybe Schleck’s and Contador’s abilities were just too closely aligned this July, or maybe this is just how most Grand Tours will be contested until the memory of “the refills” has slipped from the peloton’s collective memory.

Hopefully next year, another closely- and cleanly-fought Tour will shed some more light on the subject.

In all seriousness, though, this is a Tour that has never wanted for drama or surprises—almost a shame, considering the fireworks we were treated to just over a month ago—and perhaps the best part of the excitement surrounding this year’s event is that so much of it is actually coming from the race. Uncomfortably thin margins separate the leaders in the GC, KOM and points competitions; battles among both the breakaways and the heads of state seem to be de rigueur over ever practically major climb, and hilltop finishes are no longer a pre-requisite for a GC shake-up.

On Chaingate, my feelings, while mixed, return to the earlier statement that this is Tour de France—not some Mickey-Mouse race. I’m personally disheartened at the break in protocol—more than can be said for the veritable murderer’s row consulted by French television—but as a racer, I don’t need to imagine too hard to see myself riding exactly as Contador did. Best to view the breach like Renshaw’s maneuvers last week—they’re split second decisions in the heat of battle, and the jury (or in this case, the peloton) is seldom consistent in their reaction.

At any rate, the biggest victim in Chaingate may prove to not be Andy Schleck, nor SRAM, nor even the time-honored traditions of the Tour. For all his reverence to the unwritten rules of the pack, Lance Armstrong’s decision to wait for his fallen rival carried a heavy psychological component: I can wait for you and still win this race. Considering how battered Contador looked on the climb to Ax-3 Domain the day before, slumping back down onto his saddle after every effort, I don’t think he could have sent a clearer message to his rivals about his own vulnerability than riding past the hapless Schleck.

And while Armstrong’s legacy may shine brighter in light of Contador’s decision on Stage 15, his great escape will be a net negative in the long run—feelings I will not elaborate on until after the Tour. I do credit Armstrong for a hair-raising first hour—one that apparently came as no surprise, as riders were warming up to prepare—but even with Horner convoyed up to him (along with Ruben Plaza, to neutralize the Team GC battle), Lance never showed himself as a serious stage contender.

With two men in the move, you’d think a tactician heralded with as much fanfare as Johan Bruyneel would have been able to come up with something better than having Horner pull while Armstrong sat on—especially in light of the fact that sending Horner up the road could leverage the suddenly-relevant Team GC lead against the two Caisse d’Epargne riders.

Instead, the “best” director in the history of the Tour sent two proven soloists into a 9-man sprint that included some of the most realibly savvy breakaway sprinters in the peloton, with nary a feint, misdirection or tactical flourish; copies of “We Might As Well Win” now making an appearance on a B&N closeout rack near you.

The final 5 minutes of Stage 12 yesterday (I’d post video, but since the ASO wants to throw down again, I’m gonna hold off on that for the moment) give a pretty good example of where I see the Spaniard’s shortcomings. Condator likes the Monte Laurent Jalabert, Andy Schleck does not. Clearly, this finish should have been near the top of the list of places to Contador to take time out of the Luxemburger, and if he really did talk tactics with Vino’, something should have been planned for this climb before the stage.

But that’s not really what happened—at least it sure doesn’t look that way. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say once Vinokourov got clear in the move of the day, the Official Astana Game Plan was for the Kazakh to try and win, for Pistolero to sit back and monitor Schleck, and for the rest of the squad to enjoy a day of doing nothing on Vino’s tab.

My basis for this is that Alberto’s actions in the final 4km that day seemed like someone fumbling to attain the three simultaneously impossible goals of winning a stage, cutting into Schleck’s lead, and respecting his teammate. Examine the Paris-Nice video: Contador starts spooning out the hurt around the stiff, sharp bends 1.7km from the top of the climb. Today, he went only a few hundred meters down—hardly an ideal amount of real estate for one to open a GC-relevant gap.

Perhaps more tellingly, Contador’s attack doesn’t come until Joaquim Rodriguez pulls out a legitimate amount of space to threaten Vino’ with recapture—I’m guessing for the plausible deniability of marking Rodriguez’s move, but the constant head-turning to monitor Schleck’s position betray an ulterior motive.

After bridging to Rodriguez, Contador doesn’t really pull through—more deniability for any post-race discussion—until, that is, he realizes motorbikes, narrow roads and Andreas Kloeden could form a road blind that might obscure him from Schleck’s field of vision. Alberto dives into the gap, and pulls Rodriguez up to Vino’. Now it’s decision time, and if I have to pick a place where Contador looked worst, it’s here.

Rather than attempt to work with Vino, Contador dances away, pulling himself and Rodriguez clear. While you can’t say what would have happened with any accuracy, Vino alone still wasn’t slow enough for the Schleck group to bring back (he finished seven seconds ahead), and Vino’ with Contador and Rodriguez almost certainly would have been faster than the two Spaniards alone. And if a bigger gap isn’t a given, the improved tactical situation of a 2-on-1 would have made the Astana stage win far more likely.

Still, as Vino’ churned away after Contador went past, he was continuing to build his gap on Schleck. Here’s a still frame from just outside the final KM, showing the amount of clean road between Rodriguez/Contador and Vino—and keep in mind, Schleck is still further back. But coming into the line, Contador begins talking to Rodriguez, turning his head, sitting up, and trying to get tactical for the final sprint to the line, and even then, he failed to take it.

In the end, Contador achieved no real success in any of his objectives. While ten seconds isn’t a bad take—it’s nearly 25% of Schleck’s current advantage and entire Tours have been decided by smaller margins—it’s also less than he would have made up ignoring the stage win entirely. And if Vino’s bar-pounding as he crossed the line was any indication, there was—until Vino’s fantastic win in Revel today—slightly less goodwill on the Astana team bus.

While Contador did show a bit more nuance in his responses to, and eventual cooperation with the attacks of Andy Schleck on Stage 9, I think it’s a bit of an overstatement to say he’s “matured”. When he learns to negotiate a conundrum like Friday’s finale with a bit more elegance—and a far more positive result—I think then we’ll be able to say that Pistolero has finally come of age.

[click for iPad/iPhone/downloadable version]

[Contains, in order of appearance, footage from Eurosport, Versus and NOS, and still photos from Graham Watson, Pascal Pavan, Eric Gaillard, Lauren Rebours and Fotoreporter Sirotti.]

I said almost immediately—and have the audio to prove it—that I thought Renshaw would get relegated for closing the gate, but I think the race jury wanted some way of punishing Cavendish for the actions of his leadout man, and so bumped Renshaw from the race. The Aussie’s been fantastic all Tour long—it’ll be interesting to see how things shake out without him.

No shortage of opinion on this one, ranging from no sanction should be given to no headbutting should be allowed ever in any sport. I obviously think I’m right, but please don’t feel bound to defer to my feelings on the subject. Versus did a great job of getting reaction interviews moments after the finish: here’s Dean, Farrar, and Renshaw.

But I think—or at least hope—that impression took a serious hit after the finish of Stage 5. To see Mark Cavendish, one of the loudest and cockiest speed merchants in recent memory bawling on the podium as if Publisher’s Clearing House had just paid a visit to his mobile home, should give the sprint-haters pause.

Let’s be clear about this—Cavendish is has won 11 stages of the Tour de France. That’s one win shy of the total accrued by Miguel Indurain, who took the whole enchilada five times running. Yesterday’s finish was not a one-off dream win by a lesser-known rider from a lower-tier team in his hometown; it was another bike-length victory from a man who, since 2008, has made winning sprints about as remarkable as packing a lunchbox.

So why the tears? Indurain was 26 years old when he won his first Tour; Cav is currently 25. Before him, the sport has raised up and summarily cast down any number of young sprinters. While he’s reinvented himself as a SaxoBank domestique, Baden Cooke’s brilliant performance at the ‘03 Tour never did see a proper follow-up. Ivan Quaranta, once hailed as Cipollini’s comeuppance, made his final top-level start (getting shelled from a TTT at the ‘03 Vuelta) while the Lion King (at the ripe old age of 36) still wore rainbow stripes. And has anyone seen Tom Boonen toward the front of Grand Tour recently?

As Petacchi (again, age 36) rolled past Cav to two wins in the first week of this year’s Tour, the Manxman couldn’t have escaped the feeling that this all might be a little bit of history repeating. Certainly his 2010 season to date had not been up to par, grabbing headlines more for comments and behavior than results, and finding himself, unusually, tied up in crashes and an intrasquad feud.

In the classics, time lost on a bad line through a corner can be regained over cobbles or a berg. In the mountains, you can ignore the bursts of your rivals and pull them back at your own pace, or limit your losses if you can’t. In the time trial, checkpoints and the radio let you mete out each individual watt with scientific precision. As a long breakaway comes into the line, tactical savvy plays as much of a role as pure power.

But group printers can cling to none of these other factors—there’s nerve, and there’s power. You get a split second to chose whether to jump or wait, go left or right, grab this wheel or that. There’s no real way to train those things, and when you lose it, it’s impossible to know whether it’s gone for a for a week, for a season, or forever.

So congrats to Cav—with a serious nod to his helmsman Mark Renshaw—for bridging that abyss yesterday. Sure, he had a little help from a Garmin-Transitions squad beset by injury and a bit of miscommunication, but the bounce-back is still notable, as evidenced by the fact that so many riders before him have failed to pull it off.

[if you're having trouble viewing this, maybe try right-click/save file as... - if it still doesn't work, direct you complaints to Eurosport, who filmed the interview, didn't put it online, and then decided to pull it from YouTube]

While I may be a few thousand miles away from the action, I have a sneaking suspicion that the discontent is somewhat over-reported; it both makes for good headlines, and is informed heavily by the long-term interests of GC-contending teams.

Levi’s comments after Stage 2 about how Tour organizers “want to see us bleeding” by using “courses like this”, while highly-quotable, doesn’t really make sense. The Stockeau comes nearly 100km from the finish of Liege-Bastogne-Liege, and is descended annually by large packs of extremely motivated riders (far less incentive to finish in a one-day, after all) almost without incident.

As a squad stacked with strong stage racers, it’s in RadioShack’s best interest to keep everything completely under control until Johan Bruyneel decides it’s time to make the race. And while I don’t doubt the sincerity of Jens’ emotional commitment to his teammates, I think if Andy had had racked up five minutes in Stage 3, instead of merely recouping his prologue losses, SaxoBank might be singing a different tune.

It’s important to remember that the Tour runs on a set of rules; denying a decision by the man in Yellow to neutralize the stage—especially when he and his team are strong enough to make things seriously unpleasant for you over the next twenty days—would be a pretty serious violation of those rules. It’s not that these rules can’t be broken, it’s just that your interests are better served by adhering to them.

Smaller squads are heavily dependent on breakaways for their Tour success, and the success of any given breakaway depends almost entirely on decisions made by the stronger teams setting the pace of the event. As Filippo Simeoni can tell you, speaking out too boldly—even when you’re in the right—can ruin your entire Tour.

While Cervelo, a stronger team than most, certainly wasn’t shy about their opinions of the neutralization, the team made sure not to “be a pain in the ass” and avoided breaking up the agreement, even if it was “too friendly”. And I think this deference to the established rules of the race has already begun to pay dividends.

Consider yesterday’s finish: Fabian Cancellara—who probably could have battled Hushovd for the win—attacked only once after the final selection, and took a not-especially-tactical pull up to the final 200 meters. One could argue he was trying to build Andy Schleck’s gap, but unless Andy was absolutely shattered, he would have almost certainly been s.t. regardless of sprint tactics. Had VanPoppel given the word to break the truce on Monday, I think Tuesday’s finale would have played out very differently.

So while I dislike neutralization and whining as much as the next man, I think that there’s a lot less agreement amongst the riders than is conveyed by the media, and I think that VanPoppel’s comment above that the Tour “is not a Mickey Mouse race”, and that it’s time to get down to business reflects the unspoken professional opinion of a majority of the peloton.

In the rain, many contenders couldn’t take risks. With no time bonuses in the coming days, sprinters couldn’t really justify a run for yellow. Over a pancake-flat parcours, climbers couldn’t make any statements. And with all the variables in the equation, a suddenly fourth-placed Lance Armstrong couldn’t make any assessments of the day’s implications for the rest of the Tour.

In many ways, this race of couldnts was the perfect follow-up for a dope story that wasn’t. The rumors flew—some said Lance might not start, or would drop out before France proper—but in the end, the latest salvo of Land Grenades were little more than a fluffy fleshing-out of the initial allegations made by Landis at the Tour of California.

Don’t get me wrong—I think there’s merit to what Landis has said. The Dexter-esq preparation of the transfusion room would be fantastic physical manifestation of the Bruyneelian, no-holds-barred approach to TdF preparation, and certainly reckless driving, strip clubs, and recreational drug use are no strangers to the lives of world class athletes during their downtimes.

No, the real failing of Landis’ expanded accusations was not in content but presentation. WSJ, I guess because they still make money selling dead trees, tried to build up some hype for a forthcoming weekend edition. Cycling fans and reporters, perhaps out of habit, seem to think that every dark cloud on the horizon portends a hurricane.

The prologue, for all the drama and build-up, seldom settles anything (apologies to @chris_boardman). Sure, we foamed at the mouth for the familiar electronic chirps of the starthouse clock, but at the end of a the day—even one with more than a few missteps—nothing has been decided.

When a Tour-making ride happens, everyone knows it—no prognostication required. With the immediate and infinitely repeatable delivery of information, I think the same unambiguous significance applies to the stories that fill space between the finishes and starts and finishes as well. No question in my mind that were Willy Voet intercepted by gendarmes this afternoon, we’d see exclusions and expulsion by the start of the next day’s stage.