Parlez-vous français?

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In stark contrast to Ann Coulter’s recent incoherent ramblings about how watching soccer makes you a crappy American (and apparently an illegitimate one at that), I’ve been following and thoroughly enjoying the World Cup over the past few weeks.  Chris and I have been exercising a standing engagement with some of our friends each Saturday or Sunday at the Scottsdale branch of Four Peaks Brewing Company* for the past two weeks, and tomorrow, we’ll host a viewing of the Netherlands/Costa Rica game at our house.**  

Although I plan to continue following the tournament until the end, probably catching some of the weekend games, I have to admit that my enthusiasm has dimmed a bit now that the US is out.  Unfortunate as this is for the delightful group of gentlemen on the American soccer team,*** the timing works well for me, as it allows me to swing my focus onto my favorite summer sporting tradition, the Tour de France.  One of the major bike races here in Arizona is the Tour de Tucson (raced every November), which is affectionately called “el Tour.”  By that rationale, would this make the Tour de France “la Tour?”  I think I might have to make this happen.

Anywhoodle, I have to admit to not knowing why I love la Tour so much, but this feeling has really only developed within the last few years.  It probably helps that I started biking around the same time I started watching la Tour, so I felt I could commiserate with the guys in the peloton.  I mean, I’ve had flat tires just like the guys in the race, except I’m not normally riding 100 miles in a day when it happens.  I mean, my butt is sore after riding 30 miles, so theirs must be ON FIRE after the distances they cover.  I feel like they might be my people, except way better at riding bikes and with a far lower body fat percentage.

I understand that some folks might find la Tour boring, but between the athleticism of the riders, the photo finishes between talented sprinters, the amazing fortitude of the mountain climbers, and the pomp and circumstance at the end of each stage, I get completely sucked in.  C’mon, what other sport do you know where the winners of each category get flowers AND a jersey AND a plaque/statue AND stuffed animals (yes, really – including one that often looks like a yeti) AND kisses from lovely young ladies dressed to color coordinate with said jersey EVERY DAY?  This sh*t is bananas.


See?  I wasn’t lying about this.


And this is what happens when you keep winning lions.
I wonder what people do with them after this...
Sell them to Chuck E Cheeses?  Ebay those suckers?



Yes, Toni, I know you are LIVING for these dresses.

La Tour is also home to a wide array of personalities from the riders to team captains to the announcers.  One of our favorite riders is Andre Greipel, a German who la Tour folks have nicknamed “the Gorilla.”  Apparently, it’s because he’s super tall and super heavy for a cyclist – according to Wikipedia****, 6 feet tall and 165 pounds – and in the words of announcer Phil Liggett, “he’s always hauling that giant carcass around.”  Truly, it’s amazing he can even get himself out of bed in the morning.  Pfft.


“Where’s Andre?”
Crossing the finish line, Tim.


Even with that all that weight and height (cadets, set your phasers for EXTREME sarcasm), Greipel often manages to beat everyone or finish near the front of the pack of super-fast dudes, including another one of our favorites, Peter Sagan.  He’s a young’un from Slovakia that Wikipedia claims is nicknamed The Terminator.  Not in our house.  Nope, for us, he’s nicknamed Codpiece, after some truly unfortunate cycling kit choices made by the fine people at Cannondale a few years back.


“WHAT THE?!?!?!”

He ended up taking the overall green jersey (the competition for the sprinters) last year, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up winning it again.  And again.  And again.  He’s crazy fast, yo.

I could go on about the drama of the climb to the top of the mountains:


Check out that grade!

Or the thrill of seeing everyone walk away, albeit battered and bruised, from a nasty crash:


Holy crap, you guys.
That one dude is sitting on that other dude's face.
I don't think that's legal.

Honestly, it’s just plain fun. 

Au revoir!

Amy

* WHAT?  It’s closer to our house than the Tempe location.  Don’t get all judgey.

** Which should be very interesting.  One of the couples is made up of a wife who roots for the Dutch and a husband who prefers Costa Rica, due to their differing backgrounds growing up overseas.  They’ve named it Family Feud I.  Their words, not ours.

*** Which consists of goalie Tim Howard and a bunch of dudes with broken noses.  Kidding!  Goalie Tim Howard, a German coach with a truly delightful German name, and a bunch of dudes with broken noses.  There.  That’s better.

 **** Font of all the world’s knowledge.

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