So it was: the grab heard round the cycling world. And the stillness of the pond is now forever rippled. Cycling has enjoyed its part in an ages-long tradition of misogyny, but thanks to the poor podium judgement displayed by Peter Sagan, things may have to change.
The world of two-wheeled daring-do has had much to do with trouble as of late. We’ve all popped our heads up above the surface of our queerness only to see a world with different rules than us. Silence was the most performance enhancing drug of all; a neatly-wrapped foil paque of Mum could be found in every single pro pelotown fridge in the fatherland.
First we kissed goodbye the fun of microdosing, bloodbagging, and saddlesore treatment when Armstrong accepted his metal straw trophy from the Big O. The foil paque was unwrapped. We licked wounds, rode a little slower, and started being sheepishly nicer to our football fan neighbors. We had to.
But now something darker has clouded the improving skies. Just when we thought it was safe to stop saying hello to children again, the vial of Omerta that safely encased the sacred ritual of grabbing ass on the podium has shattered. We’ll see how things shake out as time rolls forth, but for now we’re just left to speculate.
I sent my grandfather the journalist out to gather some opinion on the matter, and he came back with this insightful bit from Tyler Farrar who is quoted as saying (surprise, surprise), “You just don’t do that,” but didn’t care to comment on the possibility of his Ass Pinch tell-all rumored to be currently in the works.
The moral? We’ll se about that, too, but I can say that most people forced to apologize for things would tell you this: Don’t be sorry for what you do, road-riding cyclists of serious-time battlesport. Be sorry for getting caught. That is the bottom line.