This is just one of those “Italian” things, right?
That’s what we assume after reading that the UCI has given the Lampre-Farnese Vini team a temp license. Like, what, they only race on Fridays and Wednesdays, from 10 to 2:30? Imagine Alessandro Petacchi as a temp? How many words a minute does he type? That Cunego guy — can he work a cash register?
The two month “get-your-crap-together” license was issued after warning Lampre about “serious administrative non-compliance” issues. Which does sound like classic Italian skip-the-details approach.
You can almost see Lampre manager Giuseppe Saronni throwing up his hands — “What, Mr. McQuaid, we had that nice cappuccino together, I introduced you to my beautiful mistress and we toured my friends’ Tuscan winery. What more do you need?”
Paperwork, the damn paperwork is killing Giuseppe, every year the paperwork. What about lunch and sexy women and shopping for stylish clothing in Milan? What happened to handshakes and honor and who are all these lawyers that keep calling incessantly? It’s an affront to his dignity.No man does triplicate.
As cycling becomes a global sport and the UCI tries to elevate the professionalism of the teams involved, the old Italian ways die hard. It must kill a man like Giuseppe Saronni. First, the Americans come in with their killjoy business approach to winning races. Then that damned Dane Bjarne Riis says those time honored training methods are stone age. Now team Sky comes in with their food scientists claiming that paninis aren’t good race snacks and that buckets of pasta aren’t the best way to recover. Next, they’ll want to replace the podium girls with effeminent men in tight slacks.
You ask Giuseppe and he’ll tell you: the sport is going to hell in a hand-basket. The doping tests, the whereabouts checks, the biological passport — how’s a rider supposed to “prep” for races? Danilo di Luca banned, Rebellin gone, where are the heroes? And all the UCI cares about is paperwork. In his day, men were men and lawyers just dealt with keeping the cost of the mistress hidden.
Now, all is lost. Only the noisy Kazaks seem to understand the rituals of the sport. What do they care about paperwork? They want to drink and sing and glory in victory and hand out bribes and pound their cycling shoes on the table. Okay, they’re uncouth but at least they’re not progressive. Giuseppe, Twisted Spoke feels your administrative-induced pain.
The sport pedals on. The paninis are gone and the paperwork is long overdue.