Pistolwhipped: Seminal Fingerbang

This past weekend was a dramatic one in the Tour de France, as Alberto Contator seized the race lead and cycling fans bore witness to the "Fingerbang Heard 'Round the World." Actually, Contator fingerbanged the world at least twice. First, he fingerbanged the crowd as he crossed the line in Verbier, and then he fingerbanged them once again from atop the podium:

Presumably, the fingerbanging continued well into the night, as I'm sure Contador also triumphantly fingerbanged the podium girls, his Astana teammates, the mechanics, and the fans waiting at his hotel for autographs. Moreover, Contador is clearly riding extremely well, so it wouldn't surprise me if he continues his reign of fingerbanging terror all the way to Paris. I just hope for everybody's sake he's wearing a finger cot.

Speaking of signature victory salutes, Versus aired a segment on them Saturday in which Mark Cavendish hinted that he's preparing to "drop" a special victory salute on the occasion of his 100th career victory (whenever that happens to be). Bear in mind that this is the man who's already given us the phone call/nipple twiddle as well as the bifocal wipedown, so I'm sure it will be something memorable. In fact, team pants sponsor Hincapie Sportswear is already reportedly fabricating a pair of breakaway acid wash jeans, so you can expect considerable fireworks (and perhaps some pubes) when the Man Missile's victory tally rolls over into the triple digits.

And speaking of Hincapie and getting fingerbanged, Contador's performance yesterday only barely managed to overshadow the controversy surrounding George Hincapie's missing out on the Maillot Jaune on Saturday by a mere five seconds:

I'm a Hincapie fan, but while Contador finishes his stages with a bang, Hincapie tends to cross the line with a wimper. In fact, he seemed on the verge of tears in his post-race interview Saturday as he blamed first Astana and then Garmin for shutting him down. Subsequently, everybody involved rushed to Hincapie's side in order to comfort him as though he was a toddler who's just dropped his new ice cream cone. Of course, they were right to be contrite; after all, this is the Tour de France, and everybody knows the object is to ride slowly and assist other teams. If a team is going win as a result of riding in its own self-interest, it had better have a damn good excuse. Contador should be extremely thankful that Lance Armstrong came back, because if there hadn't been some tension within the team I'm sure cycling fans would have turned on Contador by now like that tiger turned on Roy.

But while I would have been exceedingly pleased to see Hincapie to take the jersey (if only for a day), the fact is that the Tour de France is a bike race, and a lot can happen in five seconds of bike racing. Also, a lot can happen in five seconds after a bike race. For example, five seconds is all it takes for five-time Tour de France winner Bernard Hinault to clear the podium of a faux Française des Jeux rider:


Yes, nobody clears a stage like Hinault:


Indeed, if you think Hinault's stage-clearing moves look familiar, it's no coincidence. Few people know that after "the Badger" retired in 1986, he found himself in dire need of an outlet for his considerable aggression, so he hit the gym, bulked up, and moved to New York City, where he worked as a bouncer at storied rock venue CBGB. Here he is in action at an Agnostic Front show "back in the day." (All noteworthy performances by "seminal" hardcore bands took place "back in the day."):

While hurling flailing adolescents around was a perfect match for Hinault's fiery temperament, he was unable to reign in his ego, and he soon ran afoul of "the scene" when he attempted to usurp vocal duties from Agnostic Front lead singer Roger Miret. (One witness who was present at the show during which Hinault managed to briefly seize the microphone from Miret describes "the Badger" as sounding like a "deranged Edith Piaf.") Forced out of CBGB, Hinault then managed to find employment at Frank Cariola's Sundance in Bayshore, LI, only to be fired two weeks later after seriously injuring a stagediver at a Kreator show. Subsequently, he returned to France, where he has finally managed to combine pushing people from stages with the sport he so passionately loves.

But when it comes to memories of metal, the ultimate wellspring is the Metal Inquisition blog, and it just so happens that the proprietor of that blog recently returned from the Tour de France, where he took some photos that are to the work of Graham Watson what Agnostic Front are to Graham Nash. For example, here's an impassioned BBox fan who's waiting for either Thomas Voeckler or a "suitcase of sausage:"


Here's a guy surreptitiously hanging a flag in his underwear (I think Mark Cavendish may just have had another victory salute idea):


Here's Tom Boonen "palping" a pair of Transformers socks before eventually transforming himself into a DNF:


And here's inky, legular proof that Brice Felliu may in fact be an undercover "Lone Wolf:"


But perhaps best of all, he also returned with a gift for me which is now officially my most prized possession, seen here being held aloft triumphantly yet remorsefully by what is now my second-most prized possession:

Yes, it's a piece of tubular tire. But it's not just a piece of anybody's tire; it's actually a piece of Vladimir Karpets's tire. Karpets's name is perhaps one of the best ever to have graced our sport, sounding as it does like someplace on Rockaway Turnpike where you'd go to buy a discount area rug. (Actually, I think I may have purchased the BSNYC/RTMS Test Sisal at Vladimir Karpets.) Not only that, but he's also got a mullet as splendid as anything you might have seen at Frank Cariola's Sundance "back in the day." So to own a small piece of his tire is to own a huge piece of cycling history. Oh, and also he gave me a button:

So a thousand thanks to Metal Inquisition. I will forever treasure these treasures like the treasures they are.

However, there is one thing that's better than receiving, and that's giving. Some readers may recall that earlier this year I "curated" The Great Fyxomatosis Photo Parody Contest (sponsored by Boston Whaler Boats--The Unsinkable Legend). Well, one of the prizes I gave to the winner, Urchin, (for what is undoubtedly the most salacious photo ever taken of a pair of bicycle forks) was an actual Boston Whaler decal (courtesy of Bluenoser) which Urchin has informed me has finally been "curated" onto his time trial bike:


I was extremely pleased to see this, not only because it feels so good to give, but also because there really is something whaler-y about a time trial bike:

Even though the bike's not finished, it's already safe to say that decal is going to be the aesthetic centerpiece of the groupo. Here's hoping Urchin "curates" himself a victory in his next time trial, and that he fingerbangs his opponents into submission.