TV News and Notes...

ESPN 30 for 30-Phi Slama Jama
Running Time-1 Hour 30 Minutes.
Release Date:October 18, 2016.

It's finally here. I would like to personally take credit for this one. A couple of years ago, when ESPN began featuring their set of sports documentaries called "30 for 30", I sent then-director of the series Bill Simmons an email that he of course never replied to. After watching the Jim Valvano feature, which highlighted his only national championship with NC State and his battle with cancer, I immediately thought "how could they do this and not give the Cougars from the University of Houston an episode of their own?" Well, now they did. And one of college basketball's biggest mysteries has been solved. 

There is a perspective here that very quickly gets lost among those with crackhead attention spans. Out of all the brother-oriented, run-and-gun college basketball teams that have come and gone over the years, the only one that managed a national championship was Jerry Tarkanian's Runnin' Rebels of UNLV in 1990. Those that came before and after have all fallen short. One of these much-heralded and over-hyped teams that fit this description, the "Fab Five" of the University of Michigan, developed an annoying pop culture tendency of over-inflating their own importance to make up for the shortcoming of never having won a title, as if bluster and bravado would make up for not winning despite the fact that they had the cards stacked in their favor talent-wise. 

Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler, and coach Guy Lewis...

The University of Houston tread on different ground. It was an era when trash-talking was something done between players and wasn't someone's publicly announced persona. They inhabited a basketball landscape pre-Air Jordan, before the Nike branding juggernaut and Sonny Vaccaro turned street basketball into a cynical, buy-and-sell corporate commodity, And they were cool. Other-worldly cool, despite the high-riding shorts that were the fashion of the day. Things evolve over time, and no one can hold this stylistic malfeasance against them. Not too long ago cats used to play ball in regular pants, and I'm not just talking about the weekend warriors and the occasional working class yeoman slobs. 

EVEN the playground legends rocked bell bottom jeans and dress pants. As long as they had sneakers they were out there. Their combination of tenacious defense and high-flying acrobatic dunks were the epitome of the street ball game, and put it into its proper perspective within the cultural landscape. If you weren't tall and could leap, you weren't allowed to even dream about it. All you could do is watch in amazement. To call them a dynasty without having won a championship is, again, an exercise in hyperbole that doesn't take into account the influence these cats had on the game. Not only were they fun to watch, they weren't a bunch of arrogant, chest-bumping assholes. 

They have finally received their just due from the suits at ESPN who currently run the "30 for 30" series now that Simmons has been given the heave-fucking-ho. And surprise surprise, the filmmakers have finally solved the biggest mystery surrounding this team-whatever happened to Benny Anders? Tune in when the show airs to find out. My one hope is that Houston's 1983 NCAA tournament games are included in the DVD release. That run, all the way up until they lost to NC State, remains a post graduate treatise on how to kick ass on the basketball court, and is a must-see for any fan.

Hakeem Olajuon and Benny Anders at a press conference during their collegiate heyday-

Here is the original article on the University of Houston by Sports Illustrated, dated March 7, 1983-

The second season of "Fear The Walking Dead" ended with a two-part, 2-hour season finale that mercifully put an end to what has been the most dreadful piece of shit I've sat through since the series finale of "Seinfeld". I'm not going to bore anyone with a blow-by-blow synopsis. It's just too much of a fucking drag. What I will get into is the whole "Mexico" subplot. These Hollywood assholes are so typical when they write Latino characters that it's too tiring to get offended anymore. First of all, Latinos don't say something in one language and to repeat it in another when we are speaking to other Latinos. What, the producers were too cheap to put in subtitles?

During the last 10 minutes we are treated to what are hands down two of the most nauseating moments in television history. When Nick and the gang get to the border crossing, they are shot at with automatic rifles by, guess who? Fucking Border Patrol!!! I couldn't believe this shit. Is Donald Trump this show's version of Neagan? It's obvious he's survived the zombie apocalypse and has decided, in his demented, dildo brain, that the only way to "Make America Great Again" isn't to spend time working on a cure at the CDC, but by guarding the border from Mexicans, despite the fact that world has officially gone to hell. Did anyone bother to tell these assholes that there are no more borders anymore? That it's just the living and the dead? I can just hear his speech now-"Well, you know, Mexico isn't sending us their best zombies. We're getting their rapists, criminals, and cannibals. All they want to do is eat us and not pay the tab. I'm sure some of the walking dead are good people..."

The scene that came before this has to take the cake. When Nick leads his merry band of desperadoes out of whatever-the-fuck the place was called (gee, what would these helpless, hapless Mexicans do without Captain White Boy to lead them to safer ground?), Madison and Travis run into Guillermo, or Pablo, or whatever-the-fuck his name is, who is lying in a trashed school bus, semi-conscious, totally delirious, and about to die. As he's passing into the world of the unliving, he has enough energy to have that  gloriously clichéed final deathbed confrontation with Madison. When he looks up through his barely open eyes, he sees Madison and declares, "Angel". For the peeps out there who can't translate this one, "Angel" is not Alejandro's landscaper son. It's Spanish for, you guessed it, an angel. Because what represents one's arrival at the pearly gates more than a blonde, blue-eyes, seeringly-pasty white Caucasian woman? My personal choice would have been the legendary Iris Chacón, the Puerto Rican singer/dancer/entertainer who showed J-Lo what ass is REALLY all about, but that's how these writers roll when they are attempting to play out Latino-oriented themes. They write about Latinos in such a patronizing, clueless manner, when all they have to do is hire a couple of writers who are, um, culturally in tune with the Mexican people and there!!! Problema solved. And if it's a budget issue, pay them like Mexican migrant workers, which is what the current batch of writers should be getting as a salary.

Heaven is a fat ass. Iris Chacón in action-

Are the writers trying to be cute about the US's contentious relationship with Mexico over what is a non-problem and a non-issue in real life to anyone except the jolly Klansmen and redneck losers who are too stupid top realize their jobs are being taken from them by douchebags exactly like Trump? It shouldn't matter in the world of the walking dead, but somehow it's worked its' way into the plot in a major way, and I cannot tell you how I'm looking forward to racially ambiguous Travis being mistaken for Pancho Villa.

The show wants desperately to shove their idea of character development down our throats, to the detriment of the very reason why FTWD was allegedly conceived. We got absolutely nothing in terms of how the virus enveloped Los Angeles, what was being done about it by the powers-that-were, Now we have two of thew strongest character completely neutered (Strand and Salazar) while we get an absolutely unconvincing and tediously shot scene where Travis manhandles "The Bros" who he finds out shot his obnoxious, entitled son. Madison and Travis have the on-screen chemistry of a couple that's been married too long and are still together for the sake of the kids. And I hate to say it, the actor who plays Travis seems way too effeminate to suddenly morph into some type of post-apocalyptic bad-ass. His lack of physical charisma seriously hampers this transformation, and at best it feels forced, just like his relationship with Madison, who has settled for annoying full-on screen shots of her stupid face. This season should be screened at every film school in the country on how NOT to handle a television series. The premise has way too much promise for it to sink down the drain so fast and with such a vengeance. Either get a new screenwriting team or cancel this peace of shit. Real fans have had enough of this. 

Mike Ditka...

Football analyst and legendary fake tough-guy Mike Ditka went on a depressingly racist rant over Colin Kaepernick's protest of  the rash of police shootings of African Americans. It is true that Kaepernick is not the quarterback he was was when he took the San Francisco 49'ers to the Superbowl a couple of years ago. He's had three surgical procedures during the off-season and reportedly lost about 20 pounds. He lost his starting job and may never play for the team again, barring an injury to current QB Blaine Gabbert, despite the fact that in four games Gabbert has 4 td's and 4 interceptions and their record stands at 1-3. Yes, Gabbert sucks, but Kaepernick was voted in some anonymous poll as the most hated player in the game, which says a lot given the number of reprobates that inhabit the insular and maniacally dysfunctional world of pro football. Kaepernick is reviled for daring to make a point about how African Americans are policed, and that has opened severe cultural wounds that the establishment will never forgive him for. 

All manner of pundits took to the airwaves to make their feelings felt over this issue, but none did so with such boorish aplomb as Iron Mike. It was a hysterical, nonsensical tirade that went into so many deep-rooted tangents it was difficult to ascertain why a quarterback who isn't even playing could have inspired such Archie Bunker-esque vitriol. Dick-ka's response would be epic if it weren't so chock full of tired, racist cliches that have been repeated ad nauseum by others of his ilk. Dick-ka told Kaepernick in no uncertain terms that if he doesn't like it here in the United States he should go somewhere else, and make no mistake that by "somewhere else" he means back to Africa. He then threw in our current President, calling him the worst we've ever had for some insane reason, as if President Obama had anything to do with this.

And for the cherry topping, Dick-ka threw in the old racist white man's mantras of "hard work" and "personal responsibility". Well, let's get to the issue at hand-apparently he's has forgotten that if it weren't for all those lazy, uppity, entitled Negroes that constituted the overwhelming majority of players on the 1985 Bears team, he would not be wearing a Superbowl ring. And HE didn't win the 

Superbowl, it was the Bears' defense that put a stranglehold on every single team they faced, courtesy of defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan. It's no wonder Ryan and Dick-ka hated each other. Ask Dick-ka's ex-players why he is so beloved (insert sarcastic smirk emogi HERE) and they'll tell you he was a colossal dickhead. He was never forgiven in many circles for not getting Walter Payton the ball so he could score at least one touchdown in his one and only Superbowl appearance. To his credit, Payton never publicly criticized his coach for that douchebag move, but it just goes to show you what a tone-deaf asshole Dick-ka is.

By the way, Mike-who the fuck are "they"? Don't answer, we already know...

Thanks to Deadspin.com our staff at "Busting Chops" was able to compile a couple of touching moments in the life of coach Dick-ka that should put his personality into perspective. Here they are-

BullDogz:
True story-Ditka was doing a signing for some of his godawful smokes at a cigar shop in Western MA a few years back. He reeked of Jim Beam and Slim Jims, and half an hour in he decides he needs a break from signing autographs for the eleven people there to "drop sticks" (take a shit). Seventeen minutes later he's back and a waft of shit immediately filled the room. Evidently he flushed and didn't stick around to realize it had overflowed out onto the floor. The shop owner is doing damage control control, yelling to one of the staff to get it fixed ASAP, and there's Ditka yelling "don't look at me, I just took a goddamn piss!"...despite it being a one-person capacity bathroom that he just walked out of a second earlier!

Josh:
I have eaten at Ditka's restaurant a few times. TWICE I have seen the bathroom attendant forced to take his lunch/dinner break meal in the bathroom. Yes, he was sitting there in the corner of the bathroom eating a burger while listening to and smelling an anus symphony. Gross. 

Kevin:
This past summer it was Mike Ditka Day at Arlington Race Track in Chicago. We were up inn  the suites. I'm walking to the bathroom and I see my buddy and Ditka walking in the same direction. He asks my buddy where the 'Goddamn bathroom is', and he shows him. I walk in as he enters a stall. He painfully fumbles with the lock for about 15 seconds and then says 'Aww fuck it!' and goes into the next stall. He then proceeds to immediately fucking explode on the toilet. Giant, heavy vibration on an empty bowl. My buddy and I were shocked and extremely amused and ran out of the bathroom like two middle school kids.

Where's the bathroom, motherfuckers? Time to blow it up!!!

In Dick-kas' defense, a relentless combination of cheap cigars and medium-rare steaks washed down with cheap booze and oxycodone pills is guaranteed to deliver a never-ending barrage of napalm-inspired ass-aults on any self-respecting toilet bowl, but such gastro-intestinal carpet bombing becomes epic emanating from the tired old donkey bowels of our boy Iron Mike. They have become so intense that the shit is overflowing from his ass straight out of his mouth. I'm surprised that not one sports pundit has called Dick-ka put on his bullshit. Where the fuck is blowhardius maximus Stephen A. Smith on this one? It seems that Dick-ka is so insulated from criticism by his reputation and the networks that employ him that he can say whatever he wants and get away with it. Or people are so scared about losing their jobs that they dare not speak out. Too bad. It would be a sorely needed breath of fresh air for someone to call Dick-ka out on his bullshit, which according to the sources above is approaching hazmat proportions.

Film Recommendation of the Week...

The Seven-Five

Director-Tiller Russell

Release Date-May 8, 2015.

Running Time-1 Hour 45 Minutes. 

There are many anti-social issues that must coalesce to create the type of dysfunction that is found in an out-of-control inner city neighborhood. It's not just the criminals that bear responsibility, but the police officers who have taken an oath to "protect and serve". When that last piece of the puzzle goes wrong, you get what happened in the 75th precinct in East New York, Brooklyn in the late 1980's to early 90's. The focus of the film is ex-police officer Michael Dowd, whose rampage over the neighborhood during the city's crack epidemic is one for the ages. His exploits were so outrageous he has been dubbed the most corrupt cop ever in the history of the NYC Police Department, and he minces no words when re-telling the tale. It's one thing to witness the type of entrenched corruption that was endemic in the department from a film like "Serpico". It's quite another thing to hear every gritty detail straight from the horse's mouth. 

This is a one-of-a-kind documentary that is as harrowing as it is fascinating. What makes it so enthralling is twofold-

1) Most if not all the main actors are still alive and made themselves available to the director. What is more amazing is the main drug dealer who had two police officers on his payroll at a cost of $4,000 dollars a week EACH was found in the Dominican Republic after being deported when he concluded a long prison sentence. 

2) The still photographs of East New York during this time really made for quite a jarring experience, especially since I vividly recall going there as a kid and still remember being shocked at what I saw. Block after block of decimated, abandoned buildings and all manner of shady-looking, poverty-stricken people walking around. So if anyone who doesn't know asks if East New York really looked like that, tell them "yes, indeed it did". But what gave this film an authenticity rarely felt in even the best documentaries are the shots of police surveillance film of the actual drug dealers that were under investigation who are featured in this film. 

Though this is not meant to make this rogues' gallery of villains seem likable, they are indeed charismatic in their own twisted way. And if you know anyone who happens to be a successful criminal, you realize that charisma is an important component of their personalities. And Michael Dowd is a born storyteller. If he wasn't a compelling public speaker, no way this documentary winds up being as good as it is. All the other details are better left for the documentary itself. It's currently on cable television, but you can also purchase the documentary from wherever they still sell DVD's. The story of the 75th Precinct and corrupt ex-cop Michael Dowd is as crazy as it gets, and this documentary is one of the best I've seen. It is highly recommended. You will not be disappointed.

So Long, Big Papi...

When you retire from pro baseball, this is how you go out-in style. In direct juxtaposition to the Yankees making A-Rod walk the plank into oblivion before the season was over, David "Big Papi" Ortiz has managed the exact opposite. In his last season, he has had one of the best seasons a 40-year old has ever had. One could argue that he may be no different than Rodriguez because his name surfaced in the Mitchell Report, but let's put that into perspective-very few names were released, giving credence to a conspiracy theory that someone was out to make Ortiz look bad. Why not release all the names? Where is the validity and integrity to a system that was supposed to keep the list anonymous? The substance in question was never named, so we don't know WHAT it was. Doubters will always presume the worst, but one thing is for certain-at least he never dodged any questions and was up-front about it, even if he stated that he didn't know and could very well be lying. 

There is credence to this. The nutritional supplement market is an unregulated Wild West-type of industry where manufacturers routinely put illegal crap in their products and are not liable nor responsible for listing the ingredients. How the fuck is anyone supposed to know what is in these products if they aren't listed? Quite a few athletes have fallen prey to this Kafka-esque dilemma, where an athletes tests positive, has the supplement tested, and when the supplement comes back positive, the athlete STILL receives a ban because he's responsible for what he puts into his body. That is utter and complete bullshit, but that's how it is. And if anyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, it's Ortiz. He started his career as a barrel-chested Dominican slugger and ended it that way, albeit with a few more pounds around the midsection. He never turned into the Incredible Hulk, even during the heyday of the steroid era. And his stats never exibited the type of jumps common with steroid abusers. If anything, he's been consistent ever since he was traded from Minnesota to Boston and got a chance to play every day. His Ruthian physique and engaging personality is what made him accessible to the common fan. I have been unable to come up with another ball player so beloved by everyone around the league, and his sendoff is a testament to not only his talent but his place in the game.

The baseball "purists" will argue that Ortiz shouldn't be in the Hall of Fame because he was a designated hitter and hardly ever played the field. The Hall of Fame is a museum, and the players people enjoy watching the most should be in regardless of whatever statistics these idiots love to pore over to either legitimize or disregard a players' hall-worthiness. Ortiz was an integral part of one of the biggest comebacks in playoff history, aided and abetted in breaking the curse of the Bambino, and has been more of a "Mr. October" than Reggie Jackson ever was. He recently passed Mickey Mantle on the all-time home run list, and is so beloved in Boston he could run for mayor on no platform and win by a landslide. He has transcended race, skin color, and nationality during a time in America where race relations have gotten worse. Just for all that he should be a first-ballot HoF'er. And the nickname is ubiquitous. You say "Big Papi" and EVERYONE knows who you're talking about. 

I hope the Red Sox make it to the World Series. Another ring would be fantastic for what has been a career worth celebrating by all baseball fans regardless of team allegiance. And if they can beat the Chicago Cubs, that would be the existential icing-on-the-cake statement of all time, given that the Cubs are currently run by Theo Epstein, former general manager of Las Medias Rojas. 

See you in Cooperstown, big guy, and thanks for all the wonderful memories. You deserve all the accolades you get. 

Good-Bye, Alex Rodriguez...

After an acrimonious, drawn-out negotiation with Yankees management, which started with "you're outta here" and ended with "you're outta here", Alex Rodriguez was let go on August with the proviso that he does not attempt to re-sign with another team. This was done because of the home run clauses in his contract. The Yankees would be obliged to pay him the bonus money they promised him if he reached any of the plateaus they had agreed upon, which totaled $30 million on top of his already bloated contract. Think of how ridiculous this is, a man who is three dingers shy of the mythical 700 Club not being allowed to go for it. That's really fucked up, but it's as it should be. It's exactly how a man who cheated the game, his fans, and ultimately himself needed to end his ignominious career.

He will collect the remaining loot on his contract and act as an "ambassador, instructor, and special adviser" to the team until next year. Then the affiliation will be over. The money is important, because according to baseball sources, the extra bonuses would have counted against the team's salary cap, and the Yanks weren't having any of that at a time where they are shedding payroll and getting rid of most if not all of their remaining dinosaurs to make room for some new blood. 

After the retirement announcement, manager Joe Girardi sat A-Rod in Boston to make the final humiliation complete. He did play in his last scheduled game, but it was over way before then for this, one baseball's all-time leading pricks. His legacy will be argued over by baseball "purists" for years to come, but we here at "Busting Chops" prefer a different perspective.

Yuri Sucart, Rodriguez's long-time driver and international steroid bagman, received a seven-month prison sentence for his role in the Biogenesis scandal in June of 2015 after pleading to one count of conspiracy to distribute HgH. The story between Sucart and Rodriguez is a bit unsettling, but homeboy was no deer caught in the headlights of a famous professional athlete. While working for Biogenesis as a "buscon" (the word is spanish for "someone who procures"), he actively participated in the steroid distribution ring run by fake doctor Anthony Bosh, who tooted the place as a weight loss and rejuvenation clinic that sold PED's to professional and local high school athletes alike. If the case would have gone to court, Rodriguez would have had to testify. Luckily for him, Yuri didn't have the cash to pay for a lawyer and Rodriguez wasn't about to pay for one when his own legacy was on the line. Not that it matters, but saving even a little bit of face is better for a narcissistic egomaniac than having to tell the world his whole career was based almost exclusively on the use of performance enhancing drugs. 

We then had to witness the the inevitable falling out between Yuri and A-Rod, and it wasn't pretty-

The story told by Yuri's wife is sordid and sad. Rodriguez allegedly came over to their house, threatened them, then pee'ed on a wall of their home. The story from the other side paints a different picture. Supposedly Yuri had attempted to blackmail A-Rod in exchange for keeping quiet. I guess all those years under the employment of one of baseball's richest players didn't pay off for him, because after all this Sucart is supposedly broke. Yuri became ill during this time and needed open-heart surgery. He is currently taking a cocktail of medications for various ailments. In other words, the whole experience with his cousin has left him humiliated (that's if people like this are capable of feeling shame), broke, and fucked up. Now in his early 50's, Yuri is looking at spending his golden years in a state of physical decline that no one would wish on anyone-

Oje, primo! E'toy jodi-oh! Que baina, mi loco!!!

Pobre mi...

A diesel Sucart chillin' like a villain in happier times-

So now Alex Rodriguez gets to sail into the sunset, never having to come clean about a lifetime of steroid usage and his bank account intact. People in baseball land will forgive him. He'll be welcomed into the tv studios at ESPN with open arms, and if he decides being an analyst is what he wants to do, he will be handsomely compensated for it. Cats like Yuri Sucart, on the other hand, will end up flushed down the toilet of life faster than a turd coated in anal lube. This is what happens when you make a Faustian deal with the devil-the ones who need to wind up getting fucked, never ever do. 

So here's to you, A-Rod, for a lifetime of PED-assisted faux entertainment. Here's to all the hypocritical, two-faced interviews you've ever done. Here's to you showing the world that being born talented, handsome, and charming just isn't enough for some people. You had to lie and cheat on top of that. Your disingenuous legacy is right here, alongside a cousin who will never regain his health and will (if he is indeed capable of such introspection) curse the remaining days of his life the moment he ever associated with you. 

So while you, Alex Rodriguez, sit in Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic with all the other jack-ass celebrities and fawning celebu-whores you so desperately look towards for validation, with a Cuban cigar sticking out of your mouth and a disgusting, sinewy, bleached blond, turtle-lipped bimbo whore at your side, think about how the Yankees were so disgusted with you that they never let you reach the milestone of 700 home runs-because you didn't deserve it. You know it, I know it, and the American people know it. Three shy and never to get there, because you were a dick and managed to find every conceivable manner to disgrace the game you so claim to love. Adios, motherfucker. You were great to make fun of. Your legacy will be that despite there being another asshole just like you right around the corner for us to tear to shreds (because there always is), none will ever do it quite like you.

The sad state of pro cycling...

When I first became interested in cycling, I was enthralled by the 1989 Tour de France. The race had everything-compelling characters, plots, sub-plots, errors in judgement, and redemption. It was like a soap opera, albiet much better written to reflect the vagaries of everyday life amplified by it's more profound moments. As I was watching some of this year's edition of the Tour, it seemed as if the life has been sucked out of it. Chris Froome and the Sky team, rode the race as they always do-like accountants, never giving the fans moments of doubt, drama, or exhibiting the slightest hint of anything except the soul-crushing corporate model of success in modern day racing-purchase the best domestiques, race every pre-tour race in preparation for the Tour and not for the sake of "having a go", always with one eye on the power output to make sure one doesn't go over one's "limits". 

A beaming Greg Lemond and a clearly dejected Laurent Fignon at the TdF podium, 1989-

Lemond descending at the 1990 Tour-

Chris Froome is as charismatic as spackling compound, and shares the same level of pigmentation. How someone who makes his living racing and training outdoors can maintain such a cadaverous countenance is beyond the laws of physiology. Forget about the motor he allegedly uses to help him in times of trouble in the mountains, or his alleged doping-the bigger question is how does he stay so damn white? Was he born in Transylvania? That to me is a bigger feat than him passing all his anti-doping tests while possibly juiced to the gills. A friend of mine was watching him and all he could say was, "man, what a honky". Another friend commented-"That guy isn't just white-he's Chernobyl white". I agree. 

And he's just as exciting as his skin color. Froome has managed to surpass Spanish ex-pro Fernando Escartin as the cyclist with the absolute worst cycling form of all time. And I thought Sean Kelly was bad. I wonder how many more races King Kelly could have won if he were properly fitted to his bike. It certainly didn't help his climbing, riding with his knees practically scraping the tarmac. But this guy beats them all. While pedaling, Froome resembles a squid being pulled out of a septic tank-gangly and shitty. And that obnoxious "Sky Train" is just as unbearable to watch as the US Postal team, who invented the concept. As we all know, the formation of such a tactic, where one team manages to have all nine of its riders setting tempo up every fucking mountain, would not be possible without a team-orchestrated doping program, but Sky seem too smart to be caught out there at the present time. They certainly have the operating budget to pull it off, and team director Dave Brailsford seems to be tactically a bit more nuanced than his predecessor, the loathsome meathead Johan Bruyneel. 

Froome's competitors must also be held accountable for the continuing lack of drama at this, the Superbowl equivalent of cycling and hands-down its biggest and most important event. Nairo Quintana has to be called out. I expected more from him. He wasn't injured and didn't suffer any debilitating illnesses during his run-up to the tour, yet he rode as if he had nothing in the tank and seemed content just to be somewhere near the front, riding a steady rhythm that exuded all the excitement of an EKG exam result from an exhumed corpse. The bullshit tactic of having two leaders for the same race needs to stop. Alejandro Valverde should not be given equal billing as Quintana at any grand tour. He's too old now and even during his doping heyday was never a serious contender for the Tour. So why have them ride as co-leaders?

1999 Vuelta a España, when being one of the heads of state meant riding like one-

Evgeni Berzin and Tony Rominger duking it out for real at the 1995 Giro D'Italia-

A REAL Mano a Mano fight, 1993 Tour de France-

Because of his lackluster Tour performance, Quintana's victory at the Vuelta a España rings that much more hollow, seeing as his two main rivals weren't there to win. Chris Froome was out of gas from his efforts in July, and apparently his cycling motor didn't make it through customs. Alberto Contador is showing pronounced signs of a typical has-been grand tour rider, spending months preparing for races that are over for him before they even begin with crashes and injuries in early stages of races that were once easily avoidable. The fact that he lost two minutes to Froome in the last time trial of the Vuelta says it all. He NEVER lost anywhere near that kind of time in that particular discipline to any of his main rivals when he was at his peak. Now he is just a shadow of his former self. Let's hope for the sake of self-respect he does a victory lap next year and bows out with some semblance of dignity, not being dragged out of some cavernous ravine as the tour peloton leaves him mercilessly behind, a la Alexander Vinokourov when he was forced to call it a career at his last tour.

And let us not forget the disgraceful act by Nairo Quintana of hanging on for dear life to a  Mavic neutral service motorbike on the Mont Ventoux, one of cycling's most iconic climbs. It's been a while since I've been so disgusted by such a spectacle. When I saw this and read his disingenuous excuse for doing so, I lost quite a bit of respect for him, which is another reason I wasn't impressed by his Vuelta win. Even if the television cameras are not in the vicinity, everyone has a cell phone with a camera. Why did he think he could possibly get away with this? The Tour organization made it worse by not fining him and not giving him a time penalty, which he richly deserved, but they did neither in hopes of him maybe making the race somewhat exiting by actually attacking, which he never did once the whole tour. He consoled himself by saying he's young and still has many years to contend the race. Sorry, but lack of effort in attacking your main rival and placidly exhibiting happiness with a podium spot makes me question his heart. I guess he'll wait until there is a weak field and put in a weak, uninspired attack a la Carlos Sastre in 2008.

Here's my point-I challenge any cycling fan to name the rider who won the road race at the Rio Olympics. I hate to say this because I'm no fan of doping, but the racing was much better back in the day when PED use was (more) rampant. Starting in 1990, when the Italians were the first to use EPO  to maximum effect, dominating the majority of the entire cycling calendar with the exception of the Tour de France, not only was the racing better, but the riders were characters, the type that modern-day cycling sorely lack. They had personality and character that made every race worth watching, from the humblest Belgian mid-week semi-classic in February to the end of year slew of one-day races that culminate in the Giro D' Lombardia, the traditional closeout race of the year. If Italy is renown for its fashion and style, why are we getting bozos like Vincenzo Nibali? Where's the next Mauritzio Fondriest for fuck's sake? France had cats like Richard Virenque, Laurent Jalabert, and for a fleeting moment Luc Leblanc. Name one French rider who garners any interest today. Those cats rode with panache and had a style on the bike that we amateurs tried to emulate, some with more success than others because, let's face it-you can buy the bike and all the kit and STILL look pathetic. It was the pros who paved the way. Now we must look away in disgust. We now have dorks on poorly sized bike frames (someone explain to me why a rider who is 5'8" uses a 140 mm stem) whose uniforms are, for the sake of aerodynamics (marginal fucking gains!!!) form-fitting to an egregiously unflattering degree. 

Raul Alcala. A more stylish rider you will not find-

It's not just the cyclists. The industry as a whole  has taken a turn for the worse. Not too long ago, Colnago's highest end frame, the carbon C-40, sold for $2400 or thereabouts. I remember purchasing the legendary Bianchi Ti-Megatube in the perennial celeste color for two grand, frame and fork. Try that now with a high end frame. You want a high end frame from any of the major players and you're looking at a cost north of 5 grand, with many competitively priced closer to 6 thousand balls, with a complete bke easily surpassing the 10 grand mark. The smaller, hand-crafted artisans are just as bad when it comes to pricing, and you have your choice of carbon, carbon, or carbon in three sizes-small, medium, and extra medium, with a sloping top tube as an added mandatory aesthetic monstrosity. Before we had Litsespeed for titanium, Cannondale for aluminum, and Cyfac of France for custom frames in ANY material. Companies like Colnago offered different frame materials at all price points, and the paint jobs were stylish. Thankfully, they are still going strong, but they have nowhere near the market share they once had. Because of all this, amateur/club cycling has become an exclusive yuppie club for middle-aged assholes with $12,000 complete bikes, $700 dollar GPS systems, SRM watt gauges, and complimentary testosterone patches from your friendly neighborhood anti-aging clinic. And don't forget the $300 bib shorts that last half a season before the material wears out and you're left with the excruciating visage of ass crack from the rider in front of you. 

There's still hope on the cycling gear front for us Sunday posers, it's just going to cost more. As for pro races, forget it. When you have a pack of 40 riders contesting the last hill in Liege-Bastogne-Liege, when 260 kilometers is not enough to weed out the field on such a demanding course, you know parity is here to stay. And I hate to say it, but the biological passport and the draconian two-year ban for first-time doping offenders are to blame. Scrap the passport and go back to a more reasonable ban system-6 months for the first offense, a year for a second, and two years for a third. The battle against doping has only lead to more sophisticated and clandestine forms of doping, and it has leveled the playing field to the point where nobodies whom no one cares about are out there winning races. And re-calibrate the racing calendar so that the World Championships are held in August instead of fucking late September. Maybe then we'll see a more competitive field, with winners coming from the cream of the crop. Make the damn race worth watching with a challenging course and a hilltop finish every single year. A sprinter should be able to climb to win the once-prestigious rainbow jersey. Can anyone tell me who last year's road racing champion was? How about the previous year? I didn't think so, and that's the problem. 

Cuba Dave...

Lots of things happened while "Busting Chops" was on hiatus, so it will take some time to catch up with the most egregious and ridiculous stories that have come across our desk. This one is an inter-office favorite, so let's get to it. Dave Strecker, better known as "Cuba Dave", was snagged by the authorities while attempting to leave Costa Rica and has been remanded to jail while awaiting trial. For those who don't know or are not familiar with the adult recreational activity known as whoremongering, Cuba Dave was once the lifestyle's internet Pied Piper, replete with a website chronicling his exploits and a Facebook page. He is also a published author, Hey, Adolf Hitler wrote a book, why not this dickhead? 

Dave started out as a mild mannered and unassuming softball player and construction worker,  who until his incarceration resided in Key West. Florida. He was honored in his former home state of Minnesota for his accomplishments on the field, and is rumored to have been inducted into softball's version of the Hall of Fame. I have no idea whether this was a local or national award. Regardless, here he is at some type of function held in his honor-

Halls of fame in any sport are usually a rogue's gallery of villains who have participated in all manner of nefarious skulduggery off the field, and Cuba Dave is no different. Whether he will have this honor stripped in absentia is yet to be determined, but his legal problems certainly are a black eye for the sport. Back to the predicament at hand. A while after his divorce, Dave began trolloping for whores in Cuba (so much for Americans not being able to travel freely in that country) and accumulated over 40 trips until he wore out his welcome. It's not inconceivable that someone from the Castro government had a word with him on his last outbound flight and was probably told nunca to come back. 

He then took his talents to the North Coast of the Dominican Republic and began updating his various social media accounts, showering his adoring public with live, on-the-spot video reports that rankled the motherfuckers in charge of shit in the little whore town of Sosua. He even had the fucking audacity of having some sort of meet-and-greet, replete with a banner announcing his presence (refreshments served!!!), like some asshole doing a book tour. His easy-going demeanor earned him a hero's backlash that reverberated all throughout the whoremongering world. Adult entertainment establishments like PMP and Passion's, an institution in Sosua for over ten years, were shut down, never again to open. The owner of Passion's, German expat Peter Jensen, was charged with trafficking women for purposes of sexual exploitation and was, along with his wife, thrown in jail for three months pending charges of human trafficking and other illicit crap*.

*(It is worth noting that countries like the Dominican Republic follow the Napoleonic Code, Anyone arrested for anything is considered guilty until proven innocent, which is why three months detention in a third world shithole is par for the course for anyone unfortunate enough to get busted, and why anyone who lives there will tell you if you get into an automobile accident, even if it's not your fault, your best bet is to leave the scene, especially if you're a tourist or an expat. The other reason is that if you are arrested and there is any damage, YOU will be responsible for whatever got fucked up, and if you hurt someone you will owe the family money that MUST be paid or you will NOT be able to leave the country.)

Here is Cuba Dave frolicking with the chicas of Sosua, Dominican Republic-

Cuba Dave, keeping it on the down-low (NOT!!!)-

On his last trip to Sosua, Cuba Dave posted a cryptic video message that was difficult to analyze from the lack of details provided. From what we've gathered, he ran into a circumstance where he was extorted by one of his birdies who was in cahoots with the local police. He then left town (after paying quite a bit of cash to NOT go to jail) and never returned. He was duly blamed for causing the mayhem he left behind, and many business owners are still pissed at him for the job he did of blowing up their spots and putting Sosua on blastola. The town is currently undergoing changes which many business owners are not happy with, and the beginnings can be traced to Cuba Dave's internet antics. There are other political and financial forces at play as well, but Dave certainly did not help.

He was actually detained by the authorities when he flew back to Florida, and had all of his electronic equipment confiscated, which was later returned. This should have given him a hint that he was under surveillance, but again he did not heed to warning and continued on to Costa Rica to resume his pathetic shtick. Here is a photo of Cuba Dave's crap that was bagged and tagged by the US customs officers-

He used to give his hapless legion of loser fanboys "tips" from the comfort of his abode, a room in his apartment where the walls were covered with photos of his "conquests". Were these young women happy about this? Did he even get their permission? Thanks to Cuba Dave, it was now possible to visually sample the wares so cats making a trip would know who to look for, so in his mind he was doing these women a complete solid. The important thing about this lifestyle is discretion, which is what homeboy violated. Many young women do not want this type of information out there for all to see. They may not want their families knowing what they are doing. They usually tell their parents they are doing promotions for a club in a tourist area, or are working as a waitress in a bar or restaurant. Far too many have foreign boyfriends who send them money via Western Union. These men are derisively referred to around the home office as LDP's-Long Distance Pendejos. The women tell these guys they are home reading the bible when they are actually out on the strip looking for dates. They usually take umbrage at some moron trying to "big them up" on the internet if any of these scenarios are the case.

In the lair of the beast, with photos of all the girls he's "loved" before-

So after he gets sent packing from the Dominican Republic, where to next for our hero? Why Costa Rica, of course. He began where he left off, with videos talking up the hotels that will let you take a prostitute into your room for free, and restaurants and bars catering to the scene, According to him, he was doing Costa Rica tourism a favor and claimed he was NOT promoting prostitution, which is illegal in Costa Rica due to a new law that was passed shortly before he started his shenanigans. On September 4, 2015, he was picked up at the airport while attempting to fly back home and was taken away in handcuffs by a squad of police officers that had been monitoring his online persona. He will be the first foreigner charged with violating this new law, and the whole case will be a template for similar cases going forward. Because Cuba Dave is an American citizen, he was held because he was a flight risk. For the sake of clarification, prostitution is LEGAL in Costa Rica. Promoting the country as a sex tourism destination is NOT, and this is what this law intends to address.

Cuba Dave being unceremoniously escorted to the Hoosegow in Costa Rica-

While incarcerated, you'd figure this idiot would chill the fuck out. But nooooooooooo. Instead of exhibiting remorse and regret for offending the sovereign nation of Costa Rica in exchange for leniency, he had one of his friends put up a site called"freecubadave.com" in which he refers to himself as a "political prisoner". The writer rants about the rampant corruption of the Costa Rican judicial system, which I'm sure did not endear Dave to his captors, who I'm sure are still monitoring anything related to Cuba Dave on the internet. Note to anyone out there-next time you find myself in trouble in a foreign country and you do not have the requisite funds to pay your way out of prison, DO NOT take to the airwaves to insult the government of the country who is holding you as an involuntary guest. "Tragate la maldita lengua", show some contrition, and live to monger another day.

Inmate at San Sebastian-

The five-star accommodations available at San Sebastian do not include wi-fi or coin-operated washing machines- 

Along with being a platform for his fucking too-stupid-to-be-believed diatribes against the Costa Rican judicial system, Cuba Dave is also using the site to solicit funds for his defense. He was initially held in San Sebastian prison, which incredibly, has been slated for closing due to poor conditions and overcrowding. Again, for a proper perspective, this prison must have been Dante's Inferno if it's considered so bad it's being shuttered, given the quality of typical Latin American slammers. After a few months he was placed in a facility for aging criminals, where life is not as harsh. Though no date has been announced, his trial is coming up very soon.

We have a  few questions as to this whole mess, which no doubt will go unanswered, but hey, what are you gonna do...

1) Someone who has taken so many whoremongering trips MUST have some sort of disposable income, His story that he's nothing but a humble day laborer in the construction business simply does not make sense, not at his age and not with the amount of trips he's taken. At one point, he was taking a mongering trip once a fucking month. Working class dudes can't front that combination of free time and cash from paycheck to check. We here at "Busting Chops" have known our share of men who have dedicated their time and money to this so-called "hobby", and to a man they all have loot they do not admit having. Some mongers are your run-of-the-mill front artists and liars. That's the type of cat this particular game attracts. This hobby is all about having time and money to travel and spend on whores. You need plenty of both. No way Cuba Dave was living paycheck to paycheck. So why solicit money from the general public and claim you're broke with so much at stake?

A) Because he's mentally ill, miserly, and wants people to feel sorry for him.

B) He wants someone else to foot the bill for his problem so the money he DOES have stashed away he can spend on more mongering trips when he gets out.

C) He's an asshole with an egregious sense of entitlement who is also in denial*.

(*If you chose all three, you are correct.)

Cuba Dave in Key West, Florida-

Cuba Dave on a construction site, working hard to save money for his next trip-

Cuba Dave cuts a semi-athletic figure. Not bad for a geriatric schmuck in his golden years. He looks more robusto than you're average 65-year old man, despite the crocodilian skin tone. That's because for the last few years he's been taking a steady cocktail of steroids. This is what's given him the stamina to travel so much and bang so many prostitutes. From what I know about these drugs, his regimen would have had to include testosterone and HgH. I can only assume his supply was impossible to get while in jail, At his age, this would affect his endocrine system tremendously, leading to depression and a wholesale change in his physical appearance for the worse. Given the fact that a man his age has had to endure such harsh conditions while in jail, it could very well be that his mongering days are over. Sixty-five is not the age where someone can just pick up life where they left off if they were mongering hardcore like Cuba Dave and went through such a harrowing experience. Regardless of the outcome, he will no doubt be left scarred for the rest of his life.

Will he be able to continue working construction jobs, given that it's a young man's game? Highly doubtful. He'll have to settle for telling old war stories of his misadventures in some seedy Key West bar full of other septuagenarian has-beens and losers whose meaningless existence has added up to little or nothing of consequence. Some may dismay at what this delusional ass clown has decided to devote the very few remaining years of quality life left to him. Others see him as Captain America, a man falsely imprisoned who is fighting for his freedom from a corrupt third world banana republic that is hypocritically using him as a poster boy for a practice that is perfectly legal in their own country. I was told by someone who spoke with him in person that when in the Dominican Republic he was warned about keeping his stupid shit on the lowest of down-lows, but he didn't listen. He let his internet persona overtake the person, and the attention (such as it was) must have intoxicated him. Judging from his lack of tact in dealing with his situation post-arrest, he strikes me as an man caught up in his own persona, one he manufactured not to give other mongers pertinent information, but for shallow self-aggrandizement. I'm curious to see what happens at this kangaroo trial, where he will be the lead kangaroo. And the saddest part of all this is he did it to himself, with absolutely no encouragement or provocation from others.