Criterium Corner with Euro Freddie


Growing up on the boards of the velodrome, my father, Reddy Freddie, learned to be competitive at a very early age. Here’s an old photo of him as a tyke, drafting a derny with my grandfather, Neddie, at the controls. You could say I was born into a cycling family.

Like many youths of my generation, I dreamed of one day becoming the next Campionissimo. The honor, the adulation, the women... (snicker, snicker). A hero not unlike the decorated knights of yore riding victoriously upon a shiny (albeit rather emaciated) regal charger.

My US artist friend was somewhat of an artistic protégé as well, though he rather believes that competitive behavior is some sort of a social disease, contracted in dank sports bars and smelly locker rooms around the world. And I’ll have to admit I’ve seen my fair share of used drug paraphernalia littering the likes of such haunts.

You know, it all starts out innocently enough, with a bunch of your mates having fun racing as amatures, but with a growing fantasy of one day making it as a professional, you turn to the slippery slope of multi-vitamins. And it soon becomes very apparent that without PEDs, you will never reach the level of competition required to secure a contract with a professional UCI World Doping Team.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been 15 years since I have given my last confabulation. I have cheated with performance enhancing drugs (PEDs)... I have coveted another man’s testosterone... I have murdered my own liver!”

                                                   -  TO BE CONTINUED  -

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