Open Letter: Floyd Landis

Dear Floyd,

Forgive us, but we don't yet know how we feel about your (alleged) doping. Part of us is (allegedly) furious, because cheating is just plain wrong, unless you are Hugh Grant and it is 1995, in which case cheating is both wrong and totally irrational.

On the other hand, you've stuck an extremely sharp stick in the effette and ineffectual hornet's nest that is French national indignation.

We (allegedly) respect that.

The real problem, though, is that we don't know Floyd Landis from a steroid-fueled hole in the wall, and you're short-circuiting our "are we in this guy's corner" scorecard. To wit:

Overcome physical adversity? Check, but a bum hip ain't exactly cancer of the dingleyams.

Look like a regular, good time guy? You look like Kid Rock, if Kid Rock had turned out the way Kid Rock's mother always wanted. That might be regular, but it's hard to find the good.

Underdog? Well, you were going to be until Jan Ullrich and Ivan Basso unexpectedly dropped out of the race... because of doping.

Unpredictable facial hair? Okay... we'll give you that one.

But you can see how we might be conflicted.

Give us something, here, Floyd. Give us a sign if we should hate you or love you. Donate your Tour winnings to charity, leave your wife for an aging pop rocker (might we suggest Meredith Brooks?). Anything. But do it quick, because when we get into slurred, drunken debates about you this weekend, we want to know where we stand.

(Allegedly).

Best,

PopChronic