I don’t think he has any obligation to go away because people hate him.
In particular, Kevin Bacon is delightful playing a character who runs the UCI; he at once drips with absurdity and bears some unmistakable resemblance to the idiosyncratic Hein Verbruggen, the former UCI president who died last month. Abrams, and Joe Buck all take decent swipes at bicycle comedy, too.
Mike Tyson has a memorable cameo as a closeted cycling fan who discovered his aptitude for fighting through a bike incident. The cycling footage is less believable than that in the Armstrong biopic is going for easy laughs, and it often succeeds.
takes sloppy punches at the sport’s governing body and anti-doping agency; stages an elaborate set piece that mocks Armstrong’s infamous interview with Oprah Winfrey; and cracks jokes about blood doping, motor doping, lying dopers, honest dopers, and dopes in bad spandex.
I found this sort of comedy considerably thornier than watching a piece of cinema that exaggerates the idiotic pretensions of the Westminster Dog show, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t laugh out loud.
Can a sport make its most passionate fans laugh and cry at the same time?
Is a joke about a light-colored spandex cycling kit ever not funny?
Numerous athletes who have been caught doping have offered public, harebrained explanations for their positives.
I have loved pro cycling with all of my heart for decades, but at times it can seem like a living, breathing caricature of a professional sport.
A familiar thicket of questions arises: Can anyone win without cheating?
Are we watching just for the competition, or is the circus part of the appeal?
But now we arrive at the obligatory portion of this story in which the writer thinks deeply about Lance Armstrong’s role in this mess.