I grew up in PA... a state that for its relatively large size has few redeeming qualities. True, it's no Missouri or Kansas, but it's not Tuscany either. People in PA seem a little stranger than most people. Not Wisconsin strange, mind you, but church-going, mousy hair, and 90's Billy Joel strange.
Then along came Floyd Landis. Yeah his look said Pennsylvania, but his heart said Xanadu. When the going got tough and he was embarrassed in a brutal mountain stage, losing improbable amounts of time and blowing his lifelong dream, Floyd fought back and did the impossible. He took off at the beginning of the race the next day and went on a spectacular solo ride that was unprecedented in the 100+ year history of the sport.
It wasn't the drugs... it was the Jack Daniels. Right Floyd?
Everyone knows there is synthetic testosterone in Jack Daniels. Right Floyd?
Those French bastards are just mad because Americans have won the tour so often and they haven't won in like 25 years. Right Floyd?
Ah gee. Say it ain't so, Floyd.
Well actually it really looks like you cheated now Floyd.
And there is something weird about you. That weird facial hair thing you got going on... like you are a Lancaster, PA Mennonite trying to look California Cool (or maybe at least Arizona minor league baseball cool).
And those awful press shots that kept coming every day. I won't tell you that I used to chase poor Ingrid around the house with pictures of you screaming "Kiss me, I love you, I'm Floyd Landis and I love you."
And now instead of the best bike racer in the world... you are now Floyd the Unemployed.
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