At first we figured that Mr. Armstrong should be commended for racing minus a testicle, but when we stopped and thought about it, we wondered what difference one testicle would really make in a sporting contest. Though John Updike could probably write a novella about this supposed lack of masculinity, he is not on the editorial board of deadman/party and we don’t count living a new life as Juan Bahl an achievement worthy of a beer. But, beating cancer is cause enough to put the highball on us, much less beating cancer, going on to win the most prestigious bicycle race in the world seven fucking times in a row and then retiring only to return after a few years of selling bracelets with the goal of winning the next available Tour.
Unfortunately, he is from Texas, counts Geroge W. Bush among his friends, gives a very awkward interview and was engaged to that useless flap of skin, Sheryl Crow. Then again, anyone who has to spend more than 3 minutes in the company of that screechy waste of space deserves a shot. How about a beer in celebration of the break-up and the ensuing courtship of a 21-year-old?
We know that any man willing to ride a tall bike with the crusty, smelly artists who create them would not be above sharing a few Lone Stars with us. He has also been spotted in the T-shirt of everyone’s favorite cycling shit-talker Bike Snob NYC (who would be the subject of a beering if we weren’t convinced he was a nebulous cloud of gas), which proves that Mr. Armstrong can, at the very least, read and has a sense of humor. Two things that make for an excellent drinking companion. So let us raise one high and toast your soon to be eigth Tour de France win. USA! USA!