Biking in France is peligroso

You can say that I have a comfort zone when it comes to the sports I watch on TV. My definite go to is soccer, followed by American football, followed by poker. Si, that's right. Poker is a sport.

Mi problema is that my options are limited late at night. I have tried to entertain myself watching those random strong man contests. You know what I'm talking about. The competition where men from Iceland and Latvia compete in seeing how far they can throw a three-hundred year old redwood forest, pull a Soviet-era aircraft carrier, or carry their mustached female family members through some sort of an obstacle course containing genetically modified rubber tires.

Do not get me wrong. I enjoy seeing a Belarusian throw an anchor over a brick wall as much as the next person, but at the end of the day it is similar to watching a hot dog eating contest. It gets old.

I consider myself to be an open minded Guatemalan. I try to give every sport a chance. Take cricket for instance. I now know what a googly is. Do I wish that I didn’t. Si. But that is not the point. If men want to dress up in white suits to hit a ball with a two by four then bless their little hearts. It is not for me, but still, bless their little two-by-four swinging little hearts.

This weekend I discovered that mi Linda had a channel called the Outdoor Life Network. It turns out that I had watched seconds of this channel in the past, but felt I wasn’t man enough to watch sun battered men shoot deer with semi-automatic weapons. Maybe someday…

Anyway, this French competition was on. I had avoided the Tour de France much like an Argentinean avoids a shower mainly because of ignorant belief that they would all be wearing those annoying yellow bracelets. It turns out that many of the participants find the yellow bracelets to be as annoying as I do, so, because of this, I decided to watch men ride bikes.

I must say that the event itself was interesting. It seems that all competitors suffer from a similar genetic disorder where hair fails to grow on their legs. Maybe they chose this over swimming…

Unfortunately, I was only able to watch one stage (this is the word for “quarter” in bike circles), because I saw something that scared me. When a biker wins a “stage” they get to stand on top of a podium of sorts and have their picture taken with long-legged women. Well, one of these bikers was very excited at having won that he was temporarily distracted by the fact that a chupa cabra was living in the groin area of his shorts! I have no idea how it is that this man, this athlete, was able to ride up and down hills with the chupa cabra sleeping in his shorts. A lay person may tell me that it was in fact an eel that was living in his shorts, but I know full well that eels cannot live out of the water. Come on. It's not an eel. It's a chupa cabra.

I apologize for maybe coming off seeming closed minded, but I cannot watch a sport where chupa cabras are so freely allowed to live in the shorts of men riding bikes. I tried, but I can’t.

I hate chupa cabras. Perhaps not as much as I hate the yellow bracelets, but I still hate them. If I see a chupa cabra, I will kick it. Even if it is living in the tight pants of a bike rider.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo