Say it ain’t so, Floyd. Say it ain’t so.

First Harold Reynolds, now another American hero is caught in the turmoil of scandal. Floyd Lanids, everyone’s favorite Mennonite has been suspended from his team after testing positive for an unusual amount of testosterone after Stage 17 of the Tour de France (the stage where he made his incredible comeback). Landis is going to ask for the B sample he gave at the end of the stage to be analyzed in order to prove there was a mistake or that the high level of testosterone was caused by a natural process (Landis, being American, has bigger balls than most other cyclists, this could have lead to the unusual testing levels.) Landis’ team, Phonak, out of Switzerland, is comfirming the report and leaves me with no reason take a cheap shot at the French. So that sucks (like the French!).

The World Can’t Stop US, They Can Only Hope To Contain US

As if the French didn’t have enough to worry about.

Their national hero, and badass extraordinaire, Zinedine Zidane had been banned by FIFA for three games, three games he would have never played anyhow, for his deliciously vicious headbutt in the World Cup Final. They didn’t need much more grief. The Tour de France was set to be a reminder of how great French sport could be. They could even find solace in the fact that they wouldn’t be dominated by Lance Armstrong since he had retired and was moonlighting as an award show host. So, imagine how the cycling enthusiasts felt when another American with a serious health issue cruised down the Camps Elysee with champagne on his lips, celebrating victory in their nation’s proudest event. Floyd Landis of the U.S. of A. took the lead and pretty much secured the victory in a time trial just days after what should have been a monumental collapse in the sixteenth stage. If the surgery on his hip does end his cyling career, I suppose this is a good way to go out. I’m guessing the wine wasn’t so smooth and the cheese was a little more foul than normal yesterday afternoon in the French capital.

Speaking of Americans triumphing on someone elses territory. Tiger did it again. For the third time Tiger proved he could play links golf better than anyone else in the world. The British Open is supposed to diminish the use of the driver, Tiger’s money maker. So what does he do? He takes out the two iron and carves up Royal Liverpool. Not even purple flour bombs could stop Tiger, who shot 16 under for his 11th major title, the first without his Dad, who died after the Masters, waiting behind the 18th green. An emotional Woods showed he was human while crying in the embrace of his caddy. Chris DiMarco, also mourning the loss of a parent, proved that despite growing up playing the Links style, the Europeans are not up to the challenge Americans impose (unless its the Ryder Cup, then the Euros play us like a drum).