Tour's Over, Life Recommences.

It happened last year too. For much of the month of July, I spent hours daily on the couch, slowly drifting from one level of consciousness to another and back again as the original field got whittled down and eventually left with one wearing yellow on the Champs-Elysees.

It's really all I want cable for. I can do without everything else, but watching the Tour De France is my Sunday football. What got all the headlines was dope, and legitimately so. But it didn't kill the tour. Real cycling fans know that drugs have been involved for years, and I personally welcome the hardass approach we saw this year. I wonder what baseball would be like if players were subjected to the same level of testing and the same consequences as riders on this year's tour.

The racing did not suffer from the controversy, and the French countryside from those incredible heli-shots is as breathtaking as can be. Unfortunately, the timing of the ejection of Michael Rasmussen, who held the yellow jersey until the final days when he was fired by his team in a flurry of circumstantial evidence, was less than satisfying. The winner, a young Spaniard named Contador, is a spectacular rider, but he didn't beat Rasmussen. He won by default, if you ask me, and that's just not satisfying.

So, great race, dumpy end. I'll be glued to a TV somewhere next year. Until then, I'll get a run in every once in a while and do a better job keeping up with my laundry.