2nd Annual Belgian Night

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2nd Annual Belgian Night

Post  JK on Tue Dec 04, 2007 12:20 pm

This Thursday, we gather in great solemnity to celebrate the Belgian culture.

Or, we would if Belgium had any culture. Call to mind Belgium’s location.

Stumped? Don’t be ashamed, even Belgians are murky on this point. Grab an atlas. It’s ok; I’ll wait. Now look. Belgium sits on the northern border of France, which is the place they invented those parts of culture that the Italians hadn’t beaten them to. But wait, Belgium is also the ass-end of the Netherlands, the place they invented commerce (and, for that matter, African slavery. Go Holland!). If you’re having trouble picturing this, imagine a country that is equal parts Saskatoon and Arkansas with the crackers on top and the Canuks beneath. Poor Belgium is naught but a layer cake made from the scrapings of superior societies. What little indigenous culture they have is that thin smear of icing in between, a ganache of ale, pommes frites, and waffles. The Flemish in the north, speaking their inbred, hick-talk version of Dutch, and the absurdly-named Walloons in the south would have long ago devolved into sectarian warfare were both peoples not in a constant alcohol-and-carbohydrate coma.

But wait! There is one shining light! No, not Brussels. That’s just Vienna without good pastry. Belgium is the home of cyclocross, a sport that, like its place of birth, is an uneasy mash-up of two very different cultures that is more fun when soused.

We hope you enjoy Belgian Night.

Amy, Jeremy, and Simon


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Belgian Night 2006

Post  BikeBeth on Tue Dec 04, 2007 1:29 pm

For those who missed the 1st Edition, a recap:

DEC. 7, 2006: Fifth Street Cross Belgian Night — courtesy of Katz Family Catering and Entertainment — had frites, fritesauss, waffles, chocolate, tasty ales, frigid temps, snow flurries and more 3-D SurroundSound scratch-and-sniff Pig-Dog humping than ever before.
That’s what they call a success in the land of cobbles and cow poo.
As BN co-host Amy was announcing the start of the final race in Flemish — either that or choking on a snail with a head cold that had swallowed its tongue after crawling into her throat — she told a cute little story: The first time she came to Fifth Street Cross, last year, what she saw seemed so comical, obscene, wrong and yet beautiful as to be an affront to all things humanity strives for — so, naturally, she told us, she thought that I had made the sport up . . . and that it was called “cross” because we rode “across the yard.”
I make stuff up all the time, but cyclocross, unfortunately, isn’t one of those things.
Yozell invented cross.
The rest of us are just trying to ride in his image.

You know who’s racing to salvation these days? Frigging Eddy. Change a guy’s name — from a humiliating and debasing moniker based on a jersey only a ignorant, style-free, colorblind jackass would wear — to one that pays homage to Merckx and look what happens: The dude uncorks an effort in the late race that sees him finish on the lead lap.
And WTF is up with Neyen, who’s gone from First Human to All-Too-Human?
Someone change that guy’s name.
Neyen also did that scary-as-hell thing last night where he drops his bike at the finish, won’t speak to anyone, walks deliberately into the bike shop, changes gloves, strides back to his bike, picks it up, clicks in — still without one word — and rides off.

Other quick highlights — because we have to get on to the big news — Steak gave his best effort of the season to cross the line first in the Langzaam division of the early race, only to be defeated by PBR-savant Plunkett, who realized just before crossing the line that one can was left for the taking. It's not so much that Steak is disheartened that such a supreme physical effort is all for naught, but he feels that Plunkett, insensitively, did not take his feelings into account before winning . . . Joachim was late for his TT start, which just about anyone would have put money on . . . Shut out of the victories, Lath was seen post-race staring longingly at the cognac swirling in Plunkett’s snifter . . . Maintaining my tradition of totally jacking up the awards presentation, I forgot to announce — and reward — Emily for her women’s victory in the Langzaam division of the early race . . . Taus wears the leader’s jersey . . . When Simon, who was holding the bell, began jumping around, inadvertantly giving the racers a false “last-lap” call, it was really cute — for the spectators. For the racers, maybe not so much . . . Tabloids are reporting that the Pig Dog/Duke romance seems to be entering a new phase, in which the power balance has shifted and Pig Dog (who has been photographed numerous times over the past week sans panties) appears to be luring Duke. In the spirit of Bennifer and Brangelina, let’s call this celebrity match-up “Puke” . . . Beth figured out that you losers have raced 1,326 laps around my yard . . . Bowman is the laps leader, with 80 — go ahead, just try to imagine the emptiness of the guy’s life.


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