There is a man. A man of mystery, daring and danger. This is not a story about that man.
This is a story of the caped avenger who patrols the dusty, muddy, rutted and bumpy cyclocross courses of this land, deflating egos with his sharp wit, then reinflating them with his awful bike handling skills. He is...
He is friend to the underdog.
Ok, undermouse.
He is the champion of the gender-confused.
And when he senses peril...or beer...yeah mostly when he senses beer... he flies into action!
Of course, he is not without nemises. Those terrifying creatures who dwell in the dirt and grime, their claws reaching up to pull unwary crossers down into their grimy hell.
Seriously. Yikes.
Yet he does it for those who love him without reservation...
...as well as those who have any number of reservations on the subject.
His identity is a well-guarded secret.
Mostly by everyone's indifference, but hey, a secret is a secret.
Nor is he bothered by the popularity of his more famous friends, like Minnie...
...and Popeye.
An editorial digression. Popeye? For Sean? Come on, that's just not right.
He is always there, ready to crush the spirits of those who take cyclocross seriously. Bastards. They deserve it. And so he lurks. And broods. And then lurks some more, until the last race is run. Or until it's time for a massage, and then he's leaving and to hell with the rest of you.
So long, YS Man. So long.
Frank Lazlo
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