Thursday, April 8, 2010

the evolution of team kit!

Evolution is a slow and laborious process spanning many millennia. Or so we are assured by the white coated messiahs of our modern age.

Of course there are other views on the matter, intelligent design, alien invasion, or complex multi-verse existences instantly spanning all feasible and not so feasible potentialities across infinite arrays of being.

Ever heard the one about the monkey sitting at a type writer randomly typing out the complete works of Shakespeare? Some physicists say its already happened somewhere in some alternate existence, but I mean what a waste of an opportunity, when Dr Seuss would have been so much quicker and ultimately more meaningful.

anyway where am i going with all this?

yes the evolution of team kit.... or is it just another excuse to use that image of the monkey i like so much? ( i mean there are just so many things wrong with it where would one start?)

I guess once upon a time things and options were a lot simpler. you had your monkey, you tailored a suit and hand crafted a custom bike for him to sit on then took an image with your folding plate box camera, you picked up from shoppers drug mart.

you didn't have to wrestle with the plethora of obtuse asymmetric cuts available with modern fabric, or the full spectrum of either human emotions or the Haus of Kolor paint charts when figuring out your new team paraphernalia.

And back then of course the principle players were content with a damp corner to sit in whilst they scraped the grit from under their dermis, post
race, and a bike to share between the lot of them. (if they were from one of the fancy Italian pro tour teams).

"a bike!!!?? , a bloody bike!!!?? We were lucky if we had tires, you poncy twat! Most of time as a domestique, i had to stretch my intestines round a broken milk bottle for a wheel [for the captain] and imagine the rest....and that were just for the provincials!!!"

Of course with the advent of polymer plastics and women's lib that all changed, and now wimpy spoilt
bleached haired rouleur's, endlessly rant about how much better things were in the early 90's before the UCI shut down the party and we had Byrd's custard for blood.

you could have Zebra strip full body suits and ride a multi million dollar
space ship in the guise of clark kent, with a crit count of 102%, so long as you had the money, the backing and a desire never to stand still or lie down for longer than 2 seconds

So where AM i going with all this????

oh yes team kit..evolution. choice choice choice.

the modern mantra, dark and menacing.

never satisfied drinking the salt water of consumer-isms

so where was i going with all this...?

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