Britain's Simon Yates

Britain's Simon Yates claimed his maiden Tour de France stage win with a shrewd victory on stage 12.

Yates outsprinted Pello Bilbao and Gregor Muhlberger in a technical finish in Bagneres-de-Bigorre after the trio had broken clear with 32km remaining.


He has now won stages at all three Grand Tours, having previously won at the Giro d'Italia and Vuelta a Espana.

Frenchman Julian Alaphilippe retained the yellow jersey as he finished in the peloton, with Geraint Thomas second.

Defending champion Thomas is 72 seconds behind Alaphilippe but will have the opportunity to reduce that deficit in Friday's 27km time trial in Pau.

"I am very proud," said Yates. "Hopefully there is more to come."

Vuelta champion Yates is riding the Tour to help his twin brother Adam's general classification ambitions.

However, after losing more than an hour in the overall standings during the first 10 stages the Mitchelton-Scott rider took his chance to claim individual glory.

"I've been saving energy until we got here in the mountains and this was the first chance to try something," Yates added.

"Normally I would be back helping Adam but I had my own chance and grabbed it with both hands."

Education First's Simon Clarke led solo on the final climb of the day, La Hourquette d'Ancizan, before he was reeled in by Yates' team-mate Matteo Trentin within 5km of the summit.

Yates bridged across with a select group from the remainder of a 40-man breakaway and dropped everyone except Muhlberger before Bilbao joined them near the top and the trio worked together to establish a decisive gap on the descent.

As they arrived in Bagneres-de-Bigorre, Yates initially held back before surging to the front for a near 90-degree left-hand turn with 150 metres to go and kicked again to hold off Bilbao - who Adam Yates picked for victory in his stage guide - with Muhlberger third.

"I wasn't very confident of beating either of them as I didn't know how fast they are," said Simon Yates.

"But my director said I had to be in front coming round the last corner so I made sure I did that and thankfully held on to win."

The peloton rolled in nine and minutes 35 seconds down on Yates, with none of the general classification contenders attempting any attacks before Friday's time trial and two tough mountain stages at the weekend.

"We were expecting something to happen on the final climb but nothing materialised," Thomas told ITV4.

"Everyone is mindful of the next three days, which are going to be big for the GC. I'll go all out in the time trial and see where it puts me."

World time trial champion Rohan Dennis, who had been one of the favourites for Friday's stage, abandoned the Tour in mysterious circumstances with 80km to go on stage 12.

The Australian Bahrain-Merida rider would not speak to journalists at his team bus when asked why he had withdrawn.

"Our priority is the welfare of all our riders so we will launch an immediate investigation but we will not be commenting further until we have established what has happened to Rohan Dennis," said Bahrain-Merida in a statement.

Stage 12 result

1. Simon Yates (GB/Mitchelton-Scott) 4hrs 57mins 53secs

2. Pello Bilbao (Spa/Astana Pro Team) Same time

3. Gregor Muhlberger (Aut/BORA-hansgrohe)

4. Tiesj Benoot (Bel/Lotto-Soudal) +1min 28secs

5. Fabio Felline (Ita/Trek-Segafredo) Same time

6. Matteo Trentin (Ita/Mitchelton-Scott)

7. Oliver Naesen (Bel/AG2R La Mondiale)

8. Rui Costa (Por/UAE Team Emirates)

9. Simon Clarke (Aus/EF Education First)

10. Jasper Stuyven (Bel/Trek-Segafredo)

General classification after stage 12

1. Julian Alaphilippe (Fra/Deceuninck-Quick-Step) 52hrs 26mins 9secs

2. Geraint Thomas (GB/Team INEOS) +1min 12secs

3. Egan Bernal (Col/Team INEOS) +1min 16secs

4. Steven Kruijswijk (Ned/Team Jumbo-Visma) +1min 27secs

5. Emanuel Buchmann (Ger/BORA-hansgrohe) +1min 45secs

6. Enric Mas (Spa/Deceuninck-Quick-Step) +1min 46secs

7. Adam Yates (GB/Mitchelton-Scott) +1min 47secs

8. Nairo Quintana (Col/Movistar Team) +2mins 4secs

9. Daniel Martin (Ire/UAE Team Emirates) +2mins 9secs

10. Thibaut Pinot (Fra/Groupama-FDJ) +2min 33secs

Author's Notes/Comments: 
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(Verse 1)

I’m the goal that you think you’re gonna score

A little bit of teasing got ya pleading for more (Yeah Yeah)

If you end up a loser no need to be sore (No No Nooo)


Givin’ up on trying to get me to stay

Like it was gonna happen anyway

You’ve run out of dumb lines to say

Well save em’ for a rainy day


I’m the judge and you’re the case

What you’re true intentions are it’s time to investigate

You wanna play hardball then step up to the plate

Cause we both know you’re just trying to get to third base



Tryna go camping in my spot

With that tent in your shorts

Tryna get your ball in my court

Well you must love games

Cause you tryna play sports

Somebody call the referee

Cause I gotta and I wanna (Wanna) hear that whistle blow

You really think you can handle me

Well we'll just have to wait and see


(Verse 2)

You wanna touchdown so baby go long

Now come on and show me what you got (Got)

It's a foul if you hit it wrong

Can ya get it can ya get it up (Up)

Like a jockey yeah giddy up (Aye!)


Like tennis

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Warning: Young poets read at your own risk. A raunchy about how men and women (but mostly guys I think use sports euphemisms when referr to or talking about sex or sexual encounters.


The walking men

They are walking. They have been walking so long by now that they could not stop doing it, just like one cannot stop breathing. Among them there is him, the new one, the one that does not understand exactly why he is doing it and has to trust blindly in the word of the older, wiser in the art, of the group.

He carries a big, heavy backpack, by this time it is a part of him just like his heart, brain or other organ, and not an extra weight. It really is a part of him, it is the thing that maintains him alive in that harsh environment. He could survive the journey without an arm, but not without a backpack. Before they started the walking one of the wiser men of the group told him: “watch out very carefully your backpack, up there anyone can do anything to take it from you”.

Now they are walking through a straight, very clear trail that goes beyond sight. He is kind of surprise, they have not going through a road like this, surely they have not lost the track until now but the trails had always been sort of wavy and not totally clear. He thought they had lost the track a couple of times because of the conditions of the road. So this new situation gives him something to think about.

They continue walking and suddenly the straight, very clear path vanishes away and just a series of tight, unorganized bushes is left. A feeling of fear and insecurity empowers him. “Great, what nature gives nature takes, why does this surprise me?”, he thinks. He is expecting for someone to speak up and tell that everything is going to be okay, but no one speaks or even moves they are all freeze. Short after, one of the wise men of the group takes methodically out a compass from a compartment of his backpack and uses it. Then he says calmly and with a soft voice: “is to the north”, and points in that direction. No one denies the instruction, and all of them start walking at the instant.

He is amazed, no one protests even though that is the steeper, least clear direction of all. “I surely would have said something if I was an older member of the group and knew more”, he thinks. But he does not have time to think deeper on what has happened because the group has started to walk again and he was started to being left back.

They keep going but it is hard. They have to push the bushes´ branches to be able to continue going in the right direction. Sometimes when he is pushing the braches they scratch the cloth of his clothes. He knows that under the clothes his skin might be bleeding; he can feel the pain. But he cannot stop, he must continue going with the group, loosing distance with the group in this place is dangerous, he can end up lost very easily.

Night starts falling over them and little by little each member of the group starts to turn on their head lamps. First the less experience of the group that are afraid to stumble with the loosey rocks and sticks of wood of the ground. Of course he was among them and his head lamp is turn on when there is still some daylight left. At the end when darkness occupies everywhere still can be seen some head lamps turning on of the more experience of the club.

The night passes and at the dawn he wonders when if ever they are going to get wherever they are going if even there is a destination. Not much time after this they reach a kind of old cabin in what seems to be the top of the mountain they were climbing. Outside the cabin the older of the group stop what makes all the group to stop. Then one of them says: “Here it is, we have arrived.” He cannot believe it. He feels a mixture of joy and surprise. By first time a smile is drawn in his face. He is so excited that he asks very loudly: “Now, what is next?” to one of the wise men of the group without thinking. “Now, …, now we go back”, he answer.



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My Grandfather's baseball card's Collection

My grandfather is one of the biggest fan of baseball game that I ever known, when he came to Monterrey to visit us, he always find time to go to the ball game from his favorite baseball team, Sultanes de Monterrey; he talks always about the things that are happening in the MLB. Throughout his whole life, he started to collect cards about everything that refers baseball; he has all types of cards, from the Major League Baseball, from the Mexican League and some stadiums. The cards are storage really well protected inside his security box, such cards have been part of our talks since I remember; my grandfather started to talk about his famous treasure; he told me that when he was young, he and his brother decided to play baseball in some type minor league team, he told us that he was one the worst players in his baseball team but my uncle Jorge played pretty well; yeah, my grandfather was bad at baseball, however he decided to continue in the game as a coach during a period of time, and then he discovers this special thing that full his life of happiness, when he get his first baseball card; a Yogi Berra card from the New York Yankees, his favorite US baseball team. In that moment he discovers his real passion and started to collect all kind of cards. He was really focused on getting each card he wanted. Then it came the time for the Christmas trip in 2010, when my family and I went to Aguascalientes, Mexico to celebrate the holidays with my grandfather and uncle. When we arrived, he started talking about the sports and of course his famous card collection; he went for his cards and shown them to all the family, the cards looked like new, like if time had not passed. I have the opportunity to touch and see them, at first, it was like there are only baseball cards, and they have no value. Until I discover that everyone in their life have something special that you feel identified. My grandfather is a really happy person as he described himself, because even though he was bad at baseball, he discovered the things that makes him feel special; finally he told me that he will give me his baseball cards collection when he passes away, because I am the only one that have the same feeling when speak about the ball game; in such particular moment I really understood how special things can be if you do it with real passion.

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Watching the words play on the page,

he begins to learn the rules of thier game.

He converses with the referees and officials,

known to most as grammar and punctuation.

He is introduced to the all the players,

but noun, verb, and adjective are the starters.

Eventually, he is confident enough to coach

his own team and becomes an author.

He develops his tactics and strategy,

and slowly his playbook thickens.

He wonders if one day he and his players can go

the distance and together become champions.

Such a wonder, that such a wondrous

world arose from twenty six scribbles

and a few meager symbols in between.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

A few thoughts on poetry.

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Hinting at greatness,

The young boy hurls

That ball, with blue flame

And fire chasing it.

In his exacting delivery,

He is surgically precise.

Like a cornered viper

In momentous moments,

Under preposterous pressure,

He is at his deadliest.

Anyone with knowledge

Of the game can see

His gift and potential.

The boy himself will

Soon realize his talent and,

Already his heart holds

The game in a vise like grip.

That combination, is his

And his family’s ticket

Out of their meager home.

He is a desolate spark of hope

In the pitch blackness.

Like a struck match he will

Illuminate the night.

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The Art of Swimming


An art.

Every muscle working together perfectly.

The timing is precise.

You anxiously wait on the starting block,

Every muscle tensed,

Blocking out all other sound and movement

Except for that one bang

That will release you from your prison.

The gun goes off

And you have a split second to react.

Too late,

Too bad.

Too early

And the race is already over for you.

You’re in the water.


Stroke, stroke.


Stroke, stroke.

Your lungs are burning

And your muscles are on fire.

The final lap.

You give it everything you have.

You fly through the water, barely breathing;

Your arms and legs moving out of control,

Yet perfectly timed.

You stretch towards the wall and surface.

Weak and gasping for breath

You pull your body out of the water

And wait for your next race

To start the art of swimming

Over again.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem when I was in high school.

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Ali! Ali! The air went wild,
After more than three years 'The Greatest' smiled.

Robbed of his right to box and beat challengers,
Muhammad Ali was wronged by 'law makers'.

After beating Zora Folley in 1967,
Muhammad Ali was betrayed and shaken...

...Up to the October of 1970,
When he was allowed to face Jerry Quarry.

Ali was the champion and everyone knew that,
Even though clumsy Frazier was wearing 'the hat'.

Thus the atmosphere on that October night,
Was full of boxing frenzy, very tense and tight.

Quarry was then the contendor number one,
To the throne of which was once Ali's kingdom.

With breaths held in awe, the first bell clanged,
Jerry Quarry charged, Ali laughed and danced.

Before Quarry could even land a blow,
Ali had ripped the defence of his foe.

Jabs and crosses, straight rights and lefts,
Followed by combinations made it a fistic fest.

Ali was supremely in command of the bout,
While Quarry knew that which was to come about.

From rounds one to three it was all Ali...Ali!
As rapier like fists opened a gash in Quarry.

His left eye was cut by Ali's barrage of punches,
Circling and taunting with Quarry on hunches.

Blood was pouring out like a red gushing stream,
Quarry's handlers were at last forced to scream.

As the third round ended the fight was stopped,
Quarry was whipped by the best man he fought!

And that memorable moment of October 1970,
Revived the legend of the great Muhammad Ali.

He was the "People's Champion", everyone knew that,
And in the coming times he proved the truth as a fact.

Whenever I watch the fights of Muhammad Ali,
I know a boxer like him wasn't and wouldn't be.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a poetic description of the first clash between boxers Muhammad Ali and Jerry Quarry which took place in October, 1970, in Atlanta, ending Ali's three years and eight months of forced, unfair expulsion from professional boxing.

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Toe to Toe

Face to face,
Toe to toe,
Neck to neck,
The whistle sounds go,
Head to head,
1 to nil,
Man to man,
Everything seems still.
He takes a shot,
Ball flies in air,
Corner of the net,
Cheer and despair.
60 seconds to go,
1 to 1,
Ball is passed,
Down the pitch they run.
A pass then shot,
Will the keeper fall?
The crowd cheers,
The game is called.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a poem about the sport I love (Soccer) written with English terminology. Comment please :)

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