The real British Cycling scandal

So that’s Shane Sutton back to Team Sky then, and Team GB without a technical director 100 days ahead of the Olympic Games in Rio. Not that we should worry too much about that because there’s still only an outside chance the olympic velodrome will even be built in time.

More has been written about Sutton in the past 24 hours than perhaps in his entire career. Most of which states the obvious - here is a blunt-talking Australian with a propensity for swearing and being politically incorrect.

There’s actually no need to read anything about Shane Sutton to draw that conclusion. Just watch a Foster’s advert. That sums Australians up in 90 seconds. 

But these allegations around the Team GB regime are deflecting attention from the real scandal, namely: WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THAT NEW KIT?

It’s as if the entire Team GB had been decorating their common room or wherever they hang out with navy paint and then Shane Sutton comes in and starts shouting obscenities and someone drops the tin from the top of a ladder and SPLAT! Everyone is coated in navy paint from the bottom up and at that precise moment, in totters Stella McCartney, probably with a fag, seeing as we’re stereotyping and she’s a fashion designer and says, “OK guys, here’s the thing, I need some ideas for the new … hang ON …” and she stops, mid drag, surveys the navy paint devastation. “Don’t move!” she says, “Holy shet! That’s it, nailed right there! We need to document!! iPhone someone! Chop chop!”

And they’re all standing there, Team GB - the BMXers, the track cyclists, Wiggo and Cav looking moody, Tom Daly in his Speedos, as Dulux navy emulsion forms puddles around their feet, all afraid to move even an inch because they’ve been battered into full and absolute conformity by the Shane Sutton regime and his politically incorrect outbursts like a load of Reeks from Game of Thrones while Stella shuffles off in her Loubs to find an assistant with a mobile phone.

And then someone, probably Cav, because he’s a troublemaker, says, “I don’t like it,” while he looks down at his navy paint-caked lower torso and a mutter of dissent in the ranks becomes a mumble and then a groan and someone else says, “I’m not wearing it.”

Then Shane Sutton bursts into the room because he nipped out for a Tim Tam and yells “You’ll wear the kit if you want to be in the squad you lousy whingeing poms, I’m sick of your bullshit, you’re like a bunch of Sheilas on the gin!”

“But it’s not fair,” says a voice, and Sutton’s looking around the room, unable to place its source. “Who said that?” he demands, “WHO SAID THAT?”

“Me,” says the voice, pushing herself through the navy paint in her wheelchair.”

“Well you can shut up too!” And get off your arse for once, sitting around all day. You’ll end up like that …" he pauses, deep in thought, scratches his chin. "Varnish! That’s what the design needs, a glossy finish! Where's Stella? I’ve got to tell Stella!”

And with that Sutton dashes out of the room to tell Stella McCartney, who is still looking for an iPhone.

The scandal begins.

PS: Before you all kick off, THIS DID NOT ACTUALLY HAPPEN. A navy common room? Come on. Hague Blue all the way.