Lance Armstrong has been accused, yet again, of doping before and even during races. This is not a new situation for the cocky Texan. It’s happened before in books (David Walsh’s L.A. Confidentiel) and by other riders like Greg LeMond (a Tour de France winner himself). Even friends (Betsy Addreu, wife of former teammate, Frankie Andreu) have alleged Armstrong did not win races by sheer force of talent, skill and superhuman endurance. They all say he had a little help, from blood transfusions in mid-race to performance-enhancing drugs. And some say he provided and encouraged teammates to do the same. Nothing has ever stuck to lance Armstrong except winning. Not even cancer. So I’ll give him that.
Now comes Floyd Landis, a past teammate and friend who alleges all of the above and more – and admits to doing it all himself as well. The difference between those same old yearly allegations and the ones Landis is hurling now is the heat that accompanies legal attention by the FDA’s criminal division. Landis is cooperating with the Feds in an investigation headed by Jeff Novitzy who ran the BALCO case.
Novitzy has chased athletes like Marion Jones, Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. Steroid allegations stuck to Bonds and Clemens. Jones went to jail for bank fraud. Novitzy, playing the role of a Elliot Ness, wants to know if controlled substances were paid for by the $10 million or so doled out to the United States Postal Service sponsorship of Armstrong’s cycling team (which was owned by Armstrong and Tailwind Sports).
In a text message to a friend, Landis said flat out: “Big Tex is going to jail.” I would think it is safe to say that Armstrong has un-friended Landis on Facebook.
Stories like this are why I love sports. It provides so much more than the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Sports combines more back-stabbing high drama, comedy, thievery, cheating, sex scandals, drug dealing, injuries and murder than anything on prime time, or DVD or in movie theaters. It gives us heroes and villains, saints and assholes, all practicing good, evil and every smelly, sordid nasty bit in between. Sports shows us at our best as human beings and at our worst as scum of the earth, all at the same time and sometimes in the same game. And, there’s $10 hotdogs, $9 beer and big screens as big at my house.
When was the last time you saw someone shave a logo into their chest hair, paint themselves a team color and act like an escapee from a mental institution, and pay $375 for a plastic seat to do it on national TV? You can see it every damned night. Sports started a long time ago in Greece and never ends. It’s 24-7, 8 days a week, with skimpily-dressed girls, feeble, rich owners, thick-necked pontificators and has-been commentators. These announcers invent more words and butcher the English language worse than I do. And we love every minute of it.
After reading about Lance Armstrong and these recent allegations, all I could think of was how I loved to ride my bike as a kid. I rode that cheap chunk of Sears metal 9 hours a day in the summer, rain or shine and until I froze to the handlebars in winter. I could jump ramps and do tricks and pop wheelies and snap a 360º on the front tire with my ass in the wind like a sail. I loved riding that bike. And no one paid me one nickel to do it. I did it for free. That’s where I was stupid.
If I could have gotten some blood transfusions and drugs to help me ride harder, faster and longer, perhaps I could have had twice the fun and become a millionaire. But at the end of the day, we’re talking about guys who ride bicycles, for god’s sake. Bicycles!
I’m not saying Lance Armstrong took drugs or sucked his own blood. I have no idea. He has been Superman for years and I would hate to think that he is really more like Iron Man instead – flying with a little help from his friends. But if you have to cheat to win a damned bicycle race, you best be getting into NASCAR and at least have 800 horsepower under the pedal to jack up your competition.
