For those who have followed cycling closely over the past decade, and indeed those purported achievements of the supposed seven time Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong, it is like living a type of Groundhog Day all this week. Made even more Bull Murrayesque by the fact that the warts and all interview is being split over two nights, either to enhance the sense of drama, or bolster the advertising revenue opportunities. But whatever the reason the sense of over dramatization by the Oprah Network in the build-up to the transmission, and through the interview, all seems too stilted, chummy and superficial. More Hawaii Five-0 than CSI.
But perhaps as a punter I am jaded as cycling lost me many years ago and by the time the Festina team was discovered smuggling drugs into Ireland at the start of the 1998 Tour de France, I remember being was in a nice Paris hotel more worried about the World Cup semi-finals. The interest cycling long since lost, despite having lived in Spain for many years and seeing the good and the great over those years. Not least the lion-hearted Bernard Hinault from Brittany who battled up 1s and second category climbs in the Vuelta a Espana for his breakfast. Or watching Sean Kelly and Robert Millar competed in Criteriums across the Basque country three decades ago
Somehow though over the years the reality that a sportsman or woman can cycle for twenty odd days almost consecutively in the month July in the heat of France – through fitness and conditioning alone - started to stretch the imagination. Even to the degree that the stories of five time winner Miguel Indurain’s legendary cardio pulmonary capacity could not be fully explained when suddenly the performances of some lesser mortals started to encroach. A bit like the day Michael Jordan suddenly announced his first retirement to play Major League baseball in 1993, after having been the part of the Dream team at the Barcelona Olympics the previous years. That day a little of me died when MJ hung up his sneakers, with a number of unfunded stories purporting to explain what seemed like a hasty departure. A reaction that over the years came to encompass the Tour de France too, and so by the time it launched in Ireland I was happy to be miles away.
Not unlike like going to Disney World as a child and hearing the cast of Snow White use the f word. As a result the dream about certain sports legends over the years has been revisited with newly available evidence that forces one to readjust the mind-set. Not least in 1988 when in a bar in Atlantic City, New Jersey, cheering for the astounding victory of one Ben Johnson in the Seoul Olympics. The blistering pace leaving the US icon of the day – Carl Lewis in his slipstream – as the naturalised Jamaican burst out of his blocks. The celebration of the Canadian win and the lauding of Johnson’s’ sheer acceleration proving premature when he failed a post-race drugs test within twenty four hours.
In a way that influenced the thinking when the Irish example arose and Michele Smith’s results rang out when living in the USA, and away from the distraction of a jingoistic National media. All wrapped up in the dream of belief and going with the story, whoever incredulous it might have appeared from an uncontaminated stance sitting in Boston. As in life, the inexplicable does not really sit well in the human mind, as in the way we all doubt the paranormal. Si it in sport the unusual or bizarre events demand questions to be asked. Something never easy for anyone, not least journalist paddling upstream on a story and searching for truths - when everyone is merrily swimming with the currents of good news.
Being a whistle-blower is not a great place to be for anyone on whatever scale.
Therefore there is nothing but sheer admiration for the likes of Betsy Andreu, and husband Frankie, or Dubliner Emma O’Reilly, all of whom suffered and we would all nothing about if it was not for their courage. Coupled with the excellent journalism of David Walsh, of The Sunday Times. And indeed Paul Kimmage, who paid the highest consequences for his endeavours and at time, is rightly bitter about the experiences. Particularly now that the truth has come forth.
Having worked, out of choice, for Greg Lemond’s fitness bike company I did so because there was a firm belief that as a cyclist he had achieved his three Tour wins through no unnatural enhancements, based on more than my cursory research. It was all the more praiseworthy watching his comeback and sharing at times his heartbreak on TV at time trials against the now deceased Laurent Fignon. Seeing him recover from a hunting accident to add to his titles was nothing less than miraculous. Especially for a US cyclist as it was hardly a hotbed for the sport. But truly an American legend with his achievement passing almost unnoticed in an America where the NBA, NFL and MLB rule the airways and sports fans have little patience for a month long trek through the middle of France by a bunch of cyclists. Never mind understand the tactics.
Having worked with some former English professional cyclists the topic of drugs was one not discussed openly, but one that provoked a look of fear when the conversation arose on some faces. Over time I came to realise that it was not the look of guilt or the subject itself but the fear that the substances taken had caused irreversible cardio vascular damage. Which left many with a daily fear about their hearts and life spans. With the story of Tom Simpson forever engrained on their minds following his death actually in the 1967 tour, laden with amphetamines. A constant reminder of the high risk undertaken by many in the sport at the time, with little or no medical knowledge of what possible damage could be suffered in later life. That fear was palpable at times.
For others it was the depression after it was all over, as in the case of Italian Marco Pantani who took his own life in 2005. Or the tales of the first German, and indeed of East German origin, to win the Tour de France in 1997, Jan Ullrich, who was unable to beat Armstrong in those halcyon years of the early Naughties. Essentially admitting to doping himself in 2007 – retiring in some ignominy – and stripped of his titles eventually in 2012. Albeit a celebrity of sorts in Germany he spent, many years almost a recluse.
When working with people who had at one time or another trained with Lance Armstrong there was always evasiveness when asked even in confidence about any drug taking. Albeit in the confines of safety they all found hard to dish any dirt with no hard evidence beyond suspicion enough to lead any accusations. And apart from lauding the physical ability of Armstrong, his attention to detail on some of his training rides on the Alp d’Huez, those years post his cancer recovery were viewed more admirably than with suspicion. But then Lance played the cancer recovery story very well which dissipated any of the doubter’s questions.
Personally I was perhaps contaminated by all the experiences and clearly remember putting down the Texan’s second book Every Second Counts, midway through the read, as I felt the story was a bit nauseating. In a time when he had left his wife and family was perhaps dating singer Sheryl Crow, rendering some of what I was reading redundant about his days living in Pamplona, Spain with his fie and family. For some reason it rang out as a bit fraudulent and to this day the book has never been finished. In fact if anything I recall the summer of 2004 watching the last key time trial in the mountains in the Tour and hoping Ullrich could put enough daylight between the time riders and end the American’s. Sadly it did not happen as Ullrich faded.
Today we know the truth about both men for sure and what was suspected for many years is now in the public domain. For me as cycling is dead Armstrong has to say, or hopes to achieve, from his Oprah revelations is very unclear. It may be that some people just struggle with no longer being relevant and so the idolatry that has pursued lance for decades is what he craves most. If the price to be paid by him is an admission then maybe it’s worth it for Lance Edward Armstrong, born in Plano forty one years ago. For the rest of us, I’m not so sure it matters.
For kids around the world though they see the American join the list of fallen icons that we have all had to accept over the years and Lance is now just added to names that includes Ben Johnson, Marion Jones, Alberto Contador, Roger Clemons, Jose Canseco, Edgar Davids, Kornelia Ender, Laurent Fignon, Mark McGwire and so on. A lengthy list of athletes who took our dreams and aspirations and left them shattered for a number of generations. But that is a part of growing up - one imagines.
The hopes is that those people strong enough to stand up to Lance Armstrong and those bullying types - who have seen their lives damaged – if not irreparably then close to it - can be released from the nightmare. If having achieved as close to a truth and reconciliation moment we might ever see, that Irishmen David Walsh and Paul Kimmage – along with some others - receive the recognition they deserve. If not the Nobel Peace prize then something akin to it like the Legion D’honneur. Or the Presidential Freedom Medal from Barrack Obamas for the services rendered to world sports journalism. At a time when the newspaper industry is in turmoil the ethos of Woodward and Bernstein type of investigation, so long missed in the game, was the work of two tenacious Irish men.
It clearly deserves global recognition.
That is worth more than any Armstrong apology.
Hats off to you Gentlemen scribes!
©OSM – All rights
resreved
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