My friend and clubmate, Ryan Mallon has had a strong fascination with regards to doping in cycling. Becasue of recent events, Ryan was inspired to write this article. Once you have read it , please leave a comment below to let him know what you though of it. Go read!
From Another Planet
Ryan Mallon
Dark clouds loom
threateningly over the Franco-Italian border as the ninth stage of the 1999
Tour de France approaches the final climb to the summit finish at Sestrières, the conclusion to the race’s
first day in the Alps. Spindly climbers Fernando Escartin and Ivan Gotti have
daringly escaped through the mist on the treacherous descent of the previous
mountain, the Montgenèvre, and
have established a lead of 30 seconds on an elite chase group of five riders,
including race leader Lance Armstrong. That the Yellow Jersey is still in
contention at the business end of such a mammoth 215km stage is of considerable
surprise. Before his fight with cancer, Armstrong was a strong and burly one
day Classics star, but struggled on the long climbs of the Grand Tours. While
his exceptional performances in winning the two opening time trials of his
comeback Tour were testament to his strength, the Texan was widely expected to
relinquish his grip on the maillot jaune as the race entered the mountains. Instead, with more than eight
kilometres remaining, Armstrong attacks through a bend, a flash of yellow
amidst the gloom of the mountain. Legs pumping like an automaton at a ferocious
and seemingly impossible pace, he devours the gap to the two front-runners and
soon leaves them behind. He sprints up the mountain, an expression of pure
power: his style is not eloquent, his rapid pedalling style brutally effective.
“How do you like them apples?!” he roars to U.S. Postal manager Johan Bruyneel.
By the finish, Armstrong has won the stage and stretched his lead over his
nearest challenger, Abraham Olano, to a virtually unassailable six minutes. The
next day, French daily L’Equipe ominously
described Armstrong’s victory as ‘from another
planet.’
Over thirteen years later, in a packed
press conference in Geneva, the head of world cycling’s governing body, UCI President
Pat McQuaid, declared that “Lance Armstrong has no place in cycling.” The UCI
had just ratified the United States Anti-Doping Agency’s decision to ban the
seven time Tour winner for life, and strip him of all results since 1st
August 1998, including that record breaking sequence. The 1,000 page USADA
report condemned Armstrong and his U.S. Postal team as the leaders of the
“most sophisticated, professionalised and successful doping program that sport
has ever seen.” The evidence, though hardly surprising, is immensely thorough
and at times depressing – in some instances former teammates, whose testimonies
form the bulk of the report, broke down in tears as they explained their
decision to dope.
The past decade has seen
Armstrong continuously denounce his detractors as instigators of a ‘with-hunt’,
and that the USADA investigation was a thinly veiled attempt to destroy his
reputation. However, this most recent foray into cycling’s murky past is not just
about Lance Armstrong. The Texan, as the most successful of a whole generation
of dopers, was of course the principle target, but the implications are far
greater.
The 1999 Tour de France was to
be the ‘Tour of Renewal’. The previous year’s edition had been marred by the
infamous Festina Affair, the greatest drugs bust cycling had ever seen. Teams
were arrested and ejected from the race en
masse - at one point it was doubtful that the Tour would even reach Paris.
It was a watershed moment in the history of the sport. The systematic doping
culture prevalent throughout the 1990s had finally been exposed. A new clean
era beckoned – Irish youngster Mark Scanlon, the newly crowned World Junior
Champion, was presented as the new face of cycling by the UCI at the ’99 Tour
route unveiling.
The new era never emerged. The
1999 Tour was the fastest to date. Doping was driven underground, but was still
as widespread as before. Clean riders who dared to break the Omerta (cycling’s mafia-esque law of
silence regarding doping) were ostracised and hounded out of the sport.
Armstrong, through his utter domination, established himself as the new patron and ensured that doping remained
a forbidden topic within the professional peloton. Just as cycling had begun to
catch a glimmer of light from the darkness of the nineties, Armstrong dragged
it straight back down the hole. Meanwhile, the UCI, strong on rhetoric but
limited in action, sat back and let it all happen (or as has been claimed, were
complicit). That is what makes Pat McQuaid’s fist banging defence of the
governing body and his reign all the more laughable. The Irishman and his
predecessor, honorary President Hein Verbruggen (cycling’s very own Mr. ‘Never,
Never!’) have continuously stood firm in the face of repeated accusations of
gross negligence. Their positions are quickly becoming untenable. Scottish professional
and repentant ex-doper, David Millar, is scathing in his condemnation of
Verbruggen and has called for his resignation – “the buck has to stop
somewhere… it's an absolute disgrace that he's even involved in this sport in
any way.” Cycling finds itself once again at a crossroads and it is highly
debatable whether the current hierarchy is fit for dealing with such an
important phase of the sport’s history. Suing journalist Paul Kimmage, author
of Rough Ride and staunch anti-doping
advocate, for defamation is not the way to move the sport forward and is
indicative of McQuaid and Verbruggen’s desire to protect their own shaky
reputations over ushering in a new clean and most importantly open era.
But in July 1999, the outlook
was considerably different. In the aftermath of Festina, fans wanted to believe
the heart-warming cancer survivor and his miraculous story. Many in the media
(rather ashamedly to some) wanted to believe it too. The UCI, sensing the waft
of crisp new American dollar bills, were also eager to jump on board. Any
morals and lingering doubts went out the window – for well over a decade the
story was just too good.
Stage 18, 2004 Tour de France: Filippo Simeoni attempts to bridge to an
escape group early on the road to Lons-le-Saunier. With only a few days left to
Paris, Lance Armstrong is virtually assured of his sixth straight victory in
cycling’s biggest race, a new record. Lying in 114th place, Simeoni
is merely scraping for crumbs from the king’s table. On a transition stage like
today, the morning breakaway is often left to contest the stage finish by a
mountain-weary peloton. But today something peculiar occurs. An angry
yellow-clad Armstrong makes his way over to the Italian on his own, an almost
unprecedented move by the race leader. The event is baffling but the reasoning
is simple: Simeoni is in the process of testifying against Armstrong’s doctor,
the notorious Michele Ferrari, claiming that ‘Dr. Evil’ supplied and instructed
him to use doping products. The Texan vents his fury at the rebel. ‘You made a
mistake when you testified against Ferrari. I have a lot of time and money, and
I can destroy you.’ With the break doomed to failure due to Armstrong’s
presence, Simeoni is pressured by the other escapists to retreat back to the
peloton. As the pair is engulfed by the bunch, the Italian is met with a
torrent of abuse, and in some cases, spit. “I was just protecting the interests
of the peloton,” Armstrong will later say.
How has the peloton responded
to Armstrong’s dethronement? Surely there should be a universal denunciation of
the once great champion? That would be expected: the likes of Armstrong created
a world in which drugs were not only common but essential to survival in the
professional ranks. For twenty years, rider upon rider was forced to come to an
astonishing decision – dope or quit. Doping is not a black and white issue.
Good ethical individuals were backed into a corner, aware that without EPO they
stood little chance of progressing up the ladder. Scott Mercier quit. David
Millar doped. Brian Smith believes his sacking by U.S. Postal at the end of
1994 was due to his admission to Armstrong while on a training ride that he
would never dope. So where’s the backlash from a whole generation of riders
forced to compete on the terms of the cynical and calculating elite?
As is seemingly always the
case in cycling when doping rears its head, the response has been muted. While
Millar and those who appear in the USADA hearing, such as Jonathan Vaughters,
have been vocal in their condemnation of Armstrong and in particular the UCI’s
handling of the drugs issue, the omerta
still remains deeply entrenched. Unrepentant Spanish dopers Alejandro Valverde
and Alberto Contador have even expressed support for their old rival. Five time
Tour champion Miguel Indurain still believes in the Armstrong myth. Confession
after confession from ex-dopers is one thing, actual positive anti-doping
responses from current stars is another entirely. But perhaps most
disappointing is the ambivalent nature of the likes of current Tour champion
Bradley Wiggins. He compares Armstrong to Father Christmas but insists ‘cycling
isn’t like that anymore’ – this all happened ‘ten, fifteen years ago.’ The
sport has changed; nothing to see here, move on. Maybe the effect of all the
post-Tour and Olympics champagne is still affecting Wiggins. Was it not the
same Armstrong that beat the Londoner to a podium place in the Tour merely
three years ago? Perhaps he’s towing the Team Sky line. Perhaps he’s unwilling
to tarnish his own yellow jersey by persistent talk about doping. But the
contrast between Wiggins’ demeanour now and five years ago is stark. Where’s
the Wiggo who railed against ‘the cheating bastards’? Where’s the ‘angry young
man’ that Kimmage so adored? Cycling needs that Bradley Wiggins now more than
ever.
So how does cycling move
forward from its longest running controversy? The zero-tolerance policy adopted
by Team Sky has already witnessed one casualty in the form of Bobby Julich, but
is it naïve to purge anyone formerly involved in doping in a sport so heavily
tainted in recent years? Perhaps Jonathan Vaughters’ suggestion of a South
Africa style Truth and Reconciliation Committee, independent of cycling, is a
better proposal for the long run, though the consequence of cheats walking free
without punishment may be difficult for some to swallow. Whatever happens,
cycling cannot just continue on blindly with no regard to its past, however
murky it may be.
Back to July 1999 and that
fateful first win. As the ‘blue train’ of U.S. Postal dominated the Tour de
France, Lance Armstrong seemed unstoppable. His rivals couldn’t touch him, nor
could a positive test for cortisone, conveniently brushed under the carpet by a
backdated prescription and a great deal of panicked swearing. For the next
seven years, Armstrong ruled cycling with an iron fist, competitors and
journalists alike frightened into submission by his immense power, a withering
stare and fiery legal team. His cancer and miraculous comeback made him
transcendent of his sport, of any sport in fact. Awed by greatness, fans
reached for the slightest touch, journalists bowed their heads subserviently
and rivals merely retreated to anonymity. He was champion, messiah and dictator
all at once. But now it’s all over.
USADA’s report and subsequent
sanctions have been the conclusion to a long hard road form some. Armstrong’s
fall from grace is a victory for Travis Tygart and his anti-doping team,
committed to clean sport. It is a victory for David Walsh and Pierre Ballester,
journalists and long standing critics of Armstrong. It is a victory for Emma
O’Rielly, Betsy Andreu, and Stephen Swart – the first of what would prove a
long line of whistle blowers. It is a victory for anyone who believes in
cycling and clean sport.
The dam has finally burst. From
another planet,
indeed.
Zako, out.
