Lance Armstrong wasn’t just a great cyclist. He was a symbol.
He was a symbol of fight and determination, a symbol of hope. He won the Tour de France seven straight times, beating the best cyclists in the world every summer after he beat something much harder: cancer.
Forget symbol, he became a brand. Nike made him a millionaire, and he was marketed as probably the greatest athlete in the world. But didn’t it seem too good to be true?
I’m not here to say I told you so, but I was less than shocked to find out Lance was using performance-enhancing drugs. Was I shocked at the extent to which he tried to get away with it? Impressed, actually.
The U.S. Anti-Doping Agency concluded, based on the testimony of 11 of Lance’s former teammates, that not only was he doping he was also recommending his teammates do as well. In August, Lance announced he was done fighting the charges, claiming the system wasn’t fair and it was a waste of his time.
I mean, Lance had a great run, just like Tiger Woods had a great run. But did Lance really think one of his teammates wouldn’t rat him out? Lance, like Tiger, should have known better.
But here’s where they differ: when Tiger got caught, he cut his losses, admitted his wrongs, and took the heat.
Lance is sticking to his guns in the worst way, not admitting he cheated (and that he made his teammates cheat, too) and still hanging around in public, showing his face at Livestrong events and speaking to cancer patients.
Nobody wants to hear it, Lance. You lied. What you did to inspire so many people wasn’t real. Cut the act and go home.
You’re not a symbol anymore, to cyclists or cancer patients. You’re right up there with Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Jason Giambi, and Sammy Sosa. Irrelevant.
Forget the fact you’ve been living a lie. You broke the cardinal rule of sports. You cheated. You kept other people who did it the right way from succeeding. This is how American sports work, whether it’s right or not. You can cheat on your wife (Tiger Woods). You can beat up dogs (Michael Vick). You can be accused of rape (Kobe Bryant). You can even possibly be involved in a murder (Ray Lewis), and people don’t really care.
But you broke the one rule you can’t break. You violated the sanctity of the level playing field.
You don’t get a second chance on this one. Nobody wants to hear you talking about how you beat cancer anymore.
So do a magic trick, and disappear.