Lanced: The Shaming of Lance Armstrong (10 page)

During his interview with Pallain, Millar admitted he had used the banned performance-enhancing drug EPO in 2001 and 2003. EPO artificially generates the production of red cells. Millar also stated that two used syringes found at his apartment 12 days ago were nothing other than "souvenirs". Where once the keepsake might have been a peaked hat or a water bottle, the cyclist now keeps his old syringe.

"Grandad, what souvenirs do you have from your time as a professional cyclist?"

"Here, son, look at these."

Millar would probably have won yesterday's 6.1km prologue had he been in Liege, but would it have been a victory worthy of applause?

Do not judge him too severely, because that is cycling's way of dealing with the issue. Another bad apple, get him out of the box. Nothing could be more hypocritical. The sport reacted in the same way earlier this year when the Spanish rider Jesus Manzano detailed the doping in the Kelme team. Manzano was ostracised and dismissed as a sore loser. As was the French rider Philippe Gaumont, whose testimony drove the inquiry into the Cofidis team.

Millar claimed in his interview with Pallain that Euskaltel's team doctor, Jesus Losa, was the person who "treated" him with EPO. Losa was not in Liege yesterday and his team could not explain why. Nothing tells the story of professional cycling better than this little detail. Euskaltel are one of the sport's best teams; two of its riders, Iban Mayo (sixth) and Haimar Zubeldia (fifth) finished in the Tour's top 10 a year ago. Mayo is expected to be closer this year.

But how should one now react to his performances? What do he and his teammates think of Dr Losa? Do they too work with him? What "treatments" do they receive? This is the core of cycling's problem: the doping web weaves from one team to another, entangling far more than those who get caught. The much-maligned soigneurs, with their old-fashioned ways, warned that the arrival of team doctors would not cure the plague of doping. They were not wrong.

For those prepared to open their eyes, there is no difficulty recognising the reality. "Parts of professional cycling," said Dave Brailsford, acting chief executive of British Cycling, "can be a dangerous environment."

Brailsford also made the point that Millar had never tested positive in his career. Proof, if it was needed, that drug tests do not work. Brailsford believes Millar's admission is just the tip of something much bigger, and claims the sport has "a cultural problem".

That is a view shared by Dick Pound, the head of the World Anti-Doping Agency, who has said cycling is "in chronic denial" about its doping problem. Given the evidence of widespread doping that emerged in 1998 and the subsequent admission of a pervasive doping culture during the Festina trial in Lille two years later, it is depressing that so little has changed within the sport.

Jean-Francois Lamour, the French sports minister, refused an invitation to travel in the car of race director Jean Marie Leblanc during this month's race. The minister considers the sport is not doing enough to combat its doping problem. He and many others believe the sport's greatest problem is that so many of today's team managers and race organisers were yesterday's dopers.

Six years on from the scandal of 1998 it is sobering to be back at the same point, knowing that it is unsafe to believe in what you are seeing and lamenting cycling's lack of will. "Nothing has changed," says the former professional rider Stephen Swart, "except that the culture of doping has just become more sophisticated."

What a pity so much suspicion still exists. For this year's Tour should have been one of the sporting events of the year. Lance Armstrong's quest to win a sixth consecutive Tour should be an extraordinary adventure, not only because it has never been achieved but also because the new heir to a sixth title is a man who rode the race four times before discovering he had the potential to be a contender.

The significance of the sixth is emblazoned across the consciousness of every cycling fan. We have seen them try and fail: Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain. Anquetil's quest for six ended on the road from Chamonix to St Etienne in the final week of the 1966 Tour. He rode that year to help his teammate Lucian Aimar win and to ensure his great rival Raymond Poulidor didn't win. On both counts, he succeeded and maybe it is true that in winning his fifth Tour, in 1964, he survived an unrelenting battle with Poulidor that cost him his chance of a sixth.

People saw that failure coming, someone sensing in 1966 that Anquetil no longer had the thirst for attrition. Nine years later Merckx appeared certain to win his sixth but then he suddenly grew old on the climb to Pra Loup.

The younger Bernard Thevenet caught and passed him and an era changed. Eleven years later, in 1986, Hinault had built a lead of almost nine minutes approaching the climb to Superbagneres in the Pyrenees. The race was his, all he had to do was keep pedalling.

Hinault's hopes died on that murderous ascent, when he was blinded by reckless ambition to his own humanity. Greg LeMond and others overtook Hinault and a new era began. Le Blaireau (The Badger), as Hinault was called, was left with just five.

Exactly 10 years later, Miguel Indurain went for his sixth and was confidently expected to win. But on the climb to Les Arcs in the Alps, he slowed three kilometres from the summit and he was never the same again. He said it was dehydration; we discovered it was the end.

We look at Armstrong now and despite his slightly subdued performance in last month's Criterium du Dauphine Libere there is nothing to suggest he cannot dominate his rivals as he has for the past five years.

Nothing except the weight of history.

Armstrong himself fully understands the magnitude of what he is trying to achieve and spoke with care and humility about the challenge he faces. He doesn't want to consider the possibility of winning a sixth until he experiences the certainty of victory. There are a small number of riders who can beat him, but they are formidable. Jan Ullrich, his biggest rival, is in better physical condition than for some time and he should ride another strong race, but the German has never been able to beat Armstrong in the Tour.

The second American challenger, Tyler Hamilton, rode with a minor fracture of the collarbone before finishing fourth last year and he will be stronger this year. If Armstrong is beatable, Hamilton is the rider most likely to succeed him as Tour champion.

It will be interesting, too, to see the strong Spanish climbers, Iban Mayo and Roberta Heras. Both are talented riders and have the wherewithal to go for the yellow jersey. Whether they have the temperament to sustain that challenge all the way to Paris three weeks from now is another matter.

But watching the riders descend the ramp one-by-one on the Avenue Rogier yesterday afternoon, one wondered how much it mattered:

Armstrong or Ullrich or Hamilton? Shouldn't our hopes be for the sport itself and the race for credibility? You think again of that Sunday morning in April, 1984.

So many people crammed into that courtyard and that outstretched arm of the child.

Was it better then? Were we better off not knowing professional cycling's secrets, when we followed the race like Alice in Wonderland? The point about the grim discoveries of the past six years and the shame that has come with them is that it is better than the shameless silence of the past. We now know that the leaders may not be the most talented riders in the peloton and that somewhere back in the pack, there are clean riders disadvantaged by the cynicism of their sport.

For years after the French rider Charly Mottet retired, it was said he would have achieved more had he been prepared to dope. Mottet never won the Tour because, in the last week, he invariably wilted. He never complained about the sport and that, in its way, was part of the problem and part of the sadness. Mottet rode in the 1980s and early 1990s and who knows how many Charly Mottets there are today?

In Place Saint Lambert on Friday night, someone asked who I thought would win. The truth was that I don't care. Far more important is the hope that the race can one day regain its credibility. Imagine going to the Tour de France certain in the knowledge that every rider started on the same line, that drugs were the preserve of the sick and that morality and ethics mattered as much to the contestants as the rewards of victory.

Too much to hope for? Maybe. But that should not deter those with the power to effect change.

Armstrong the iron ruler

David Walsh

July 25, 2004

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The route has been shortened, the road surface smoothened, and, happily, the challenge can no longer be described as inhuman. Sadly, the inhumanity is now expressed a different way

"

From the moment he descended a ramp in Liege 22 days ago, you could tell Lance Armstrong was close to his best form. Three weeks of racing have proved that; his superiority in this Tour has been extraordinary. The sixth consecutive victory has come with an efficiency that has been flamboyant at times, brutal at other times.

The achievement is remarkable; the story behind it is even more so.

Armstrong is mulling over whether to come back and try to win the race for a seventh time or whether to pursue a different schedule next year. Behind the American's reticence is his concern for the four past champions who had to settle for a mere five Tour victories. To win seven or eight times would be to belittle the feats of those who have gone before.

The lack of enthusiasm for a return to next year's race may also be connected to the mixed reaction Armstrong and his US Postal team have received over the past three weeks. For all those who come to cheer the champion, there are plenty who express their reservations. That was apparent on Wednesday's spectacular stage to Alpe d'Huez when a seam of hostility ran right through the afternoon. It was directed primarily at Armstrong and his team.

There are many reasons the French have never warmed to his character. With his Texas hardness, Armstrong doesn't possess the subtler qualities the French expect in a great champion. Neither does he have the joie de vivre they loved in Greg LeMond. But the ambivalent response tells as much about the fans' attitude to the Tour as about its most decorated champion.

Three years ago this change in mood was detected by the French philosopher and writer Robert Redeker. At the end of the 2001 Tour, he wrote of a growing lack of empathy between the fans and those they come to support: "A huge gulf now exists between the race and the racers, who have become virtual figures, transformed into PlayStation characters while the public, the ones at the folding tables and the tents, drinking pastis and fresh rose du pays, are still real. The type of man once promoted by the race, the people's man, born of hard toil, hardened to suffering and adept at surpassing himself, has been substituted by Robocop on wheels."

What do we see on the murderous Alpine slopes? The finest athletes of the early 21st century or scientifically created wonders? Robocops on wheels? The difficulty lies in not knowing. A strange editorial appeared in L'Equipe last Wednesday. Although the newspaper is owned by the same company that owns the Tour de France, and generally promotes the race, it argued that today's riders could not expect us to believe they were clean.

What to make of Friday's contretemps between Armstrong and Filippo Simeoni? Simeoni is a lowly ranked rider, and when he surged in pursuit of six breakaways soon after the start at Annemasse, his little act of daring should have passed unnoticed. The Italian was no threat.

But Armstrong took it upon himself to chase Simeoni. This was unusual because the wearer of the maillot jaune does not leave the shelter of the peloton to follow a modest equipier. It would be akin to Roger Federer doubling up as a ball-boy at Wimbledon or Tiger Woods carrying his own clubs. Armstrong's motivation was personal: he and Simeoni are enemies, and the American was not prepared to allow his enemy the chance to win a Tour stage.

You might imagine this as a little squabble accorded undue prominence on a quiet day. It is far more than that, because it goes to the core of what professional cycling has become. Before explaining what Simeoni had done to earn the champion's displeasure, let us recall an Italian policeman. His name was Fulvio Gori. He worked for Nas, the country's health police, and in early 1996 he and his colleagues received information that pharmacies in Tuscany were selling extraordinary amounts of the blood-boosting drug EPO.

It didn't take a lot of investigating to discover the increased demand for EPO came from the sports community, especially professional cycling. Nas got on the case, but found it a difficult one to crack. It planned a raid on the 1996 Giro d'Italia, but that was thwarted when the newspaper that promotes the race, La Gazzetta Dello Sport, published a short story warning the riders of the raid.

That made Gori and his mates even more determined, and eventually they would expose the full extent of doping in Italian cycling. In 1999, Gori agreed to an interview about his work. He was a big, affable man who loved sport and hated the culture in which sportsmen felt they had to use drugs. He hated the law of silence that existed in the peloton and which meant almost everybody was afraid to speak honestly.

He took us into a room and showed us masses of files. "Not as much there as you would think," he said. "I interviewed more than 30 cyclists. I spent a lot of time trying to get answers because we knew they were involved in doping. They were guaranteed immunity from prosecution and reassured our only interest was in prosecuting those who supplied doping products. Not one of them co-operated, not one bit of help from any of them."

Two years later, back in Bologna, there was a great sadness in hearing that Gori had died of cancer. He was in his early 40s. Thankfully, the investigation to which he had given so much time and energy continued. Doping charges were brought against Dr Michele Ferrari from the nearby town of Ferrara, and Massimo Guandalini, the Bologna pharmacist who supplied many of Ferrari's riders. Guandalini pleaded guilty. He was sentenced to two years in prison and forbidden from working in the pharmaceutical business for five years.