Lanced: The Shaming of Lance Armstrong Read Online Free PDF
Author: David Walsh
the Tour was exposed as a drug-riddled circus. The dullest rider in the race knew there would be lots of suspicion and endless questioning. As race leader for most of the Tour, many of the questions were directed at Armstrong. Most of his answers would have made the dullest guy look clever.
He resented the questions and offered thoughtless and overly defensive answers to honest questions. Many of his answers made you wonder what he stood for. Armstrong talked ludicrously of cycling's problems being in the past and was brutally dismissive of fellow rider Christophe Bassons' opinion that doping remained a problem. Bassons may have been slightly naive in the way he expressed his views but in a sport poisoned by doping, two things were clear: he was clean and he was utterly opposed to doping. The Armstrong of It's Not About The Bike would not have ridiculed Bassons.
But he seemed a different man during that Tour. At one press conference, Armstrong said he believed his most dangerous rival in the race, Alex Zulle, was clean. Almost a year before, Zulle had admitted using EPO. So then, a journalist asked Armstrong, did he not think Zulle should speak out against doping and was he not perfectly positioned to do so? Armstrong sidestepped by saying he hadn't spoken to Zulle and, ultimately, it was up to the Swiss rider. Damn it, Lance, why couldn't Zulle say: "I took it last year, I was wrong and I am riding better without it this year?"
Alas, the yellow-jerseyed Lance was not the stricken and admirable cancer patient.
Pharmacy on wheels becomes a sick joke
David Walsh
August 13, 2000
"
Is it not astonishing that around 50% of the Tour's peloton should need prescription drugs to compete?
"
About this time last year, readers of The Sunday Times wrote passionately about our coverage of Lance Armstrong's sensational win in the Tour de France. As the one who had reported on the Tour, the letters were addressed to me. There were 45 letters. One was complimentary.
When Armstrong came down the Champs Elysees in 1999, I did not feel moved to applaud. That offended people. We had witnessed the fastest Tour in history and it had come 12 months after French police and Customs had shown the pervasive nature of doping in professional cycling. How could we believe that drugs were gone when everybody was riding faster?
Jean Marie Leblanc, the Tour organiser, had billed the 1999 race as the Tour of Renewal, but as the peloton whizzed from town to town in record time, he said it would be better to call the race the Tour of Transition. It wasn't just the record speed: it was clear the peloton raced at two speeds - the teams who had genuinely reformed could not keep up with those who hadn't.
It was obvious, too, that the mentality of the peloton hadn't changed. Christophe Bassons, an admirable young French rider, spoke honestly about the doping problem and enraged his fellow professionals. He found a horse's head in his bed and soon left the race. You could not watch all of this and pretend that the Tour had returned to health. Mine was, of course, a minority view.
I have kept the letters. They are my guardian angel, forever protecting me from arrogance. Every so often I flick through them and feel again the surge of humility. The favourite is one from Keith Miller. It was an eloquent testimony to his faith.
"I believe his [Armstrong's] victory was amazing, a triumph in sport and life.
"I believe he sets a good example for all of us.
"I believe in sport, in life, and in humanity."
But it was Keith's closing thought that remains most vivid:
"Sometimes we refuse to believe for whatever reason.
"Sometimes people get a cancer of the spirit.
"And maybe that says a lot about them."
I went back to France this year wondering whether anything had changed. Fundamentally, it hadn't. The riders gave the old equivocal and evasive answers when asked about doping; Jean Marie Leblanc tailored his replies to reassure sponsors; and when asked
He resented the questions and offered thoughtless and overly defensive answers to honest questions. Many of his answers made you wonder what he stood for. Armstrong talked ludicrously of cycling's problems being in the past and was brutally dismissive of fellow rider Christophe Bassons' opinion that doping remained a problem. Bassons may have been slightly naive in the way he expressed his views but in a sport poisoned by doping, two things were clear: he was clean and he was utterly opposed to doping. The Armstrong of It's Not About The Bike would not have ridiculed Bassons.
But he seemed a different man during that Tour. At one press conference, Armstrong said he believed his most dangerous rival in the race, Alex Zulle, was clean. Almost a year before, Zulle had admitted using EPO. So then, a journalist asked Armstrong, did he not think Zulle should speak out against doping and was he not perfectly positioned to do so? Armstrong sidestepped by saying he hadn't spoken to Zulle and, ultimately, it was up to the Swiss rider. Damn it, Lance, why couldn't Zulle say: "I took it last year, I was wrong and I am riding better without it this year?"
Alas, the yellow-jerseyed Lance was not the stricken and admirable cancer patient.
Pharmacy on wheels becomes a sick joke
David Walsh
August 13, 2000
"
Is it not astonishing that around 50% of the Tour's peloton should need prescription drugs to compete?
"
About this time last year, readers of The Sunday Times wrote passionately about our coverage of Lance Armstrong's sensational win in the Tour de France. As the one who had reported on the Tour, the letters were addressed to me. There were 45 letters. One was complimentary.
When Armstrong came down the Champs Elysees in 1999, I did not feel moved to applaud. That offended people. We had witnessed the fastest Tour in history and it had come 12 months after French police and Customs had shown the pervasive nature of doping in professional cycling. How could we believe that drugs were gone when everybody was riding faster?
Jean Marie Leblanc, the Tour organiser, had billed the 1999 race as the Tour of Renewal, but as the peloton whizzed from town to town in record time, he said it would be better to call the race the Tour of Transition. It wasn't just the record speed: it was clear the peloton raced at two speeds - the teams who had genuinely reformed could not keep up with those who hadn't.
It was obvious, too, that the mentality of the peloton hadn't changed. Christophe Bassons, an admirable young French rider, spoke honestly about the doping problem and enraged his fellow professionals. He found a horse's head in his bed and soon left the race. You could not watch all of this and pretend that the Tour had returned to health. Mine was, of course, a minority view.
I have kept the letters. They are my guardian angel, forever protecting me from arrogance. Every so often I flick through them and feel again the surge of humility. The favourite is one from Keith Miller. It was an eloquent testimony to his faith.
"I believe his [Armstrong's] victory was amazing, a triumph in sport and life.
"I believe he sets a good example for all of us.
"I believe in sport, in life, and in humanity."
But it was Keith's closing thought that remains most vivid:
"Sometimes we refuse to believe for whatever reason.
"Sometimes people get a cancer of the spirit.
"And maybe that says a lot about them."
I went back to France this year wondering whether anything had changed. Fundamentally, it hadn't. The riders gave the old equivocal and evasive answers when asked about doping; Jean Marie Leblanc tailored his replies to reassure sponsors; and when asked
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