Once upon a time it was so simple. Heroes, villains. Good guys, bad guys. A large part of the appeal of spectator sport is rooted in narratives linking athletic success to “character,” which in addition to providing uplifting parables helps to justify all the time invested in watching what otherwise might be empty spectacle. If there’s something larger to be learned from all of those balls thrown through baskets, pushed over goal lines, knocked over fences or into tiny holes in the grass, sports at least serve a larger purpose.
But what happens when not-so-good people achieve great things? What if the genetically blessed—even the genetically blessed who are more dedicated, more hard-working, more single-minded than the rest of us—aren’t the kind of folks you’d want as neighbours or financial advisers, or to date your sister? You wind up with a crisis of faith.
Back when sports journalism was pure, unadulterated hagiography, uncomfortable truths didn’t tend to come to the fore. Fans would never be restricted in their admiration of, say, Mickey Mantle by the knowledge that he was a mean, angry drunk.
But that is no longer the case. The hero machine is still cranking them out and inspirational tales are still around, but you’d better be prepared to suspend a whole lot of disbelief, especially when it comes to the last great moral obstacle—not cheating on significant others, but “cheating” in sports.
Consider the events of the past few weeks, as the Roger Clemens perjury trial reached its predictable conclusion with a not-guilty-on-all-counts verdict, while Lance Armstrong was charged by the United States Anti-Doping Agency with using performance-enhancing drugs throughout the most significant years of his remarkable cycling career.
Clemens may well be the greatest pitcher in history, and there was a time when hymns were written to his exemplary work ethic and training regimen. But that was before baseball’s dirty little drug secret became sport’s big reveal. Now, a jury of his peers has acquitted him on charges that he lied to Congress when he denied using, and Clemens has never once failed a drug test—albeit in a sport where everyone from the commissioner on down was complicit in spinning a fairy tale.
So just where does that leave him on the hero-villain scale? The Hall of Fame debate, coming this fall, is going to mirror the fan’s struggle, a battle between admiration for Clemens the pitcher and distaste for Clemens the human being.
Armstrong’s case is even more problematic, since the only reason most North Americans care about him at all is as an exemplar of the best of our species. Cycling lies far from the mainstream, and even the magnificent spectacle of the Tour de France, minus a rooting interest, is the passion of only a tiny minority here.
But what a rooting interest Armstrong provided. An American, a Texan, beating up on all of those Euros, a cancer survivor battling back against the odds, willing himself to victory, not once but seven times, then coming back after four years of retirement to finish third in the Tour at 39. Still, you see people wearing yellow Livestrong bracelets like others wear scapulars.
A reasonable person, understanding that cycling is the dirtiest sport on Earth, knowing that many of Armstrong’s peers have been outed for doping, and surmising that all of those accusations flung his way over the years might well have substance, could have concluded that he was on something—or several somethings (the same conclusion they could have reached about Clemens, or Barry Bonds). But his vehement, uncompromising denials, the absence of positive tests, and most recently the U.S. Feds abandoning their investigation—which was directed not at doping per se, but at the misuse of sponsorship funds to underwrite doping—served to bolster his cult of personality. Armstrong was persecuted, he was scapegoated, unfairly accused by jealous rivals, and still came out clean as a whistle.
It’s hard to imagine he will emerge so spotless from the USADA probe, which has former teammates lined up to say that they had direct knowledge of Armstrong using, and that he also encouraged others to do so. Armstrong has resources, he has an army of very good lawyers, and in the past he has certainly shown the will to fight. So this could drag on for years, and if it devolves into legal minutiae, perhaps the true believers will be able to maintain their devotion.
For others though, who have wanted to keep up the illusion that Armstrong couldn’t possibly push his way to the top of those mountains and also be a cheat and liar, it could be profoundly disheartening. Perhaps a lesson we all ought to learn, but a painful one nonetheless.
This article originally appeared in Sportsnet magazine.