Saturday, October 13, 2012

Is anything sacred anymore?

Lance Armstrong, are you serious? After battling back from “thirteen” forms of cancer to be a Tour de France champion again, and again, and again--albeit in a sport nobody cares about--you were deemed a National Treasure, an inspiration to athletes, cancer patients, children, old women, cats and dogs everywhere. Merely thinking about your heroism made cripples walk again, able-bodied people drop and do fifty pushups on the spot.

And boy oh boy did you suck it for everything it was worth. You never met a camera you turned away from. You were a bicycling Messiah. Beloved. Adored. Sheryl Crowed. But you were cheating the whole time? What? Is anything sacred anymore? How could you trump yourself up like that knowing (knowing!) you were a cheat behind closed doors? And for what? To win your, um, fifteenth Tour de France? So you risked ruining your All-World Image to shave a few minutes off your biking time when you were already the king of biking and could've walked away? Or just competed naturally and still been an inspiration. You had to win it again? Why? Who cares? What’s next? Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren’t real? ‘It was the pressure of the sport that forced him.’ The pressure of riding a bike really fast? Get real.

Armstrong AKA Livestrong was bigger than biking. He was bigger than the Big C. He was bigger than Jay-sis. We all know cornballs like A-Rod did drugs. A-Rod is as phony as grown women who wear clothes that say PINK and carry Coach bags. We know that, we don’t care. But Lance, oh man, Lance. And imagine being one of Lance’s teammates doing the drugs with him, looking into his eyes, and knowing what a hypocrite he was, the lie he was living, the hero story he was selling to sick kids and Vince Vaughn’s character in DODGEBALL. Couldn’t he just have said no to that cameo? Watch:

Wow, Lance, how did you sleep at night? How did you visit those hospitals? Was it all about money and fame? If you want to cheat, fine, do it, win your races, but don’t sell yourself as the picture of natural toughness and intestinal fortitude. Did you think this wasn’t going to come out? Oh yeah right, who’s more trustworthy than 148lb guys who wear skintight shorts and ride bicycles for thirty miles at a time? Yeah, those guys are steel traps. How did you put your head on the pillow at night, Lance? Check those test results again, doctor. There had to be some illegal sleeping drugs in his blood. Is anything sacred anymore?

By the way, don't go falling in love with Jamaican Sprinter Usain Bolt too fast either. I think we know how that story ends too.

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Brian Huba

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