Opinion: Omerta, Bobby McGee, the yellow line and Floyd Landis’ claims

VeloNews editor in chief Ben Delaney wrote the following editorial June 8 for the August issue of VeloNews, which is on newsstands now along with the Official Guide to the Tour de France. The editorial was written in response to the timing and the content of Floyd Landis’ allegations in late May against many riders at the Amgen Tour of California. With the Wall Street Journal releasing another Landis story on the eve of the Tour de France, Delaney felt like it was Groundhog’s Day. (Apologies to VeloNews subscribers who may feel the same reading the editorial again!)

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”
— Janis Joplin, “Me and Bobby McGee”

Floyd Landis found himself in a new position before sending his firebomb email — he was free. After years of following what he thought was the proper deceitful code to keep himself in the game, he realized he was out — and therefore free of his perceived obligation of omerta.

Omerta — sounds ominous, right? But basically it’s just silence, our sport’s version of the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. In cycling, basic economics and sociology keep omerta working; people want to keep their jobs, and they don’t want to make a big stink with the people they have to interact with on a regular basis.

Doping has long existed in the sport, as riders and teams look for every competitive edge. Just as racers examine tire widths, food choices and apexes through turns for every last benefit, body chemistry has been studied and manipulated. Governing bodies have drawn lines as to what is and isn’t acceptable. Those lines have moved over time, and riders have adjusted.

Let’s use painted road lines as analogy: they’re not the absolute edge of what is possible, simply where we as a society, or a sport, have decided it’s best to stop. You’re familiar with the centerline rule in amateur racing, where you can’t cross the yellow line. Well, of course you can cross the line — it’s just paint on the road — but in the name of safety and fair play, you’re not supposed to.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve found myself in many a crosswind-buffeted race right up against that sucker, scrapping for a draft. And when the guy in front of me crosses it, you better believe I’ve crossed it too, just trying to hold on. (I’m speaking literally here, not metaphorically!)

Well before Landis’ admission, we have heard doping confessions that sound similar to an amateur racers’ yellow-line logic. “I suffered and sacrificed so much just to get there, that when the other guys went over the line, I did what I had to do to hang on.”

Of course, some over-the-line riders aren’t just hanging on, they’re attacking with the benefit of that extra three or four percent.

What seemed to get Landis’ goat was, in his perception, the uneven application of justice. “All these guys were over the line; why am I the only one getting DQ’ed?” Consider the title of his fundraising campaign. It wasn’t the “Floyd is Innocent Fund.” It was the “Floyd Fairness Fund.”

For years, though, Landis didn’t take this tack publicly. He felt he had too much to lose by being honest, and he lied in hopes of returning to the sport’s pinnacle. By May he realized he’d lost a lot — his ProTour career, money and reputation, his marriage and his father-in-law. The final straw seemed to be his exclusion from the Amgen Tour of California. He felt he had nothing left to lose, and he threw in the towel. “Yes, I’ve been over the yellow line, way over it, for years, and so have many others.”

I was on ESPN Radio after the Landis news broke, and the show host suggested legalizing doping — scrapping the yellow line entirely — because rules cannot be perfectly enforced. I disagreed. Granted, you can’t catch everyone who is over the line. And compounding the problem, the line isn’t even in the right place all the time. Beginning in 1996, the line was a 50-percent hematocrit (meaning that oxygen-carrying red blood cells could account for no more than 50-percent of riders’ blood), which is hard to maintain naturally during a three-week tour. Still a few guys were right up against that line.

Nevertheless, rules are necessary, and new tests make enforcement a little easier. Fixed parameters are what make sport sporting: the race is from here to there; the basket is 10 feet high. No one would suggest legalizing stealing or killing just because you can’t always catch thieves and murderers.

And it’s important to remember, bike racers are not thieves and murderers. They are highly driven sportsmen. It’s unfortunate that the enforcement of the yellow line has driven our sport to such high stakes that one rider cheating can lead to devastating consequences for his entire family.

Recently I spoke with a former pro rider about yellow-line violations. A week into a grand tour, he was exhausted and fatigued, and his hematocrit was down from 46 to 42. He asked the team doctor what he should do. The doc replied, “I’m not God, or your father, or a judge.” “He basically threw the decision back at me,” said the rider, who soldiered on, then dropped out two days later.

Does this mean all grand tour riders are doped? Absolutely not. I bring up this anecdote to illustrate a single point: myriad external pressures exist, but ultimately each rider must decide for himself how close to ride to the yellow line, and what should, or shouldn’t, be said about it.

FILED UNDER: Tour de France TAGS: doping / Floyd Landis / Lance Armstrong / Opinion

Ben Delaney

Delaney is the former editor in chief for Velo and VeloNews.com. A journalism graduate of the University of New Mexico, Delaney is responsible for all editorial content online and in the magazine. He's a former (but never very good) Cat. 1 racer. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, with his wife and two children. He can be found on Twitter at http://twitter.com/ben_delaney

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