By: Whit Yost Jan 21, 05:23 AM |

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about doping. No, not actually doing it—just thinking about it.

Maybe it’s Mark McGwire, the NFL Playoffs, or the fact that I’ve actually starting riding my bike again. Regardless, I’ve got the dope on the brain, and I won’t rest until I get some things off my chest. (And before you get your hopes up, this is not yet another confession—this time from a former-amateur-rider-turned-professional-team manager.)

Doping is an unfortunate, but inseparable element of sport (all sports everywhere—amateur and professional). Any expectations, hopes, and dreams one might have of eliminating it entirely are not only unrealistic, but also more or less impossible. Worse still, the attention doping receives in some sports (like cycling), creates opportunities for us all to become hypocrites (myself included) when talking about others. Your quarterback’s a hero when he gets a shot of cortisone at halftime and returns to win the game; but a cyclist’s a cheater for accidentally ingesting something in an over the counter cold medicine? I smell a double standard—especially when we’re holding athletes to higher standards than other public figures (and in some cases, ourselves). What if we learned that George Clooney used __________________ during the production of his most recent film? Would we ban him from Hollywood for 2 years? Would we boycott the movie? Would Clooney still be eligible for an Oscar? No, no, and yes.

But before you get on my case for being a pessimist, nihilist, or just a guy with a bad attitude, let me share some ideas (perhaps not new) that might go a long way toward cleaning things up a bit—in cycling (everyone else is on their own).

1. Choose a date that grants amnesty to any rider/manager/doctor/staff member convicted or suspected of doping on or before it. If you really want to build a “clean” sport from the ground-up, you need to give it a clean slate with which to start. Amnesty gives athletes a clear conscience with which to make changes to the way they do things. It also shows trust, creating an environment free of the “you’re a doper until proven otherwise” mentality maintained by many of the sport’s skeptics. Sometimes the only thing people need to do the right is the belief that you trust them to do the right thing. Amnesty accomplishes that. But if it doesn’t?

2. Give any rider convicted of doping after the amnesty date a statutory lifetime ban (following a fair and transparent trial and appeal process). Harsh? Perhaps. But a “clean slate for all” approach works only if it’s given some teeth to deal with those who take advantage of it. A statutory lifetime ban forces even the most hardened doper to think twice. For many riders, a 2-year suspension is just a sabbatical—a chance to rest, train, spend time with family, and maybe start working on an autobiography. A lifetime ban doesn’t mean time for a vacation—it means time for a career change. But while this might work, it still makes doping (or getting caught) a problem an issue only for the rider doing it—we need something more universal, something that makes doping everyone’s problem. So…

3. Penalize teams too. I don’t care what the managers say: it’s hard for riders to do anything without their teams knowing about it—somehow. Teams need to stop being able to handle their dopers simply by firing them and distancing themselves from the situation as quickly as possible. If a rider dopes while under contract, it’s not only his problem—it’s his team’s as well. Don’t you think teams would be a bit more vigilant (especially the smaller ones from which most positives arise) if they faced suspensions too? Do you think your teammates would keep their mouths shut if they knew your actions could prevent them from earning a living?

Currently, most measures aimed at preventing doping do so while ignoring the fact that only a small percentage of riders dope to win races. My proposed plan cuts to the heart of the matter, attempting to address why riders dope, instead of only worrying about the fact that they do it in the first place. And why do they? Because for many of these men, cycling is not a sport or a pastime—it’s a job, in some cases, the only one they’ve ever been any good at. They don’t dope to win races, they dope to make a name for themselves, earn a spot on a professional team, or convince management that they’re worth one more year. Doping is a calculated risk taken in order to maintain their standing in what is likely the only career path they’ve ever known. My proposals make the risk too great for the simple fact that when caught it takes away their jobs—for good.

Phew, I’m exhausted. Time for an espresso.