There’s no-one in sport today who fits the image of ‘fallen hero’ better than Lance Armstrong.
At the height of his success, he was the epitome of the sporting genius; a modern-day gladiator who was adored by millions, thanks to his breathtaking talent – and let’s not kid ourselves – a unique combination of ruthlessness and determination.
The latter qualities have always seduced and repulsed in equal measure. You only have to look at that precocious F1 champion Max Verstappen to see what I mean.
But unlike Verstappen, Armstrong was also a consummate cheat who was forced to abandon the sport under a drug-filled cloud.
(Wikimedia Commons / Paul Coster)
This did not happen overnight, of course, as he was able to dodge and dive, and delay his downfall time and time again, so it’s worth noting that other key ingredient in the make-up of sporting heroes: they have huge amounts of luck.
The 2021 BBC documentary ‘Lance‘ seeks to unravel the mystery behind the man. At three hours long, the two-part film from Emmy award-winning director Marina Zenovich recounts the life and times of the disgraced seven-time Tour of France winner, who was also an inspiration to millions of cancer sufferers.
He blazed a trail early in his career when he beat far more experienced competitors in his first ever cycling race at 16 – an age when most other teenagers are more concerned about acne or getting laid.
His meteoric rise almost came to an abrupt end when he was diagnosed with testicular cancer in 1996, but he beat the disease in astonishing fashion and returned to the sport in a blaze of tear-jerking glory.
How could a man whose body had been devastated by such a lethal disease return to his previous best and defeat all comers without the use of performance-enhancing drugs?
The short answer is that he couldn’t, but everyone was happy to believe otherwise and went along for the ride.
Armstrong was the product of a broken home. Brought up by an obsessive mother and atavistic stepfather, it partly explains Armstrong’s twisted sense of superiority and a desire to use any means necessary to crush the opposition, if not his closest friends.
To understand the man behind the mask it made sense to listen closely to what his mother and stepfather had to say about him. The latter, a former soldier, was a strict disciplinarian who thought nothing of beating the crap out of the young Armstrong.
In a momentary faux pas, he crows: “Everything Lance is, is (sic) due to me.”
At times, the film got side-tracked with the other issue that marked the disgraced former cyclist’s career – his much-publicised cancer campaign.
It didn’t really work.
There was no need for a lengthy review of Armstrong’s fundraising work. That aspect of his career did not shed any light on his character, whatever his supporters may say.
It only confirms the view that this is what any successful con artist would do: find a perfect alibi to deflect attention from the more important business of cheating in order to reap even greater financial rewards.
You came away with the impression that you couldn’t believe a single word uttered by this highly complex and inscrutable man.
At times he appeared contrite and wracked with guilt, but despite his best efforts to come clean, he ultimately failed to convince.
In the twinkling of an eye, a chilling smile would be etched on his face, as he proudly recounted how he had yet again bamboozled the corrupt dimwits who ran cycling’s governing body, the UCI.
And here’s the rub. Beneath his attempts at ‘mea culpa’, there’s a strong hint that Armstrong was playing us. His confession was simply part of a very calculated plan to worm his way back into public life because – in truth – he couldn’t care less about honesty and fair play.
The most troubling aspect is Armstrong’s warped sense of loyalty, which has not changed over the years.
He reserved most of his bile for whistleblower Floyd Landis, yet more evidence that he remains deeply resentful towards competitors who either posed a direct threat to him on the track, or who were brave enough to denounce his cheating.
Of all his former sporting colleagues it’s ex-cyclist David Walsh who sums him up best: “How would you feel if a bank robber said you’d cost me my loss of income?”
Perhaps the most revealing moment in the film comes when he cuts himself while using a potato peeler, of all things.
Here’s this uber-controlling individual, adept at duping entire organisations and manipulating people, defeated by a simple kitchen utensil.
He desperately calls his GP in a bit of a tizz wazz and gets him to drive over to his house just to dress the wound.
A mundane incident, not doubt, but a poignant reminder of how needy Armstrong is for attention long after retirement.
Maybe the reason for his fall is equally mundane – he was a man who did extraordinary things to compensate for a lack of parental love.
That’s something to think about when discussing other tyrants like, say, Trump, Putin or Netanyahu.