There was a time when the Tour de France was held up as the ultimate test of physical endurance.  It had the heroism, guts and glory.  Giants of sport stood up in the saddle to eke out the final juice of their soul on a brutal climbs  to a sporting peak that most could not even dream of.
Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault, Miguel Indurain, Lance Armstrong.  All were superhuman and the very model on which the idea of sporting legend was based.
Armstrong was a special case.  He transcended cycling and even sport having fought cancer and survived, fought French hostility and thrived, fought those who saddled up beside him and broke their spirit not once, not twice but seven times.
It was all too good to be true.
There were rumours of performance enhancing drugs but no positive results were ever found, or at least made public.  Those who defended him were loud and proud, accusing naysayers of being part of an inglorious conspiracy.  There was no greater defender than Armstrong himself.
Millions of yellow wristbands were worn in support of Livestrong, eminent political and medical leaders supported his cancer initiatives.  For many he remained that super human sporting hero.
There were others though who never believed. Paul Kimmage who came from out of the Peleton and became a campaigning journalist was one of those.  He did not choose his words carefully and as a result their importance was magnified.  He never allowed Armstrong to rest behind the shield of valour that he carried as a cancer survivor.  The tension of the pair clashing at a press conference in 2009 is worth remembering (video link).
Fellow Irish journalist David Walsh was another who would not let go.  Who insisted beyond the point of professional security that this was a story with an unhappy ending.
Most of us bounced between the two, wanting to believe but drawn towards the shadow that grew longer as more and more drug taking among team mates, colleagues and throughout the sport was uncovered.
The UCI, led again by another Irishman Pat McQuaid took the brave step to clean out a sport that had lost its soul at the point of a needle.  It risked a lot by introducing blood passports that moved testing onto another level.
It was not easy and as Contador, Landis and more fell by the way, the list of winners of the sport’s greatest race became almost indecipherable with the use of asterisks.
As stars fell so too did sponsors.  Nobody wanted or could afford to be seen emblazoned on the chest and arms of a doping cheat.  And yet the sport survived.
The arrival of Sky with its millions of pounds and millions of customers heralded a new dimension to the sport, one which thrives now in the massive levels of participation, in the new heroes of the track – Pendleton, Hoy; Cavendish and Wiggins from the Tour itself.  Cycling is not only successful; it is sexy and has an appeal across gender, age, wealth and almost every other boundary.
In the midst of this Armstrong returned to the saddle and drew huge crowds.  Still they were split.  I stood in driving rain in Bantry to steal a glimpse on the Tour of Ireland some years back.  There was still a chance that the light might shine on his shadow and reveal him to be true.
Then the authorities came again.  Evidence of positive tests had been suppressed. Ten riders were willing to testify against Armstrong.  Still he defended himself.  Amid claims of a witch hunt, his supporters were emboldened.
Lawyers fought, executives negotiated and Armstrong stood firm.   There was a frisson around any mention of his name but still it was written in the record books as the seven time winner of the Tour de France.
On Friday morning, August 24th Armstrong said that he was giving up the fight to prove his innocence.  There will not now be a case to answer in a court of law.  The US Anti Doping Agency will not put him on a stand and produce evidence to bury his reputation or redeem it.
A theme among his still legion of fans has been that he is now guilty without the chance to be proven innocent.  That is the tone of Armstrong’s statement.  That he just did not have the fight left and that he would never be given a fair trial.
On Friday morning, August 24th my residual wish that he was innocent died.  I cannot imagine that if you are innocent of an accused crime that you would not do anything and everything to defend yourself.  That you would not keep trying as if you were climbing Alpe d’Huez.  That you would not empty your soul to prove your detractors wrong.
Sport has the capacity to lift human emotion as no other activity other than life itself.  But when it turns sour the disappointment is crushing.
I never read Lance Armstrong’s book. Something inside me felt that I needed him to prove himself a hero one last time.  To prove the Kimmage’s and the Walsh’s of the world wrong.  Now I have taken it from the shelf and boxed it away.  I do not want to be reminded of his triumphs.  I do not want to hear any more his protestation of wounded innocence.
I want to wash away the rain that fell in Bantry that day.  To wind back the clock and have that morning back again.  I want to forget Lance Armstrong and pin my hopes on other heroes.  I need those heroes to be clean because if you cannot believe in sport, then what is the point of it.
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