Read Seven Deadly Sins: My Pursuit of Lance Armstrong Online
Authors: David Walsh
The honesty did help to bring the truth into the open and make sure that people who deserved to be punished were punished. But as Yeats thought about 1916, too much blood was spilt: I think there was too much stress and acrimony and damage in finding the truth in our little cycling story.
A terrible beauty. Then and now.
Frankie Andreu knew Lance Armstrong for so many years. I remember the closeness that grew between myself and Paul when we would talk cycling all day long on the rue Kléber back in 1984. What must it have been like for those two guys? They came to live and ride in Europe in the early nineties. Together all the time. Eating together, talking together, socialising together. And training together, those endless rides near Lake Como, then Nice; for a time Frankie was like a brother to Lance.
He married Betsy, though, a remarkable woman who held him to a higher standard of behaviour than Lance ever would. I asked Frankie to write to me about his reaction to the 22 October denouement. ‘What you want?’ he asked, in the straight-up tone that prompted his friends to call him Ajax, after the abrasive little blue particles in the washing powder. Betsy asked him what he’d written about her. ‘Not much, ’ he replied. ‘Just the matter-of-fact stuff I was asked for.’ She went off on one.
When Betsy lets rip, it’s better to let the storm blow itself out. Frankie did that, taking the buffeting in his usual calm way. She would later say, ‘Why didn’t you stop me and tell me what you wrote?’ and he replied, ‘Why didn’t you slow down or even pause, and give me the chance to speak?’
That story is so Frankie and Betsy, as close a couple as I’ve ever seen.
This is what Frankie actually wrote:
I don’t remember where I was when the UCI upheld the decision on Armstrong. It didn’t matter. To me the truth was out there with the USADA report, and whatever happened after that wasn’t my problem. I was tired of defending myself, tired of Lance Armstrong, and I was ready to get his name out of my household. It had finally come to an end.
To say the last few years were stressful would be an understatement. The financial uncertainties were a stress I had to deal with. At times, I was at a complete loss at how to balance pushing for the truth yet trying to maintain my place in cycling. This led to many arguments between my wife and me. Sometimes I wanted to talk and she didn’t want to; sometimes she wanted to talk and I didn’t want to. I usually lost the battle. It started in 2006 with the SCA subpoena. I had left for the Tour de France, and she was left home alone to receive the brunt of the Armstrong attacks. There were many long phone calls, she shed many tears, and was angry that what was being portrayed of her was not correct. She knew the sport had a problem, that I was involved with part of that problem, and it was time to change that. Her upbringing and ethics directed her actions. She showed me that not caving in, and standing up for yourself, can set you free.
This didn’t come without a price. Many times mean things were said, or we’d ignore each other; many nights we went to bed mad at each other. Over time some things became evident that I didn’t realise before: Betsy was so strong-willed and determined. She stuck to her convictions like none other. We had supporters behind the scenes but we also had many detractors. The hateful messages would arrive and the fury in her would rise. She had the courage that I didn’t have. As time went by I realised that her part in this was an important role – she gave a sound to our voice. No longer was the loudspeaker of lies repeatedly coming from the Lance camp the only sound that was heard. She knew the only way to reveal the truth was to defend herself at all costs. In doing so she defended me, and for that I’m thankful.
But right now, in this café off the M25, I feel no joy at Pat McQuaid’s volte-face over USADA and Armstrong. Somebody once said that fate is the thing you meet on the road you took to avoid fate. Oddly, today should have been the 30th birthday of our son John, killed on his bicycle seventeen years ago.
The thing about the Armstrong scandal was that, even in 1999, the year of his first victory, you didn’t need to be Woodward or Bernstein to get it. On the afternoon the American delivered his first great performance in the Alps, the stage to Sestriere, many journalists in the
salle de presse
laughed at the ease with which Armstrong ascended. He climbed with the nonchalance of the well doped.
And now on this day, as I sit in this café, Armstrong has finally gone down: 22 October, John’s birthday. I ring Betsy, in whose slipstream I have travelled for almost ten years. I tell her it’s John’s birthday and, though she’s far away in Michigan, I can feel her sadness.
‘It’s his birthday, ’ she says in a whisper. ‘This is his little gift to you.’
It’s a nice thought.
Acknowledgements
I don’t wish to bore you any further, but some people deserve to be thanked.
I hope that those deserving the greatest credit have been properly recognised in the story. What set Emma O’Reilly, Betsy Andreu, Stephen Swart and Greg LeMond apart was their willingness to tell the truth at a time when there was nothing in it for them except vilification and other forms of bullying. They were one part of my motivation. Those riders who rode clean in the darkest days were the other. I don’t know Christophe Bassons, Gilles Delion and many others, but as long as there were riders saying no to doping, we had a cause worth fighting for.
My first experience of seeing how riding clean could virtually end your pro career came from knowing and being close to Paul Kimmage. The way the sport treated him was demoralising, but through the tough times came the determination never to be another fan with a typewriter. Paul’s integrity has been a constant. At the Olympics in Atlanta, we cut our teeth on the Michelle Smith story and were inspired by the work of our colleague Tom Humphries who is, by some distance, the most talented sportswriter I’ve ever read. A fine man, too.
There were many journalists/friends who made the journey interesting and offered unflinching support at important moments. Tom Goldman from Northwest Public Radio was one of the first in the US to get the Armstrong story and it didn’t scare him. Charles Pelkey, Gwen Knapp, Alex Wolff and the late Randy Starkman in Canada were always supportive. Pierre Ballester, co-author of
L.A. Confidentiel
, has long been a great friend.
So, too, many others. Alex Butler, my sports editor at the
Sunday Times
, has been friend and supporter. Not many sports editors would have allowed me to pursue the Armstrong story as Alex did, and for that I shall always be in his debt. Some time ago Alex described Lance as ‘the story that keeps giving’, and he wasn’t wrong. His deputy during the most difficult days was Alan English, who did a fine job then and remains a true friend. At the
Sunday Times
we knew the truth and were determined to get it out there. Other colleagues – Hugh McIlvanney, Stephen Jones, Jonny Northcroft and Simon Ritter – were also tremendously supportive.
Along the way there were plenty who thought we were wrong, but others who backed us. I recall an evening at Veyrier-du-Lac near Annecy with Peter Zaballos and his family during a Tour de France – ordinary Americans who loved their country but wanted to know the truth behind Lance Armstrong. Enough people believed that however painful, the truth should be revealed.
My gratitude is due also to Kerr MacRae, Ian Marshall and the team at Simon & Schuster who did a terrific job in getting the book to the market place. I was introduced to Simon & Schuster by my literary agent Richard Relton, who asked for a ‘ten-minute audition’ and now looks like he’s going to stay around for a bit. I needed time off to write the book and, as always, Alex Butler and the
Sunday Times
were generous. For solitude, I went to the south coast of Ireland where my brother Brendan and his wife Mary provided a beautiful home and excellent meals on wheels. I also thank their eldest son Brendan for the Brad Pitt quote from
Se7en
that appears in the epigraph at the front.
My own family were wonderfully supportive, not to say indulgent, through the Armstrong years. If the story hadn’t been so damn interesting, I would never have got away with it. Our kids didn’t always eat their vegetables, but they never did boring.
Photographs