Friday, February 5, 2010

You can’t read a book about professional cycling nowadays without talking about drugs, but Paul Kimmage’s Rough Ride was one of the first.

The book broke the silence on systematic doping within the professional peloton turning Kimmage into an instant pariah. History hasn’t exactly treated the book well; the version I’ve read has a couple of updates bolted onto it that increasingly portrays Kimmage as a curmudgeon rather than a crusader.

He now trusts nobody who is successful. I’m not unsympathetic; he was one of the best Irish cyclists, yet average in the European professional context. He was the victim of the Peter Principle in a sport where he found he was only just competent enough to be paid.

Kimmage’s central argument has two tenets that are difficult to reconcile. The first is that drugs are bad and immoral. The second is that the book aims to portray the life of a domestique.

A domestique is a hideously difficult job. It’s poorly paid and professionally unrewarding. The work includes collecting water bottles and food for the team, riding with the team’s star if he drops back because of injury or mechanical fault. If he gets to the point of victory, he will frequently sacrifice their glory for that of his team leader.

So, when faced with the reality of being underpaid, on a short contract with no transferable skills and having to cycle through unspeakable pain just to stay in a job, drugs aren’t just an attraction, they’re a professional necessity.

Which is not to condone drug taking, but it does start to explain it. Kimmage touches on this in the early part of the book (when he’s still a professional) but once he’s left the sport he applies an arbitrary morale code and applies it to what he sees.

In such an unforgiving profession, should we blame those involved for bending, stretching and then breaking a morale code that is imposed on them?

Kimmage tries desperately to dismiss the sport now, claiming no interest in the leading contenders. What he misses is that those who can truly influence its direction – the fans – are interested in the winners and the circus that surrounds it.

Current professional Mark Cavendish has a more refreshing view. He was asked about what he thought about Ricco Ricardo, who was busted during the 2008 Tour de France. Cavendish simply hates people who use drugs because they put him through so much pain. Cavendish is does not have the physiology to climb mountains, he’s a sprinter. When someone on drugs blasts up a climb, it rips Cavendish’s to pieces, both physically and competitively. He doesn’t hate Ricardo because he’s immoral, he does because it hurts him physically, and that pisses him off.

I like Cavendish; he’s British, charismatic and successful. I therefore don’t like the likes of Ricardo and want to see him fail. Drugs, in themselves, are interesting; whether you like it or not, three of the most interesting stories of modern cycling are Operation Puerto, the Festina Affair and the death of Marco Pantani – all drug stories. But I don’t like people who piss off the people who I like. Therefore, I hope Ricardo fails in everything he does. That’s sport; we love the people we love, we hate the people we hate.

So, if Kimmage wants to be a force for good he should be promoting and championing the heroes and their successes not shouting over the wall at the immorality of it all. If we can inflate the heroes, then we’ll kill the villains. What’s more, in classic storytelling style, the killing of the villains will, in itself, make the whole thing more interesting.