Saturday, October 6, 2007, 11:28 AM
We hear of steroids on a regular basis, whether it's in baseball, football, cycling, or now at the forefront, track. We hear that athletes "unknowingly" took them, rubbed them on their bodies, injected themselves, and then went out and set records the likes of which we have never seen before.
And we wonder... at what cost?
At what cost to the bodies of those that took them? At what cost to the integrity of the sports that
produced these athletes? At what cost to the sanctity of the record books? At what cost to the loyalty of the fans who supported them?
But there is a Lone Thought that is hunkered down on a stool in a smokey, darkened corner of my mind, sipping Tullamore Dew and whispering of what could have been, should have been. And as he sits and drinks, his whispering becomes angry, frustrated and defeated, and quickly you can feel his pain, his despair.
What is this Lone Thought? It is about all the athletes that have had their moments in the sunshine stolen. All those clean athletes who strived to be the best that nature would allow. Those athletes who worked and sweated and strained to take their bodies and minds to the edge of performance, and who, in the end, left the field of battle defeated.
And now this Lone Thought weeps. Weeps at the remembrance of the staccato flash of cameras as they washed over the gleaming, smiling faces of the Marion Jones', Floyd Landis' and Barry Bonds of the athletic world.
For this Lone Thought will never know the ecstasy of that moment in time when the eyes of your countrymen, your fans, and the world are on you and you alone. He will never know the joy of standing atop the podium, hands held high in victory, tears streaming down his face, basking in the glow of millions. Never know that mythic moment when posed at the plate, watching the ball screaming over the wall, flashbulbs lighting up the night as the fans go insane.
What a rotten shame. When all is said and done, when the Gold Medals go back, when the Tour de' France trophy goes back and those that finished second receive their just dues, the one thing those runner-ups can never have is that moment in the sun. That flush of victory. The rush of pride that comes from riding down the Champs Elysees, arms raised in triumph as the crowd goes wild, the tingling that runs down your spine as 50,000 fans scream your name as you break the tape, or the adulation of fans and teammates alike as you cross home plate, a returning warrior.
So often our attention is turned towards those that do the dirty deed and once again we will talk of the problems steroids present in sports. We will tsk, tsk, tsk at their shame. But, maybe what we need to do is to realize the personal carnage these cheaters leave behind. The lifetimes of dreams - broken, battered, and lost - and the anguish of what could have been for those who finished second and had their lives altered forever after.
We can give them the Gold Medals and Trophies and honors they deserved, but can we give them back the elation of winning? No, those memories and emotions are forever locked away in the minds of those that put greed and winning above everything, including sportsmanship and more importantly, honor.
Shame on you Marion Jones. Shame on you Floyd Landis. Shame on you Barry Bonds. You are cheaters and liars.
And we wonder... at what cost?
At what cost to the bodies of those that took them? At what cost to the integrity of the sports that
produced these athletes? At what cost to the sanctity of the record books? At what cost to the loyalty of the fans who supported them?
But there is a Lone Thought that is hunkered down on a stool in a smokey, darkened corner of my mind, sipping Tullamore Dew and whispering of what could have been, should have been. And as he sits and drinks, his whispering becomes angry, frustrated and defeated, and quickly you can feel his pain, his despair.
What is this Lone Thought? It is about all the athletes that have had their moments in the sunshine stolen. All those clean athletes who strived to be the best that nature would allow. Those athletes who worked and sweated and strained to take their bodies and minds to the edge of performance, and who, in the end, left the field of battle defeated.
And now this Lone Thought weeps. Weeps at the remembrance of the staccato flash of cameras as they washed over the gleaming, smiling faces of the Marion Jones', Floyd Landis' and Barry Bonds of the athletic world.
For this Lone Thought will never know the ecstasy of that moment in time when the eyes of your countrymen, your fans, and the world are on you and you alone. He will never know the joy of standing atop the podium, hands held high in victory, tears streaming down his face, basking in the glow of millions. Never know that mythic moment when posed at the plate, watching the ball screaming over the wall, flashbulbs lighting up the night as the fans go insane.
What a rotten shame. When all is said and done, when the Gold Medals go back, when the Tour de' France trophy goes back and those that finished second receive their just dues, the one thing those runner-ups can never have is that moment in the sun. That flush of victory. The rush of pride that comes from riding down the Champs Elysees, arms raised in triumph as the crowd goes wild, the tingling that runs down your spine as 50,000 fans scream your name as you break the tape, or the adulation of fans and teammates alike as you cross home plate, a returning warrior.
So often our attention is turned towards those that do the dirty deed and once again we will talk of the problems steroids present in sports. We will tsk, tsk, tsk at their shame. But, maybe what we need to do is to realize the personal carnage these cheaters leave behind. The lifetimes of dreams - broken, battered, and lost - and the anguish of what could have been for those who finished second and had their lives altered forever after.
We can give them the Gold Medals and Trophies and honors they deserved, but can we give them back the elation of winning? No, those memories and emotions are forever locked away in the minds of those that put greed and winning above everything, including sportsmanship and more importantly, honor.
Shame on you Marion Jones. Shame on you Floyd Landis. Shame on you Barry Bonds. You are cheaters and liars.
And at your worst, above all else, you are the stealer of dreams.
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