Normally I have less than zero interest in sports or sports celebrities, but the fall of an icon like Mark McGwire (whose signature was on my younger son’s baseball bat when he was in Little League) or Lance Armstrong , whose as-told-to memoir It’s Not About the Bike so inspired my colleagues at Book-of-the-Month Club a decade-plus ago, does give me pause.
The fact that Armstrong availed himself of battalions of doctors and boatloads of drugs when he was battling cancer didn’t take away from his victory over the disease in anyone’s eyes. So why wouldn’t he use the chemical tools that virtually all of his competitors were also using when he raced, just to level the playing field if not to give himself an edge?
No one has suggested stripping Faulkner of his Nobel Prize because he wrote his longest, most convoluted sentences under the influence of alcohol, or…
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