Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for Lance. His hemoglobin unnaturally oxygenated, Lance was going to hop on his banana seat and literally ride off into the sunset. He was just going to take his ball and go home. And other jokes about his chosen profession and/or lack of testicles, plural.
Tomorrow, Lance Armstrong appears before our nation’s high priestess of contrition to blubber and wail. Lance Armstrong cheated in a sport that very few people in this country care about. I’ve written about this before. And before that. I have great difficulty ginning up the proper amount of outrage, schadenfreude, or whatever it is you’re supposed to feel when a world class athlete and jerk gets nailed like this.
It’s for this reason that the home stretch of this column will be written by a guest columnist. This writer was well-known for thriving in a sport that, like cycling, was similarly plagued by drug abuse and scandal.
I’m talking, of course, about….
… Barbaro. Winner of the 2006 Kentucky Derby, Barbaro is here to weigh in on the various legal challenges that may rear… their head when Lance ultimately confesses to using drugs. I’ve asked Barbaro to speak specifically to those issues for which he feels he may give special insight. Without further ado…
*beep beep gates open*
FEDERAL WHISTLEBLOWER LAWSUIT
First off, I’ve gotta thank Juggs for giving me the opportunity to write this. Not a ton of freelance writing jobs for dead horses out there. Someone asks me what I’m doing, I just shrug and say, “The economy.” Y’know? Anyway, let’s get down to brass tacks (which, incidentally, are a helluva way to affix shoes on your hooves). Floyd Landis has allegedly filed a lawsuit under something called the Federal False Claims Act. The Postal Service sponsored Lance’s cycling team for a few years and, I guess he lied to them? Lied to the federal government?
Christ, this doesn’t seem like the most urgent thing in the world to attend to. My great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a Pony Express horse. Charcoal was his name. Beautiful Palomino. Rich coat. Anyway, he loved humping that mail from town to town. At least, that’s what they say about him. Gorgeous coat.
I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I died in 2007. Even before I died, I had no idea how to write, speak, or even understand the English language. I’m a f**king horse. A dead horse. Juggs tells me that Lance Armstrong is being sued by a Texas insurance firm that wants the bonus money it paid to Armstrong back. Is that even… a thing? That I just typed with my ghost hooves? I don’t know.
Listen, back in my racing and living days a bonus was two carrots and three lumps of sugar. You could clawback all the bonus you wanted, but you’d have to dig through a helluva lot of horse crap before you’d get that carrot back. And you might just get a kick straight to the face. You dirty Indian-giving trainer with your electrical shocks and strict doping regimens. Without a damned care in the world about what those drugs were doing to my limbs. My fragile limbs! Awww, look at me. Juggs says that “Indian-giving” bit is awful racist and, hell, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a bitter, old, washed-up and dead horse with an axe to grind. I could really go for a carrot now, though.
You want to know what Lance Armstrong should be afraid of? The f**king glue factory. That ought to put the fear of God into the brash Texan. He probably should be sent there with his single nut anyway. Like that jerk’ll do anything if he’s put out to stud with equipment like that. Libel, what the hell is libel? Why am I writing this? Seriously. I. Am. A. Dead. Horse.
Lance Armstrong sued The Sunday Times for libel after the paper reprinted allegations of his drug use and won a settlement back in 2006. Well, you better believe the newspaper is now salivating over the revelation that they didn’t, you know, libel him in the first place. Words words words, none of this makes any sense to my small horse brain. Libel? Juggs tells me that’s just words. Great! Something I know nothing about. I could pretend and tell you all about the differences between libel law on either side of the Atlantic and how these two different approaches to libel tell you everything you need to know about these nations’ competing views of celebrity and authority, even. I could do that or I could take a s**t in this ghost stall.
Lance Armstrong lied. That’s what this whole hullabaloo is about. In the court of public opinion, your lies are dealt with by Oprah. In the court of court, your lies may be dealt with by a fat perjury charge. And you’ve got to believe Lance Armstrong and his lawyers have pored over all his sworn statements to make sure he’s not opening himself up to perjury charges.
You’ve also got to believe that I can’t get that sound out of my mind. My leg, broken. The words of concern that I couldn’t understand then but can magically type now. They said they were doing what’s best, putting me down. How’s that for a euphemism? Putting me down. I was of no use anymore. No lawsuits, no more pain. No more tears, no more races, no more carrots. No more words. No more words.
Lance Armstrong’s Problems Are Only Just Beginning [The Atlantic]
Justice Department Poised to Join Armstrong Whistleblower Suit [Wall Street Journal]
Insurer seeks $7.5 million [ESPN]
Lance Armstrong Confesses to Doping in Oprah Interview — Could He Face a Perjury Charge? [Hollywood.com]