It only took a day.
On Aug. 16, seven-time Tour de France–winning cyclist Lance Armstrong became just cyclist Lance Armstrong by announcing he was giving up his fight to disprove doping charges leveled in what he contended was an unfair investigation by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency.
By Aug. 17, on Amazon.com, the most recent reader review for "It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life," Lance Armstrong’s inspirational story about recovering from metastatic testicular cancer, read, "It’s not about the bike, it’s about the EPO."
"Naive, but still heartbroken," posted one fan on San Francisco’s Storify social media website.
"Burned by another fraud masquerading as a hero," scoffed Yahoo sports columnist Les Carpenter.
Reader Tom Noll, posting a comment in response to a story in USA Today, wrote, "You are a disgrace to all competitive athletes, and will forever be synonymous with cheating, mr dopestrong."
But these were not cancer survivors, wearers of the yellow bracelet, participants in Armstrong’s fundraising rides, and in some cases, recipients of the largess of Armstrong’s nearly 15-year-old charity, which has grown to a staff of 88 and annual revenues of roughly $50 million.
For the most part, cancer survivors would hear none of it.
In the wake of Armstrong’s announcement, donations soared, according to the Lance Armstrong Foundation at livestrong.org (not to be confused with livestrong.com, the Armstrong-approved fitness and vitamin site that shares the name). In just one day, $174,000 poured in, compared with $3,000 on an average day at the Austin, Tex.–based headquarters.
Money wasn’t the only symbol of impassioned support for Armstrong. Survivors took to the airwaves, to Facebook, and to blogs to defend a hero who inspired them through their struggles with chemotherapy, radiation, despair, and frayed hopes and dreams.
In response to a friend’s Facebook posting, one wrote, "... You should side with Lance. As a person who’s had cancer ... winning any bicycle race, let alone the Tour de France 7, 7, 7 times ... I am so angry and upset by this that I think I need another day to respond. I am so saddened by our country’s need to build someone up and tear them down. This is sick behavior. I probably have the chemo present in MY blood after 7 years."
Came one response, "Even if he IS guilty, it looks like they were ALL doping."
Then, meekly, another, "I want to side with him too, but if someone were making false accusations about me, I would fight to the death."
Social psychologists have an array of explanations (backed up by confirmatory data) for why we, as human beings, hold even more tightly to our beliefs about people, once they are challenged. We also harbor favorable biases about celebrities of all sorts, and unconsciously believe that a person we admire for one trait (good looks, for example, or, ahem, undeniable athletic prowess) must also be smart and honorable.
In the case of cancer patients, who felt befriended by Armstrong and inspired by his amazing story, the loyalty will likely hold strong, which makes the specter of betrayal – if it is so – particularly sad.
Of course, I have no way of knowing that Lance Armstrong doped to win, but I did cringe at the recollection, in a scathing profile in February’s Outside Magazine, of a 2009 Nike ad featuring Armstrong saying, "They say I’m arrogant ... a doper ... washed up ... a fraud." Following images of cancer patients struggling to regain their strength, he adds, referring to his critics: "I’m not back on my bike for them."
The Outside piece’s central theme is that Armstrong’s money-making enterprises are fuzzily distinguished from his nonprofit foundation, which has ceased funding basic cancer research.
Fair enough, but the foundation does do genuine good, from offering financial counseling, clinical trial referrals, fertility preservation awareness, support for young adults and survivors of all ages, YMCA-linked exercise programs, anti-stigma campaigns, and psychosocial support to direct monetary support for patients.
It prides itself on spending 82 cents of every dollar on programs, and the website Charity Navigator gives it a rating of 63 points out of 70, 4 stars. (By way of comparison, the American Cancer Society receives 2.)
I do hope that cancer survivors don’t suffer in the long run, once the fireworks die down and sponsors quietly consider how closely they want to be tied to an athlete celebrity stripped of his ribbons and authenticity. Forbes.com reported that he personally stands to lose at least $7 million in prize money he must return and perhaps $50 million in product endorsements over time.