As I wrote to some friends in an email... I'm a bit of a dichotomous guy. I appreciate a good underdog story, but not the ones that get too much teleplay or garner a "blue collar" support. I equally appreciate eye-opening dominance, but not dominance that is impure or without integrity. Most of all, much more than seeing the little team that could or the undisputed champion, I've always felt most inspired by the toppling of the powerful. The crumble. The "too good to be true... oh, apparently it is" moment. The destruction and the chaos that follow. The gut check. This is because I believe in the power of shared reality. The thing that we all have to deal with, that connects us to each other and drives much of our social norms. What we're willing to put up with. The confidence in one's contribution.
I just simply love that Lance was a "hero" and now he's a former "hero." It's like he was nothing all along. But it's important to remember he wasn't nothing. He built a reputation of dominance in a particular sport that included a level of underdog-edness and come back-edness. With the help of his teams, he put up the numbers. He transcended his sport and began to pluck on the heart strings of the hopeful and possibly desperate. He did this by translating social momentum and awareness into an institution based entirely on a trending retail phenomenon of supremely defensible motives (both capitalistically and humanely speaking). Apparently, he even talked about running for office in Texas.
I do not suffer a fallen hero of this nature. But perhaps my sadistic enjoyment is really a form mourning. Because I do suffer the confusion of those who supported Lance and now must grapple with reality, where theirs was once blind monetary and philosophical support of a cause, is now just (hopefully continued) support of a cause. It must be difficult to support something out of the sheer kindness of one's heart, without figure for inspiration.
Lance suffered many things in his heroic trip which are far, far darker than his now exposure. Now, it's mainly reputational, the physical being trophy and possibly finance. His use of power is phenomenal, and even despite the measures that are place to check such power, we still remain so fascinated by heroes that reality became "Lance Armstrong" (which I just realized is too grossly similar to Livestrong). The ego is the icing on the cake. Fortunately, the truth is far more fascinating and inspiring a reality.
3 comments:
*Livestrong
Well said, my friend.
Just goes to prove what I've been spewing into the endless vacuum of nothingness all along (and damn The Matrix he/ heshes for stealing my mind). That Reality is both shared and entirely subjective, mailable, and most certainly not objectively Real. Good thing we have yellow bracelets, Gods, and arbitrary categories like sports, love, family, humanity, and friendship to hopelessly believe in. Otherwise...why am I writing on the internet again?
You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.
And after a while, you can work on points for style.
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
So that when they turn their backs on you,
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you
get older.
And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand,
Just another sad old man,
All alone and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw
around.
So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone,
Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this
maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everything's done under the sun,
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain.
Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
Who was told what to do by the man.
Who was broken by trained personnel.
Who was fitted with collar and chain.
Who was given a pat on the back.
Who was breaking away from the pack.
Who was only a stranger at home.
Who was ground down in the end.
Who was found dead on the phone.
Who was dragged down by the stone.
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