What Leads A Charge Away From Red Bull? Greenbacks.

 This year's Winter Olympics have just ended.  I have to admit that I didn't pay as much attention to them as I've paid to Olympiads past, though I haven't been living under a big enough rock to not know about the saga of Kamila Valieva.  Whether or not she intentionally took a banned substance, the way her teammates and coach and the Russian sports establishment have treated her is child abuse, pure and simple.  That the International Olympic Committee did nothing to prevent her situation from snowballing--and, if they do anything, they're more likely to discipline her than her team, coaches or the relevant Russian organizations--confirms something that I've long known:  The IOC is, purely and simply, one of the most corrupt organizations in the world. Even if Valieva's tale of woe hadn't unfolded as it did, the fact that this year's games were awarded to Beijing is, for all sorts of reasons, evidence of how avaricious the IOC is.

(As Harry Shearer reminds us, the Olympics are a movement, and we need one--every day!)

As bad as the IOC is, it has at least one other rival for unscrupulousness in the sports world:  the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI). (I'd also put FIFA in the same league, if you will.)  The travesty of Lance Armstrong's carrer is, alone, evidence of that.  UCI officials seem to react to doping in one of two ways:  They look the other way until they can't (that's how they acted in the L.A. farce) or they talk about how they're going to do whatever they keep riders from using banned substances and severely discipline those who did, while making some deal or another that sends the exact opposite message.

Red Bull, to my knowledge, isn't banned by any major sports organization.  I've never drunk it myself, but from what I've heard, it gives one of the quickest, most intense, legal bursts of energy.  That is probably the reason why it's so often associated, whether through sponsorship or in other ways, with high-intensity sporting events.

Evie Richards at the UCI Mountain Bike World Cup in Alberstadt, 2021

Such was the case with the Mountain Bike World Cup, the sport's premier UCI event.  Sponsors are selected by the UCI, as they are at other events under the organization's umbrella.  Red Bull is sponsoring this year's edition, as it's sponsored the past ten.  I can't help but to see some UCI official winking while making the deal.

Well, this will be the last time for Red Bull.  For next year's event,  Discovery Sports will be the sponsor.  They're part of the Discovery broadcast network, which broadcasts a wide variety of sporting events.  I don't fault their work, but, given UCI's history, it's hard not to think that the money involved swayed them--and will give the UCI even less incentive than it (or the IOC or FIFA) to act on its stated commitment to fight doping and other forms of corruption in the sporting events they sanction.

Even If It's Not Allowed

If every nation in the world decided to ban nuclear weapons and abandon nuclear energy, would scientists continue their work on understanding and harnessing the power of the atom?

Of course they would.  They're scientists:  They want to know what's possible and knowable.

Likewise, if some ruler decided to model his or her country after Plato's Republic, poets would be banned.  But would they stop writing or chanting?

Of course not.  At least, no real poets would.

Following this thread of logic, doesn't it make sense that just because the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) won't allow road bicycles lighter than 6.8 kilograms (14.9 pounds) in sanctioned races, someone won't restrain him- or her- self from creating an even lighter bike?

Of course it does.  And that is exactly what Canyon, the largest direct-to[consumer bicycle company, has done.  Two weeks ago, it released the Canyon Factory Racing (CFR) version of its "Ultimate" road bike.  

It weighs a wispy 6.2 kilos, or 13 pounds, 11 ounces.  

Now, it may not appear in the Tour or Giro or Vuelta, whenever they resume--unless, of course, the UCI changes its rules.  But I am sure that someone out there simply must have it.  Hal Ruzal, the recently-retired maven of Bicycle Habitat, once told me that whenever the lightest bikes from Specialized (S-Works) or Cannondale or whomever came to his shop, people with  fat enough wallets (or high enough credit cards limit) bought them.  "They think those bikes are going to get them over the hill in Central Park," he quipped.

Still, though, I don't mind that someone is trying to make ever-lighter bikes, even if they're not allowed in races--or if I don't intend to buy one myself, even if I get rich.

The Sad Saga Of Vladimir Gusev

Perhaps you have heard of Vladimir Gusev, the Russian cyclist who twice won his country's time trial championships. In July of 2008, the Astana team fired him for "abnormal values".  (It sounds like an accusation Ted Cruz would throw at Donald Trump, gay people or just about anyone else, doesn't it?)  On the surface, it sounds like just another doping case, wouldn't you say?

However, the story is more complicated than I've so far described.  You see, the Astana team--founded in Kazakhstan two years earlier--was kicked out of the Tour de France in 2007 after its star rider, Alexander Vinokourov, tested positive.  Needless to say, the team was in a crisis--one that could have threatened its very existence.

Vladimir Gusev:  Victim of the UCI and Johan Bruyneel

To show that Astana was taking a stance against doping (I see the eyeballs rolling!), it recruited who was undoubtedly the best man for the job:  Johan Bruyneel. If his name doesn't sound familiar, I'll tell you a little about him:  From 1999 until 2007 (Do those years ring a bell?), he was the directeur sportif  of--are you ready?--the US Postal Service Team.  Yes, the team that employed one Lance Armstrong.  And a fellow named Alberto Contador:  more about him later.

To show that he was really, really serious about running a clean team, he brought in the Grand Inquisitor of the anti-doping movement:  the Danish doctor Rasmus Damsgaard (Don't you just love that name?), who successfully established anti-doping protocols with Bjarne Riis' old crew, Team CSC.

OK, so maybe Bruyneel was ready to set his riders on the straight and narrow after all.  But soon after bringing Dr. Damsgaard aboard, which cyclist does he hire?  Why, none other than Contador, who'd just won the Tour de France under Bruyneel's tutelage with the Discovery team. 

Well, not long after, the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI), the sport's governing body, declared that it wouldn't allow the Astana team to participate in the Tour de France.  That meant, of course, that Contador would not be able to defend his yellow jersey.  But, even worse, from Astana's point of view, was that the ban would, in essence, destroy the team.

Bruyneel realized he had to show the UCI that Astana could take care of its own doping problems. So--quelle coincidence!--Damsgaard just happened to find "abnormal values" in Gusev's blood.  The good doctor informed the kindly directeur sportif--who, putting the good of the team and the sport above all else, fired Gusev.

He made the announcement in the middle of a broadcast on Belgian TV, where he was a commentator for its Tour de France coverage.

That went down nearly five years before Lance Armstrong made his confession.  During those years--and before, when Lance was winning seven consecutive Tours--accusations of doping swirled around him.  Now, I am not going to take a stand on Lance.  However, I do believe that it was hypocritical, to say the least, for the UCI to look the other way while Lance was winning the Tour but to, essentially, get Gusev to drop his suit against them so that he could continue his cycling career.

Then again, as loath as I am to defend the UCI, the organization looks pristine compared to Bruyneel, who--from all of the testimony we've heard so far--enabled Armstrong, Contador and other riders' doping but hung Gusev out to dry.

Today, Gusev is riding for the Skydive Dubai Cycling Team.  It's good to see that he's still "in the game" but, at age 33, his best years are probably behind him.  It's enough to make one wonder what sort of rider he might have become had he not gone two years (2008-2010) without racing, just when his star should have been ascending.  Perhaps we'd be hearing more about him than about a couple of other riders Bruyneel managed.

(In the near future, I will write about another Gusev who also has a connection with cycling, or at least with bicycles.)