But hopes springs whatever and we generally follow where we are led. People suspended belief about Lance Armstrong for a long time. The early challenges seemed like sour grapes from French authorities miffed at a Yank capturing their Tour so many times. His earnest denials, cancer-fighting foundation and regular guy affect completed the picture.
Eventually they got him. And 'they' must have really wanted him because it took a long time and a lot of effort.
A lingering question is what it means for advertisers, marketers and others who make a living linking celebrity with commerce. As the following commentary points out, losing his titles garnered some attention but quickly faded. However, losing his endorsements? Stop the digital presses!
It is a hallmark of our society and the economy that supports it. Ambition begets greed which too often begets cheating and then exposure. The forces that created the impetus to succeed are those that bring the hero down. Those lionized get wrapped up in their myths, losing track of the line between honest performance and the artifice that becomes necessary to sustain it.
The companies that sponsored Armstrong have backed away. It is doubtful they will be harmed or their brands much besmirched. Which may tell us something about the transitory impact of partnering with mere mortals in the first place. JL
Jason Gay reports in the Wall Street Journal:
The other swoosh has droppedNike severed its relationship with Lance Armstrong Wednesday, and there was something modern and telling about the frantic reaction to this news, as if an exhaustive report by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency featuring damning testimony by 11 ex-teammates—or the possible stripping of his seven Tour de France titles—was just a mild prelude to the shame that would accompany the loss of a sneaker company's endorsement.
But this is the universe we live in. The ascension and validation of today's athletes is not only about the titles they can deliver, but also the products they can reliably pitch, and when that goes away, uh-oh. The Journal later reported that Armstrong partners RadioShack Corp., Anheuser-Busch and the manufacturer of Giro cycling helmets were also distancing themselves from the retired racer. Next to go was Trek, Armstrong's longtime bike supplier. Armstrong himself stepped down as chairman of the Lance Armstrong Foundation.
It was fitting that the desertions started with Nike, a company that shares its name with the Greek goddess of victory, and remains the world's foremost dispenser of sleek sports mythology. Nike had a prominent hand in constructing the image of Armstrong that's unravelling now. There was the memorable advertisement featuring a shaken Armstrong announcing his cancer diagnosis; a spot of a revived Armstrong cycling alongside a train; the one in which Armstrong resuscitated an elephant by using his otherworldly lungs (Not making that up). Brashly, there was the spot of Armstrong having his blood drawn for a test.
"Everybody wants to know what I am on," Armstrong narrated. "What am I on? I'm on my bike, busting my ass, six hours a day. What are you on?"
Sounds bad now, right? But Armstrong was a magnetic spokesperson, with an irresistible story—an athlete who had beaten cancer and become a champion of a race and a cause. Cycling is a marginal sport—Armstrong is typically the only cyclist U.S. consumers can name—and he and Nike were brilliant at extracting the rider from the riding. Armstrong wasn't presented as someone winning jerseys in Paris, but as something far broader—a survivor who had conquered long odds, who got on his bike not for trophies and titles, but for millions who identified with his struggle. He was an inspiration for people whose lives had been invaded by an insidious disease, and more modestly, for weekend warriors trying to summon the courage to run around the block. When Nike coupled that narrative with a ingenious product—those yellow bracelets—it exploded into a phenomenon. Armstrong was never bigger, and Nike was far from the only outlet selling this feel-good vision of a cycling superhero. Armstrong was now a global celebrity, huddling with world leaders. The image had ridden away from the man.
Now the story has swerved sharply in another direction. Armstrong's name is under siege, as USADA's investigation painted a far darker portrait. Though Armstrong and his advocates have rejected USADA's allegations, referring to the investigation as a "witch hunt," it was enough for longtime partners to hop out of the Armstrong business. Nike may be a company that has stood by athletes in trouble—it backed Kobe Bryant and Tiger Woods and invited Michael Vick to return—but Armstrong apparently became too much to handle. In its statement Nike referred to "the seemingly insurmountable evidence that Lance Armstrong participated in doping." The other brands soon followed, slipping away from Armstrong like opponents used to do in the Alps.
These breakups highlighted an old peril: the burnishing of a legend in real time is a risky game. Armstrong is not the first spokesperson to see business relationships unravel because of crisis. He will not be the last.
But there's another opportunity here, for all of us to avoid falling prey to the easy myth-making and try to see athletes for the humans they really are. Haven't we watched enough fairy tales collapse? These have been multiple controversies in recent years that have revealed the shaky foundations of many of our cherished sports traditions, and the hazards of looking the other way. College football was rocked by a sexual abuse scandal at Penn State, a program that was forever portrayed as august and above the fray. The NFL is scrambling to reinvent itself as a sport passionate about player safety, after decades of celebrating its macho, collision-based culture. Now Lance Armstrong is losing control of his story and the power of his name. These reconsiderations can be painful, hard to watch. But it's preferable to an image which protects a difficult truth.
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