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Why do they do it? What is left for them to prove?
News that Lance Armstrong, Bradman on a bicycle and seven times Tour de France winner, is planning a comeback, has met with consternation in the world of sport. His aim, he says, is to give cancer research a higher profile, having survived testicular cancer himself.
It’s an altruistic motive, but really, is there any illness of which we are less aware? By which none of us has been touched in some way?
There must be something else driving him – that unique something that elevated him into a stratosphere reserved for only the greatest of champions.
He may simply love riding and racing, so following his natural bent is fair enough.
The stakes, however, are higher for a man of Armstrong’s status. He
will have the best support team available, his preparation will be
meticulous and, most important, his voracious desire to win will be
there in spades, but – and there is always a but – he is 37 and the
young Turks and hardened professionals against whom he’ll be competing
for the first time since 2005 will not stand on ceremony if the
opportunity arises to leave the old bloke in their wake.
They will be gunning for the Lion King and he could be on a hiding to nothing.
As a fully blown soap opera, sport is littered with the shattered
dreams of those whose self belief asked too much of their aging limbs.
Only in the arts can performers kid themselves and the adoring mob that
they are still the real deal – when prune faced Mick Jagger announces
that he and Keef and the boys will embark on yet another blockbuster
global tour, stubbornly unmindful of the fact that they have not been
relevant since 1972, is it only I who groans with ennui?
Sport shines a harsher light on those who will not depart centre stage
and fairytale comebacks, as what’s his name observed, are like Lazarus
with a triple bypass.
The Australian cricket selectors, scrambling to come up with a side to
play the Indians in 1977 after the mass defections to Kerry Packer’s
WSC, brought R.B.Simpson back from the dead to lead a bunch of up and
comers and journeymen. Simmo, then 41, scored two tons and was
instrumental in the 3-2 series victory.
Wayne Bennett similarly recalled Allan Langer for the deciding Origin
clash of 2001. Alf, wiling away his twilight years with Warrington in
the Old Dart, made a mercy dash to Brisbane and inspired the Maroons to
their 40-14 caning of the Blues (bastard!).
Both men’s decisions were influenced by the need of the group, but that
is unlikely to have been what swayed them most. The majestic Mark Ella,
retired at 25, would not be drawn back to Rugby for love or money,
suggesting that the determining factor is individual desire, or lack of
it.
Kelly Slater and Layne Beachley proved repeatedly that, on a board, it
was them first and daylight second, but walked out of the water and
gave away competitive surfing, only to be lured back by the swell and
the salt air to do it all again – Slater has just won his ninth crown.
But the sport which has witnessed the most dramatic comebacks,
notwithstanding its inherent brutality and demoralising consequences of
defeat, is boxing. The greatest of them all, Muhammad Ali, endured an
enforced lay-off of four years when he was stripped of the heavyweight
title for his public opposition to the Vietnam War and refusal to be
drafted into the army (‘no Viet Cong ever called me nigger’ is surely
one of the quotes of the century), before lacing on the gloves and, in
1974, reclaiming his belt from George Foreman in Kinshasa’s ‘rumble in
the jungle.’
Foreman himself, victim of Ali’s and trainer Angelo Dundee’s ‘rope a
dope’ strategy, made an equally impressive return to the ring. After
retiring in 1977 at the age of 28, he KO’d Michael Moorer in 1994 to
become, at 45, history’s oldest heavyweight champ. But for every Ali
and Foreman there are dozens of broken and bruised pugs who only
succeeded in making themselves look foolish, something that you suspect
Armstrong would be aware of.
So if he does slide back into the lycra – and who could possibly doubt
his determination? – let’s hope that when the peloton makes its
triumphant dash down the Champs Élysées, Armstrong is not bringing up
the rear, an exile on main street.
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