In a development that has shocked precisely nobody, the hallowed halls of competitive sport have been rattled by yet another doping scandal. This time, the revelations are so brazen, so flagrantly in contempt of fair play, that one might be forgiven for mistaking the press conference for a Monty Python sketch. The governing body, in a desperate bid to retain some shred of credibility, announced that a staggering number of athletes had been caught with enough banned substances to stock a small pharmacy in Monaco.
But let us not mince words. This is not merely a scandal. This is a gladiatorial arena where the line between enhancement and intoxication has become as blurry as a pub landlord’s memory. My sources (a man named Horace who claims to have sold performance-enhancing eels to a Olympic swimmer) tell me that the average athlete’s blood now contains more exotic chemicals than a Breaking Bad spin-off. The regulators, bless their cotton socks, look on with the helpless expression of a man trying to herd cats while riding a unicycle.
The real absurdity, the true farce, is the sheer theatricality of it all. We have officials solemnly intoning about the sanctity of sport, while their athletes drink horse placenta smoothies and inject god knows what into their hindquarters. It is like watching a bishop bless a brothel. The public, meanwhile, are expected to gasp in horror, then return to worshipping their chemically enhanced demigods with renewed fervour.
This correspondent, of course, has a solution. If we are to have doping, let us have it out in the open. Legalise everything, I say! Let the athletes take their syringes and their patent medicines openly, and let us judge them not by their hypocrisy but by their performance. The medals can be made of pure pharmaceutical plastic. The anthem could be a remix of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. After all, what is sport if not a controlled explosion of hubris and pharmacology?
As I file this report from a Heathrow departure lounge, a gin and tonic trembling in my hand (the only performance enhancement I require), I reflect on the beautiful, glorious stupidity of it all. We are a species that cheers for cheaters and condemns the honest. We build cathedrals to doping and then act surprised when the stained glass windows are made of syringes. The doping scandal is not a crisis. It is the very essence of modern sport, laid bare for all to see.
So raise a glass, dear reader. To the athletes, the chemists, the regulators, and the fans. We are all complicit in this beautiful, ridiculous pantomime. And as the next set of leaked test results surfaces, remember: this is the Olympics, just without the pretence. Steroids are allowed. They always were.
