Lance Edward Gunderson you are,
A cyclist renowned both near and far
Struck by cancer, refused to comply
The comeback kid, a hell of a guy.
In ninety nine you blew the field away
A feel good story, hip, hip, hip hooray
Shooting up from thirty sixth to first
Support team all perfectly coerced
Bassons a solitary, lonesome voice
Intimidation, your weapon of choice
You were the best, no positive test
He was disposed of, suitably suppressed
Was Walsh the only one slightly suspicious?
He went after you, your troll auspicious
Though you used libel to muffle his grail
He fought the good fight, destined not to fail
Paul Kimmage too you tried to oppress
Frankie and Betsy heard you confess,
Your lawyers gambit, make threats and harass
Such underhandedness showing your class
Emma O’Reilly, a mule for your wants
Distraction driven by your toxic taunts
She blew the lid on your evil scheme
If you dare to sleep, you’ll never dream
As you confess to Oprah, gone the cheers
I watch for chameleons crocodile tears
A vicious cheating performance enhancer
Paul was right, you were the cancer.
Due to circumstances, this is my first poem in four months. I've been fascinated by the whole Lance Armstrong story for a while now and with the impending Oprah interview this week I thought I'd throw together a few lines.
I suppose my dormant fascination with this subject was awoken recently by the excellent 5 Live Sports documentary on the subject called Peddlers: Cycling’s Dirty Truth