Lance Armstrong is in for the fight of his life

Beating back the public backlash of cheating requires more than public relations, it demands the truth. Full disclosure: I loved Lance Armstrong. Followed every stage of his seven Tour de France victories, and even traveled to France one year to watch him ride a stage. On the wall in back of my right shoulder sits a picture of Lance, with images of each of his wins.

But as I wrote on this blog nearly a year ago, Lance is in big trouble as federal investigators tighten the noose around him and his former U.S. Postal teammates, squeezing them for information on how the clan systematically cheated the sport.

Their dominance, and that of Lance, was enough to raise suspicions throughout the years. How could an American team with no cultural connection to cycling come to dominate the sport, while American soccer has unsuccessfully tried for decades to do the same thing? 

When a story is too good to be true, guess what? It’s too good to be true. The reality is that Lance was a good cyclist. He and his cohorts were even better dopers. When U.S. Postal Lieutenant Tyler Hamilton came clean last week on "60 Minutes," it mortally wounded one of the world’s greatest sportsmen and humanitarians, who through his charity, Livestrong, has single-handedly raised more than $325 million in the fight against cancer.

How conspiracy theories affect reputation management

Why is it that some stories that don't make sense often get stuck in the public's consciousness and can never be dislodged?

Even if they're ridiculous. Unsubstantiated. Absurd. So the story of the Bush Administration's orchestration of 9/11 continues to resurface. And an increasing percentage of Americans believe that Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone. Conspiracy theory affects the easily influenced and persuaded but it also infects bright minds and the level headed. Why?

Because we all share a basic human need to want to believe that our lives are far from haphazard. Our minds are constantly working to convert chaos to order. We believe that events are somehow driven by a hidden hand, a plan, or even a conspiracy. And so we look for meaning even where none exists.

For us, it's too painful to believe that a nondescript group of hijackers could commandeer commercial airliners, kill more than 3,000 innocent human beings, trigger wars, and inflame global hostility. Similarly, it's impossible to acknowledge that a troubled loner could, with a single shot, murder the most powerful leader in the world. The cosmos can't work in such ways. They are too fantastic of stories that demand back stories, so we fill them in to alleviate our own discomfort.

The human tendency to replace the unexplainable with an explanation has an inverse effect as well. When the evidence suggests that a conspiracy has led to a specific result, we often disbelieve our own eyes and instead replace the obvious truth with an imagined outcome.

Such is the case of my personal hero, Lance Armstrong. I first came to love Lance in 1999, when he won his first Tour de France after beating cancer. I read his books, fell in love with the story, and hung a framed poster of Lance in my office as a reminder of victory over adversity. And even though my own eyes were telling me something different, I believed it all.

Here was a guy who got off death's bed to lift himself over the Alps and Pyrenees, faster and higher than anyone else. His performances were super human. I wrote speeches about Armstrong's accomplishment for my clients to read at sales conferences. I told and retold the stories of how Lance cracked the field and beat the mountains seven times to win the most grueling of athletic endeavors.

And yet, there were signs everywhere that he, like most top-ranked cyclists of that era, had cheated. A number of his lieutenants, those that have ridden on his team, had intermittently come forward with allegations. An alleged positive drug test for EPO was made public by a French newspaper. A teammate testified in court that he overheard Lance tell doctors about his illicit drug use while being treated for cancer.

His retirement from the sport, while at the top of his game, and then his ill-timed return, suggested that he struggled with the risk of getting caught, only to return to the sport once it had cleaned itself up to prove he could win in a clean and fair race.

Then, there was the mushroom cloud effect of US Postal-Lance's old cycling team. Many of its members were Americans. Many became world-class cyclists quickly. Compared to US soccer, where America has worked for decades to achieve international success, cycling did it in a few short years. I should have wondered at that point, could there be more to the story? Could they have just been good at sharing the secrets of doping?

My denial of all things Lance Armstrong was nothing more than a reverse conspiracy theory. Lance was clean because of the back story that preceded his every performance. The dots had already been filled in for me. This was not random. It was the result of greatness with the proof being his conquering of cancer. It allowed me to blind myself to the apparent truth-one that is now the subject of a Federal investigation.

Brutally put, Lance Armstrong cheated. And not only did he cheat, but he probably did it in a revolutionary, systemic way, infecting others by sharing and educating them through his team to the wonders of performance enhancing drugs. Unfortunately, the very greatness of his accomplishments should have raised suspicion. It didn't. The backstory assured me.

So what does this all have to do with reputation management? Truth is often determined more by storytelling (of the lack thereof) rather than the facts of a circumstance. The more we can back fill a story, the greater the chance of we can preserve a legacy or reputation. Without the story, our hands are tied.

I once represented an institution that suffered the grave suicidal loss of a patient under their care. There was no other reason for the loss other than the patient was troubled. But nothing could be communicated about the events out of deference to patient privacy. The story was not there. The dots didn't connect. The Institution paid a terrific price.

On the other hand, there have been instances where clients have faced real threat. But the backstory was intact. The price paid was much lesser than when the story was absent. As public relations professionals, it is our charge to craft the story with truth and humanity to preserve the integrity of those we serve.

Off the grid for seven days

I am a self-confessed news junkie. A guy whose favorite day in eighth-grade social studies was current events. Even earlier, at age 12, I wrote a letter to "60 Minutes." So incensed was I over some long-forgotten story. With the Internet, the access and obsession have grown that much stronger.

What was once a daily commitment to news is now an hourly compulsion to click on a news alert, check an RSS feed, see what's being tweeted, and otherwise refresh and renew my view of the world, even if it's just through e-mails and the constant flow of news links sent to me by clients and staff.

And so, with all that as a backdrop, last week I headed into the great backwoods of central Pennsylvania with the intention of going off the grid for as long as I could. Seven days, if all went as planned, with no cell coverage. The iPad at home. A backup laptop with a dead battery in reserve that could be fired up with a power supply in an emergency.

Day One: Friday, July 2

Travel and provision day. Time to hit the road, and purchase groceries and fishing tackle. The day before a holiday weekend is slow for news. I wouldn't be missing much. So I easily switched the satellite radio to music instead of the typical CNN, CNBC, NPR, and Fox hash and rehash.

Still, I caught myself repeatedly tapping the pocket of my cargo shorts, a nervous tick to assure a quick draw of the cell phone if fate required it. But alas, not there. So by noon, my mind was racing. Had the stock market continued to fall? Who advanced in the World Cup? How long would the heat wave persist? With no news, I was groundless. Without fact or opinion, I was stressed by the lack of context.

By evening, a slow-moving river and an even slower porch ceiling fan helped me to relax. But still, who was winning and losing? What about the unexpected? How was the world changing? I couldn't help but wonder.

Day Two: Saturday, July 3

The holiday brings no news, I rationalized, when I awoke early and began planning for the Fourth of July family get-together. I would be missing little, if anything for the next two days, making it easier to maintain radio silence. A busy afternoon of family and friends kept me outdoors, away from thoughts of my iPad and iPhone.

Our family's amateur fireworks show, some 50 500-gram shots reflecting over the water, distracted my thoughts. I forgot it was the first day of the Tour de France. After all, it was just the prologue. The world as it's constructed by news was becoming more and more distant.

Day Three: Sunday, the Fourth of July

A national holiday limits news, I figured. Then I recalled when I was away over Thanksgiving and the Dubai credit crisis hit. Wasn't that on a holiday? I thought to myself. It was such a big news story that morning. Ruined my day. Dubai was crashing. Could the rest of the world sustain? It never affected my life one way or the other. Still, I had to know. What might be happening similarly today? I was haunted by all that I might be missing.

Day Four: Monday, July 5

Still the national holiday. The markets were closed. The mania toggled off. I bathed early that morning in a cold mountain stream, fresh off a bike ride. Nothing on me had a lithium battery to drain or manage. My mind and pockets were free of the cell phone, text messaging, e-mail, and the media. No noise. The heat built throughout the day, but not my anxiety. By dinner, I felt no urge, no compulsion. No need to know what was happening in the world. Might the addiction be waning?

Day Five: Tuesday, July 6

An early breakfast at The Barnyard, where $5 gets you more pork, eggs, and potatoes than the old cardiologist recommends consuming in a year. With it came a side helping of realization. I awoke this morning feeling a little bit better about the world.

You see, typically, as part of my heavy media diet, evenings end with two opposing views of the world brought to life by Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow from the left, and Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity from the right. As a PR person, I watch both MSNBC and Fox to understand how to craft an argument regardless of whether it's real or ridiculous.

And now being away from it, I realize that two hate-filled hours a night tends to taint your perspective come dawn. So this morning, I had no residual anger over what Barbara Boxer or Karl Rove said the day before. Instead, the day looked a little brighter. The sky a bit bluer. Four days off the grid had shown me the intrinsic negativity that goes with media. Ah screw it, I thought to myself. I still love the news. Cold turkey is tough.

Day Six: Wednesday, July 7

In the world I am now moving in, news isn't mediated. Rather it's immediate, delivered from friend or acquaintance. Curvin, a Mennonite woodworker, showed up early to fashion a gun cabinet out of antique yellow pine. He speaks slowly, against expectation. A hello brings a slow-drawn "Riiiiight." He eyeballed and measured the fitting. Then he appeared silently over my left shoulder as I sat on a porch rocker.

"So how's business with you?" he asked as a first-time reference to me about anything other than cabinetry.

"Good," I replied. "And with you?"

"Slow. Real slow," he said slowly.

And with that, his words triggered my fear. Business is slow even for a Mennonite cabinetmaker. It all had to be the result of the news, I thought to myself. Unknown to him, market forces had conspired, a housing collapse transpired, and 10-percent unemployment afflicted the nation.

The news would tell me more, give me an idea of how to navigate from here. Certainly, the talking heads of CNBC could give counsel. Maybe The Huffington Post could finger-point some capitalist culprit. Or The Wall Street Journal would place the blame at Obama's feet. I had to have it. Please, oh God, give me the news.

So with that, I pulled out the drained laptop and plugged it in, one day short of my goal of being off the grid for seven days. In seconds, it awoke to the WiFi and my life lit up again. Google stood at attention. The Dow was up. Lance fell down. Germany and Brazil stumbled. LeBron left town. The squawk was back in the box. All seemed right with the world again.