Is the BOA’s lifetime drugs ban fair?

I don’t think the British Olympic Association’s (BOA) lifetime ban on drugs users is fair. There, I said it. Controversial, yes; but let me explain.

Let me make one thing clear from the off: there’s no doubt in my mind that cheating in any sport is deplorable, as you not only cheat rivals and fans, but also yourself.

But the story of David Millar – the Scottish cyclist banned for two years for taking the performance enhancing drug, EPO – has made me realise it’s not always so black and white. At the moment I am reading Millar’s rather splendid biography, Racing Through the Dark.

Millar will not be able to compete for Great Britain at next year’s home Olympics as he is banned for life by the BOA. It is something that Millar clearly finds frustrating and upsetting, as this interview shows.

The easy line to take here is to have no sympathy for him and re-iterate that he bought it on himself. I would normally agree, but having read his book, I have a slightly different take.

Millar was a pro cyclist with a strong anti-drugs stance when he started out back in 1997. In the murky world of professional cycling of that era he was surrounded by dopers and teammates who he knew were enhancing their performance. He held strong and raced clean knowing that he didn’t want to win that way.

But what is detailed in his book is how the pressure and physical demands of being a pro cyclist gradually wore him down. Being a team leader with responsibilities and pressures eventually led him to roll up his sleeve and join the dark side.

Now, I am one for being harsh; for saying ‘you should have held strong, you idiot’. Even more so as the book details how he stopped taking EPO to prove he could win a stage of the Tour de France without the drugs – he did and he won.

But I implore you to read Millar’s pained description of the shame of winning the wrong way. His inner despair whilst standing on the top of the podium having won the World Time Trial Championships is an explicit example of how by taking drugs you cheat yourself.

And there is a beautifully written line which, for me, sums up what it must feel like to take drugs and win. ‘I had realised that the more I doped, the more I hated cycling – and the more it became my job, and not my passion’. Here is a perfect articulation of how the simple joy of winning and competing can get lost amongst the demands of teammates, agents and sponsors.

Which brings me back to my original question. Millar has come back from his ban (with the support of David Brailsford, Team GB’s main man, don’t forget) to take a very strong anti-drugs stance as part of the Garmin-Cervelo cycling team. If his own sport accepts him and he can ride for his country at the Commonwealth Games (as he did – and won – last year) why can’t he compete at the Olympics?

This is murky water, of course. Dwain Chambers is in the same boat as Millar, but Christine Ohuruogu was free to race and claim gold in Beijing in 2008 (and will be again next year), despite being banned for a year for missing three out of competition drugs tests.

Now, you can say that she was never actually found guilty of taking drugs. True. But by skipping the tests there’s no way to know either way. For me, you can’t have one rule for one and one for another.

I fully support the tough stance on drugs – it is the only way to deter athletes from doing it in the first place. But it is also important to acknowledge that people make mistakes for all sorts of reasons.

My solution would be to enforce lifetime bans on those who have cheated in the Olympics themselves, or who are repeat offenders.

The human effect of this on athletes who take a wrong turn is best surmised by Millar in his book. Just a few weeks after being handed his lifetime ban by the BOA, he watches his great friend Stuart O’Grady win gold for Australia at the Athens Games in a bar surrounded by his family and friends.

As Millar writes: ‘I thought I’d be able to keep the lid on everything, but the realisation that I’d never return to the Olympic Games swept over me, and, in front of everybody, I broke down. Until then, I’d never shown any of my sadness to my Biarritz friends. Now I sat in a busy seaside bar on a summer afternoon, my head in my hands, crying like a baby.’

It is a real shame that enforcing lifetime bans denies the likes of Millar a chance of redemption.