As the Lance Armstrong revelations continue, I keep thinking – this guy must be Guyanese. More specifically, he has to be a Guyanese politician, most likely a ruling one. Look at him.
For many a long year, he was the artful dodger, eluding adversarial snares, official interest, and public disbelief. Like the locals, he weaved through heavy traffic and past formidable obstacles; he danced out of tight corners, survived time trials (time and again), and rode over facts and truths. Just look at him, and determine if he doesn’t belong here.
He separated himself from the stalking pack of truth seekers, while living a fairy tale of effort, sweat, and sacrifice.
Well, he did admit to generous assistance from overseas facilitators. Must have been family. This was a man all for himself in classic Devil takes the hindmost fashion; there was nothing for others.
Somebody said he was sighted doing roadwork in Guyana; must have been for a local ‘international’ company. It certainly explains the state of those surfaces. There are rumours that he might be an investor in a recently defunct airline; clearly, he knows how to take the public for a ride.
And don’t forget NICIL, he must be somewhere in there, for this is a chap who knows how to sprint away with concealed evidence.
Yes, Lance made his name as a wheeler; now he can come here and do far better as a dealer.
He could start on Robb Street, just east of Wellington Street. There he would be in charted and familiar territory.
He would be welcome, and there could follow an endless exchange of war stories involving deception and trickery. He (and others of his ilk) should remember that you can run and ride, but you can’t hide. Not all the time.
Come home, Lance. You belong.