OUT LANDIS BEHAVIOR IN THE TOUR DE FRANCE, MEL

Pay close attention.

This may be the last time I choose athletes & sports -- at least those subject to blood-doping conformities -- as humor column subjects. After my last outing on the bane of Zidane and the head-butt felt 'round the World (Cup), I received e-mail pleas and protests from apparently everyone in France with feet, demanding retractions and damning my mother's procreative prowess.

I stand by my commentary, albeit now on my humbled hands. But, after this outing I'll confine myself to jocks of a different feather, like the cockroach speed eaters, (yes, there is a world champion record-holder) where the regulations of steroidal spiking have yet to descend.

After all, do we care that the man who consumed 50 cockroaches in less than a minute was artificially pumped-up? I would hope that he HAD been injected with a hearty dose of "performance-enhancing" drugs, including a round of hallucinogens.

But, I feel the same about any other sport. As a humor columnist, that's my problem. As a humor column reader, you're now a co-conspirator.

As of this writing, Floyd Landis may or may not be stripped of his recent Tour de France win, as he, too, has joined those who've been thrown under the bus of alleged disrepute by the allegations alleging he allegedly synthesized his testicular ambience.

That last statement covers me legally, but for my money, ANYONE who rides a racing bicycle, by definition, does so on a racing bicycle SEAT, and that fact alone qualifies them for a winning garland in ANY race, with or without the benefit of muscular mickeys.

Not to be indelicate, but if I were to ride atop one of those skeletal, hard leather suppositories for 2,272 miles, wearing Spandex britches, peeing in public, and with a molded beehive on my head, I'd not only need steroids, but a lifetime laxative, a leg bag, and a new agent.

That brings us to my assertion that it's time, in the wide, wide world of sports, to ban the ban on blood doping. I might even go a step further, and suggest two options:

1. Let's establish an all-inclusive standard, where anyone may compete in any sport, and no tests for any foreign substances are performed. None. Athletes may dope-up or not, shoot-up or not.

As spectators, we'll never really know who has or hasn't been anabolically mischievous. We may get a hint, as will the less souped-up athletes, when some male track & field competitors, e.g., present as Roadrunners on Acme rocket sneakers, and, at the end of their careers, can amply fill-out their female counterparts' tank tops after their liver transplants.

Meanwhile, we'll just toss out the record books (which we now have to do, anyway. That chemical genie's out of the bottle, folks) and enjoy the high-spirited imbalanced play when a full-breasted Zidane can not only head-butt a Materazzi to the ground, but right out of the stadium (a blatant attempt to appease my French detractors).

Or, better yet:

2. Establish strictly steroidal sports empires, where only blood-doped athletes may compete, and all drug-testing must show positive results.

Now we're talking the best buck for the bang, as we witness the REALLY long ball.

Let's face it, and ourselves, dear dedicated readers: We WANT to see the furthest, fastest and most enduring on the gridirons, tracks, fields, circuits and courts --- and in distances, speeds and durations that reach into the superhuman realm. The athletes who most optimally and repeatedly accomplish these are the most rewarded.

Therein, as in all modes of human endeavor, lies the increasingly irresistible incentive to cheat. Big time. For bigger money and greater glory.

No? Let's change all the rules. Try these:

BASEBALL: All players must bunt, then crawl to first base.

BASKETBALL: Raise the basket height to a hundred feet, and shoelaces must be tied together.

FOOTBALL: No tackling allowed, and beachballs will be substituted.

NASCAR: 35 MPH, tops. And, one car at a time.

SOCCER: Players must walk with the ball and not use their feet. Head-butts allowed, but must be peformed at opposite ends of the field, butt-ends first.

TOUR DE FRANCE: Flintstone bicycles. (This is also the answer to the question of where we're headed with fossil fuels.)

Lastly, in all sports, no scores are kept, no speeds are timed, no distances are measured, and Mel Gibson must convert to teetotaling Judaism.

I have no excuse for that last outburst and its irrelevance here, but it does save me from having to waste 700 words on whether or not blood alcohol tests should be mandatory for latent thespians.

Copyright 2006 B. Elwin Sherman. All rights reserved.