When the scoreboard tells lies, we all feel cheated.
Our faith in a feel-good sports story gets run over by Tour de France champion Floyd Landis, pedaling as fast as he can to dodge allegations of doping.
Slugger Barry Bonds takes a bat to the wide-eyed innocence of any child who desperately wants to believe home run magic is more than something that can be bought in a bottle.
Just when we think the craving for a competitive edge cannot possibly grow more ridiculous, along comes a vain Denver punter named Todd Sauerbrun, so afraid of being fat he kicks the integrity of his NFL franchise in the gut.
It hurts.
As fans, we keep coming back, because we are hopelessly addicted to the thrill of sports.
But how much more of this drug abuse can we take?
Sauerbrun on Thursday said it “completely” stinks after the Broncos announced he will miss four games to open the season while serving a suspension for use of a banned dietary supplement, ephedra. “This is just not cool.”
The movie of Landis’ life has taken a dramatic turn for the worse, with his stunning comeback victory at the Tour now tainted by a dirty test that suggests his heart might have been pumping something more than courage.
In his quest to be home run king, it is increasingly difficult to tell whether the real chase is Bonds’ pursuit of Hank Aaron or a grand jury tracking every breath Barry takes.
Fifty years down the road, I suspect the idea of champions being born with God-given talent will be regarded as quaintly outdated. Winners will be made in the test tube of a chemist.
But that does not ease the pain of here and now, when we cling to the naive belief in 100 percent genuine sports heroes.
The queasiness felt in the pit of my stomach when learning that the inspiring story of Landis hauling his busted hip up a mountain on a bike might be too good to be true could not have been worse than what Broncos coach Mike Shanahan felt after Sauerbrun stupidly popped some ephedra, even though the punter knew NFL cops had him on stakeout.
“I told him I was very disappointed in him. We took a chance on him,” said Shanahan, when I asked if a drug bust changes his opinion of a player.
“Of all the things, ephedra! What it does is make you lose weight. And he’s the only guy on the team I don’t care if he’s fat. I don’t care if he’s 30 pounds overweight. All you’ve got to do is punt the ball. Kick it into the end zone.”
If sports were clean and self-righteous, Sauerbrun’s career as a punter would be finished in Denver quicker than Shanahan could sign a pink slip, because betrayal of faith probably qualifies as a worse sin than lousy field position.
The Broncos, however, knew the trouble being begged when they took in Sauerbrun from under a dark cloud of a steroid investigation last year. Besides, a little ephedra never hurt anybody – unless you want to pick nits and count the deaths of Minnesota Vikings lineman Korey Stringer or Baltimore Orioles prospect Steve Bechler.
Are we so callous as not to care?
The discussion around town is more about how Denver will survive in four games without Mr. Big Foot, rather than arguing if Sauerbrun deserves to be booted from the team for being a bad example for kids tempted to take shortcuts to success.
So who are we to point fingers at Bonds or Landis?
The same folks who boo Bonds as he walks to home plate at Coors Field will cheer for Sauerbrun the first time he nails a punt against the Raiders.
“I made a dumb, dumb decision,” Sauerbrun said, “and decided to do it, thinking I’d get away with it.”
There you have it. We’ve got your new mantra of sports:
If you’re not cheating, you ain’t trying. But, in the end, the drugs always win.
Trust loses. The awe of “can’t believe what I just saw” is slowly being destroyed by a nothing-is-real cynicism.
The cheaters are cheatin’ our broken hearts.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
