"Another," says Gallagher. "What's this, my fourth?" He wiggles his fingers toward the lady. "And one for my friend."
She smiles, and waves. "Two more?"
He elbows Shean. "You need another, right?" Without waiting, he re-wiggles, okay.
"And I had to hear it on SportsCenter, can you believe." says Gallagher. "Me, his agent." His face is pinkish.
"I thought all that was over with, all that with doping. He passed, right?" says Shean.
"With flying colors. All 500 of them." He puts his forehead on his fist.
"So why are they still hassling him about it? And why now?"
Two Mojitos arrive, along with a wink. Gallagher blinks, and smiles back.
"So I gave them the same speech. Denied everything. This time it's the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency. They want to strip him of all seven of his Tour de France titles. It's the same thing, testosterone and blood-doping back in 1998. US Attorney dropped the charges. Now it's this USADA. Lance wants to be a triathlete, now. It's a witch hunt."
"Sounded like it's all just accusations," says Shean. "They were talking about it on TV, nothing formal. Yet. Right?"
Gallagher raises his hands in the air. "It's all crap. Guys lose a race, then it's the winner must have been juiced. Same as before." He gulps his Mojito. "He never got caught. He was always getting tested. An endurance athlete for 25 years. No spikes in performance. Passed more than 500 drug tests. Never failed. Never. "
He downs the Mojito, and rattles the ice in the air. Another wink. "He's doing triathlons now. But until this is settled, the World Triathlon Corporation won't let him compete."
"But, you know Lance much better than I do," says Shean. "Seven Tour de Frances, and none of the guys were doping? How did he do so well against all those other guys, seven times. That's where is hard to figure."
"Now they got some other bikers who will testify, who'll say he was using blood transfusions, and testosterone."
"Barry Bonds and Marion Jones," says Shean. "Both past their tests. They used something called maskers."
"It's all a conspiracy." Gallagher smiles as another Mojito slides toward him. He sips. "It's like a vendetta. Whose skin did he get under?" He leans back, catches himself, and grabs the bar. "Whoa," he says. And sips more. "Performance Enhancers. Could be anything. He had doctors...two doctors...and a team manager watching him all the time. I wasn't there. They were. They'd know if he was doing anything wrong."
"Wasn't there something about all this on 60 minutes?" says Shean. "His team mates said he was using drugs. PED's. Are you absolutely sure...Lance was clean?"
"It'll just ruin his reputation," says Gallagher. "He does so much for a Cancer cure." He rubs his head. "I can't watch him every minute." He drinks more. "I'm his agent, out getting him the big bucks. Now this...again."
The lady moves near, and winks. Gallagher takes a deep breath. "Yes yes, my dear," he says. And pushes her the empty. "My limit's eight."
She looks at both Gallagher and Shean. "Going to set a new record?"
"The news I got, I might need a couple of dozen."
She raises her eyebrows. "Good news?"
"The best, " he says. Then bangs his head against the bar, bang, bang, bang.
"Sorry," she says, and backs away. "How about a couple of orders of pancakes. They always cheer me up. Only take a minute?"
Gallagher sits up straight, takes a deep breath, and looks at Shean. "Hey, why not?" Then drops his head on his arm. "Oh, why don't they leave him alone. The whole bunch of them were juiced. I'm not stupid. It's my job to make it all go away. Make him clean."
"Want to know what I think?" says Shean. "The entire sports world is on dope. The money's too big." He takes out a 5 Hour Energy. "How many of these are banned." He reads. "Citicoline, Phenylalanine, Glucuronolactone, and what is Tyrosine, something for the new kid...tyro something? I drink this, and..."
"You're screwed. Just like Lance. They all want to bring him down. They're jealous. Maybe he was doping. He passed all the tests. Maybe he masked it someway, but he was better than they were. They were all on something." He looks over at the lady. "Pancakes will cheer us up, promise?"
She smiles and salutes back, and mouths the word, Pancakes.
"Damn it." says Gallagher, and slaps the table. "I don't care. They were all juiced, come on, and he still came out on top. Lance is still the best guy on a bike there ever was."
Shean looks at the lady. "Can you put a rush on those pancakes."
..................................
Help comes from:
foxsports.com/olympics/cycling/story/lance,
reuters.com/article/2012/06/16/us-cycling,
espn.go.com/olympics/triathlon/story,
Google Images, readabilityformulas.com,
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