Could Floyd Landis be the modern day Joe Jackson?

Apparently, if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around, it does make a sound. It’s the same thing as in a bike race when a guy rides faster than everyone else only when he passes the finish line he gets a different type of award.

The difference is that it costs… everything.

So with that, Floyd Landis, one of the sports world’s greatest pariahs, ended his career as a professional bicycling racer. A native of the backwoods hinterlands of Lancaster County, approximately a hilly, 60 miles bike ride west of Philadelphia, Landis won the 2006 Tour de France only to be stripped of his title two days afterwards. Nearly five years after his greatest race, Landis was stripped of his title, his life savings, got a divorce, mourned the suicide of his father-in-law, lost teams, teammates and friends, and, on top of it all, had his career destroyed.

Landis’ victory lap turned into a book tour and benefit to raise cash for his legal defense of a failed doping test taken shortly after a seemingly heroic ride in Stage 17 of the Tour de France.

Yet after two years of racing sporadically for a handful of middling racing teams, Landis told ESPN’s Bonnie D. Ford that he had filed his papers with his former adversaries, the United States Anti-Doping Agency, and no longer has to submit to further drug testing. In other words, Landis will be treated like a U.S. citizen for a change.

According to Ford, Landis grew increasingly frustrated with re-carving a niche in the sport in which he devoted his life. He spent 2009 riding for the U.S.-based United Healthcare team before he was released from his contract, stating that he wished to race in the longer, European stage races which suit his strengths. Landis latched on with Rock Racing only to see the team fail to gain a pro racing license, before finding a spot with the Bahati Foundation Cycling Team with the hope of racing the Tour of California.

However, when Landis decided to reveal his sordid history with doping, and revealed the alleged dopers in his sport—including Lance Armstrong—he was without a team again.

“I’ve spent five years trying to get back to a place that I can never really go back to, and it’s causing more stress than is worth it," Landis told Ford. “There must be more to life than this.”

But does that eliminate Landis from more witch hunts where he is both the hunted and the hunter? Far from it. Landis’ allegations against Armstrong, his inner circle, cycling officials and race directors of the alleged systematic, drug-aided run of Tour de France victories, were toxic enough to draw an investigation from federal prosecutors. A U.S. Justice Department-backed grand jury in Los Angeles has subpoenaed several of Landis’ and Armstrong’s teammates and fellow riders.

Just to prove he wasn’t kidding around, Landis filed a “whistle-blower” lawsuit last September and has met with federal investigators and doping officials.

In other words, Landis may not be riding his bike in races any more, but he won’t be far from the spotlight. Since the investigation into the doping allegations comes from Landis’ and Armstrong’s days of riding with the U.S. Postal Service team, a government agency whose funds are considered public, could be deemed as fraud or conspiracy against the United States. Undoubtedly, there are many folks—especially Armstrong—who are anxiously awaiting the results of the grand jury.

About the suit, a spokesman for Armstrong told The Wall Street Journal:

“By his own admission, he is a serial liar, an epic cheater, and a swindler who raised and took almost a million dollars from his loyal fans based on his lies. What remains a complete mystery is why the government would devote a penny of the taxpayer’s money to help Floyd Landis further his vile, cheating ambitions. And all aimed directly at Lance Armstrong, a man who earned every victory and passed every test while working for cancer survivors all over the world.”

No, Landis did not respond with, “Takes one to know one.”

Moyer defiantly faces reality

Jamie Moyer often talked about retirement. No, he didn’t
dwell on it as if he were waiting for it
to arrive like it was the Grim Reaper dressed in a hood and carrying a scythe.
But retirement was never a topic that was off limits to Moyer.

Even now, in light of a left elbow injury deemed “significant”
that could end his season and by default, his career, Moyer doesn’t get sneaky
or attempt to hide the obvious. His repertoire has been the same ever since he
broke in to the big leagues in that game against Steve Carlton at Wrigley Field
in 1986.

“I’m still under contract so I feel obligated to make
every effort to allow this to heal and to give myself that chance to pitch,”
Moyer said.

See, Moyer used the idea of retirement as a tool. With
his edgy and upfront way of dealing with things, it’s fair to deduce that
retirement and his age motivated him and kept him going. He loved to point out
that his father-in-law, ex-basketball coach Digger Phelps, urged him to give up
baseball and think about another line of work.

Moyer heard from Phelps during a period where he had been
released three times and granted free agency another three times. He had been
traded twice and sent to the minors three more times. In fact, even Charlie
Manuel, the most diplomatic of baseball men when it comes to evaluating a
player’s talent, said he thought Moyer was one his way out of baseball during
the early ‘90s.

We all know what happened next. Moyer hooked up with the
Mariners when he was 34 and won 145 games in the next 11 seasons and finishing
in the top five of the Cy Young Award balloting three times. When he arrived in
Philadelphia for the stretch drive in 2006, most baseball folks thought he was
simply finishing up a solid career with his hometown team.

But then he kept going. The Phillies kept giving him
contracts, too. There were a couple of one-year deals and then a two-year deal after
he helped pitch the Phillies to their second World Series title. There were
accolades, records and milestones that the sage lefty seemed to have to address
after every game he pitched. He handled it with aplomb to a point, but then got
bored with it.

“You start getting caught up in things like that and you
might start losing some focus on things you need to do,” Moyer told me in an
chat in the deserted clubhouse at Nationals Park a couple of seasons ago, while
contemplating his place in baseball history. “I think there's plenty of time
for me to look back at the end of the season or at the end of my career and
say, ‘You know what? That was cool,' or ‘I remember that,' or ‘I remember that
game.' But for me, having the opportunity to have the longevity that I have is
the most special thing for me. To continue my career and to play and to
contribute with a team, I think that is first and foremost. If you are around
long enough, those things are going to start to happen.”

That was the pat answer for a little while, but then to
Moyer it stopped being about age and instead became about results again.
Actually, it seemed as if he wanted to answer the questions the same way as any
other veteran on the club without first discussing that he was the oldest
player in the game.

And why not? In the four seasons he pitched for the
Phillies, no one won more games. Even last year when he struggled and was
removed from the rotation in favor for Pedro Martinez, Moyer led the club in
wins. At age 47, after a winter spent recovering from three surgeries, Moyer
led the club in wins halfway through the season.

In doing so Moyer wasn’t simply defying the odds or his
age, he was simply defiant. When he reached some age-related milestone or
career mark hinging on longevity, the old lefty shrugged it off. He was bored
by the idea that he was old, yet stoked the fires by saying he had no thoughts
on his imminent retirement.

He pointed out that consistent workouts, a solid fitness
foundation and smart recovery were the key to athletic longevity. His age was
meaningless aside from the fact that it required a bit more recovery time
between workouts. Otherwise, when pondering the reasons why so few players
lasted as long as him, Moyer saw it austerely.

“Some players get injured and others just lose the
desire," he told me in Washington that day two years ago. “Then some, for
one reason or other, are told to quit because they reach a certain age or time
spent in the game. Some just accept it without asking why.”

Moyer never accepted it. Better yet, he never accepted
what people told him he should do with his career—his life.

But with serious injuries all bets are off. Misty-eyed
and reflective before Friday night’s game against the Rockies at the Bank, it’s
obvious that Moyer knows he is going to be forced with a tough decision or the
cold slap of reality very soon. Yes, there are still tests to complete and
scenarios to discuss, but Moyer understands that the exit after one scoreless inning
in St. Louis on Wednesday could have been his last lap.

“It’s probably one of those situations that you don’t
want to have happen, but if it happens it happens. There’s nothing I can do. I
can’t turn back and change anything. The injury is the injury—you live with it,”
he said. “I can honestly look myself in the mirror and say, if that’s my last
outing, so be it. I really gave it my best and I enjoyed my career. But that’s
not the way I’m looking at it as that being the case.”

Still defiant and engaged in a fight with those who are
resigned to accept outcomes and convention wisdom, it’s clear that Moyer’s goal
was to keep pitching until it was no longer physically possible. He wasn’t
slowing down and he wasn’t taking shortcuts, either.

He never lost it.

But he’s not blind, either. He’s not wishing for a
perfect, lucky outcome in order to take one more spin around to celebrate some
type of victory. Why should he? Moyer has faced his every day in baseball with
a cold, hard shot of reality and that defiance. He’s celebrated the mundane and
taken joy in the unbelievable fortune that comes to those who are lucky enough
to throw a baseball for a living.

He wasn’t granted any shortcut when the Cubs, Rangers and
Cardinals placed him on waivers, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to accept
one now.

“Because once it’s over it’s over whether I just plain
retire or if it’s due to an injury,” Moyer said. “I’ve always said that when
that last day comes, I’m done.”

There was no smirk this time with those words. No tears,
either. It was face-slapping reality, no different than the most inexplicable
267 wins in baseball history.