— Christian Prudhomme, Tour de France director.

And so Floyd Landis stands before us, accused and ready to appeal the charges that he used testosterone to win the Tour de France. Most likely, he'll be stripped of his title and forced pass his soiled yellow jersey to the next best cyclist, Oscar Pereiro. As Pereiro put it: "It's a pity we didn't know about the positive [result] earlier."

A pity it is. The cyclists I know seem to fall into groups when we talk about Landis. One camp — they ride mostly for fun — embraced Floyd early on. They liked the quirky details about him: his bad hip, and Mennonite roots, the dramatic setback, the spectacular comeback, and finally, his victory. They're crushed by the news.

The other group — they ride mostly to suffer — is a cynical and hardened bunch (I blame it on too many mountain climbs.) They're less impressed by Landis, and convinced that nearly every cyclist in the Tour relied on chemicals throughout the race. Doping is unavoidable, they insist. It's a reality of the sport and has been for a long time. They're numbed to the news.

The scandal has prompted much panic and hand wringing amonst cycling officials. The World Anti-Doping Agency and International Cycling Union are begging cyclists to quit doping and clean up. If they don't, they say, audiences will grow cynical and tune out. Sponsors will walk away. Cycling will lose all credibility. The sport will die. 

Really? Are doping scandals — rampant and prominent as they may be — as dramatic as that? Are they enough to drive away fans for good?

Personally, this (and other recent scandals) aren't chasing me off. I don't support dopes who dope, but I'm not willing to give up on cycling either.

Apparently, however, some cycling officials are so worried that they're advocating a drastic and ridiculous step: To temporarily shut down the sport so that it won't die. No kidding.

If it is shut down, cycling won't die. It'll be murdered.