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Hunter's acquiescence smacks of guilt Track athletes need to do more to prove they are clean
On the morning of last Sept. 25, C.J. Hunter sat in a jam-packed hotel banquet room in Sydney and gave the performance of his life. Two days earlier the news had broken that Hunter had tested positive for the banned steroid nandrolone. It would later be disclosed by International Amateur Athletic Federation officials that Hunter had tested positive not once, but four times. News of Hunter's bust cast a dark shadow over the attempt by his wife, Marion Jones, to win five gold medals. (She ultimately won three and two bronzes, still a performance that ranks alongside those of Fanny Blankers-Koen and Florence Griffith Joyner as the greatest in women's Olympic track and field history). Facing a roomful of voracious international media on that rainy morning Down Under, Hunter wept openly. There's no question his pain was real. Was he crying because he had, indeed, been undermined by tainted nutritional supplements, as he claimed? Or because he was taking steroids, got caught, and cast suspicion on his wife, whom no one doubts that he loves? Only Hunter knew for certain. I know this. C.J. Hunter vowed that day, "I don't know what happened, but I promise I'm gonna find out." Celebrity lawyer Johnnie Cochran stood nearby, disingenuously telling reporters that he was in Sydney only as a friend of the family. The prospect was intriguing. Imagine the theater, if Cochran stood in front of a jury, pitching Hunter's innocence. If the sample is not hot, he must throw the shot. But there was more to it than that. Hunter claimed that day that his positives were the result of contaminated supplements. Sadly, the expert witnesses he produced to support his claim were inept and unprepared. If Cochran had anything to do with that show, he should have been ashamed. The issue, however, was fascinating. It's easy to damn C.J. Hunter and wash him down the toilet with all the other, as the Aussie papers called them, "drug cheats." He's a shot-putter, and throwers have long lived at ground zero in the drug war. He can be an unfriendly bully. He's an easy target. His wife is ungodly fast and got faster after she met him. Plus, many track journalists and fans suspect everybody of using performance-enhancing drugs. Repeat: everybody. Positive drug tests are greeted with knowing shrugs. Yet, part of Hunter's argument made sense. There have been hundreds of nandrolone positives in the last two years, an inexplicable resurgence in a prehistoric steroid that has long been supplanted among cutting-edge athletes. It's easily detected, even by Keystone Cops drug testers. So why would anybody use it, except accidentally? Hunter has more access to money and doctors than most track athletes could dream of. If he wanted to use drugs, he could get the good stuff. So maybe Mr. Marion Jones did have the power to explain the problem and clear himself. Then came Thursday's news. Hunter has told USA Track & Field that he will not contest the charges brought against him by USATF and the IAAF, and will accept a two-year ban. In his own statement, issued through Jones' p.r. firm, Hunter called the ban "irrelevant" because of his decision to retire after the 2000 Games. It's not irrelevant. If Hunter was so convinced of his innocence in September, why not go forth and prove it? His statement Thursday hinted at a vast coverup of supplement problems by the IOC and IAAF. That's possible, too, but why didn't Hunter stick around and fight until proven clean, like he promised? Not just for his own name, but for his wife's and for the sport as a whole? His quiet acceptance of his ban will be interpreted by many as an admission of guilt. It's time for track athletes to face the truth. The only way to make skeptics -- and there are many -- believe that they are clean is to constantly prove it. Just this week, organizers of five of the world's most prominent marathons asked governing bodies to implement blood testing for competitors in their events. If I was an elite track or road-racing athlete and I was clean, I would go further. I would get myself tested as often as I could afford, and I would make the results public. Is it fair that athletes have to prove their innocence? No, it isn't. But it's reality. Sports Illustrated senior writer Tim Layden covers track and field for the magazine and is a regular contributor to CNNSI.com. Click here to send him a question or comment.
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