Hey, U.S. Cyclists, This Blood’s for You, Courtesy of Dracula

Several members of the U.S. cycling team had blood transfusions shortly before the Olympic Games, it was recently revealed. The purpose of this “blood doping” or “blood packing” is to improve endurance by adding red-blood cells.

Because of the controversial nature of this practice, we interviewed Dr. Count Dracula, official corpuscle consultant to the U.S. cycling team.

Me: Nice castle, Count. This is your laboratory, I take it?

Count: No, this is my rumpus room, but we store the blood here because it keeps best in a cold, dark place.

Me: You have quite a supply on hand, it appears. The bottles are all neatly labeled. Type O . . . Type A . . . Type L . . . What’s type L?

Count: That’s something new--Blood Light. It has one-third fewer red cells. It’s less filling. We developed it when some of the cyclists complained of feeling bloated after a transfusion.

Me: Have you tried this blood-loading yourself?

Count: Certainly, although unlike the cyclists, I generally work directly with the donor. I can’t stand needles.

Me: Where do you get all this blood?

Count: We get it from, ah, friends and relatives of the cyclists. You’d be surprised how many people have extra blood sloshing around inside them that they’re not really using. We simply unpack the excess blood from our donors and pack it into our cyclists. I’m kind of a modern-day Robin Hood.

Me: Some people would disagree with that, Doc. Let’s get right to the central issue here--ethics. As you may know, a lot of people consider this practice of blood packing to be an artificial aid to competition at best, and morally distasteful at worst. Like cheating.

Count: Cheating! No, cheating is steroids and hormones and pep pills. This is blood we’re talking about, regular all-American red-blooded blood. What could be more natural? Hey, you wouldn’t send a car to the starting line at the Indy 500 without a full tank would you? This is the same principle.

Me: Maybe so, Count, but we tell our kids that the secret to becoming a sports champion is to eat right and train hard. We tell them to eat their vegetables and vitamins and their bodies will become strong. Then they find out the truth--that you can’t even win a lousy bicycle race without sticking a needle in your arm and pumping yourself full of someone else’s blood. It’s sad, Count. I remember when the breakfast of champions was a cereal.

Count: Cereal for breakfast? Sounds ghastly. I’m on a liquid diet, myself. Listen, pal, there’s nothing immoral or sleazy about boosting your blood level a notch or two.

Me: Then why did they do the transfusing in a crummy hotel room?

Count: My castle dungeon was rented out that weekend. Besides, you don’t run to the hospital every time you want to take a vitamin pill, do you?

Me: No, but I don’t check into a hotel and sign the register “Mr. Smith and family,” either.

Count: So maybe we were being a little secretive. It’s all part of the strategic gamesmanship of sports. We didn’t want the competitors from the other countries to know what we were doing, even though we were only doing it because they were doing it.

Me: Some of us remember a time--maybe it was in fairy tales--when American athletes not only set performance standards for the rest of the world, but moral standards, as well. Now whatever athletic training excesses or abuses we indulge in, we blame it on the necessity of keeping up with the bad guys from the other countries. Maybe our team mascot should be a flock of sheep.

Count: Kid, kid, put down your violin! This is the real world. Americans want their athletes to bring home gold medals, not good-conduct medals. We’re not out to win friends and influence people, we’re out to kick some butt!

Me: And so we did, but now the medals are tainted. It used to be that victory belonged to the fastest and strongest. Now it belongs to the fullest. From now on, every time I see a medal winner at the presentation ceremony with his hand over his heart, I’ll figure he’s just trying to keep it from overflowing.

Count: That’s cute. Next you’ll be complaining about the caffeine suppositories we gave some of the cyclists.

Me: I almost forgot. I suppose that’s your department, too, Count?

Count: No, Mrs. Olsen is in charge of research and development of the caffeine suppositories.

Me: I can’t believe it. Caffeine suppositories! What will you think of next?

Count: Don’t tell anyone, but we’re working on doughnut suppositories.

Me: Ah, Count, how can you even look at yourself in the mirror?

Count: I can’t.