Another Country

The Downfall of Jan Ullrich: from Stern Magazine, translated by Ray Minovi

Imagine how it might have been if the Wall had never come down. Jan Ullrich might have lived with his wife and child in a three-room flat in Berlin Hellersdorf. On the living room wall gold medals from the Olympic Games, championships, the Peace Race. Into work every morning on the tram, 8 o'clock on the dot at the Performance Centre of the SC Dynamo Berlin. Every day 150 to 250 km on the road with the squad, the coach following behind in his Wartburg. Afternoons, an hour in the weights room, then massage. Evenings with the family. If the Olympic Champion felt the urge to go dancing, he'd ask the coach's permission: 'OK - but only until 10.30.' Perhaps two or three times a year he'd stay up all night celebrating, and next morning turn up for training hung over and smelling of booze. The regulation public bawling-out from the coach. Otherwise, his bad behaviour would remain a state secret. Throughout the DDR, the entire Eastern Bloc, throughout the world, this muscleman, this rare talent, this unbeatable athlete would be celebrated as a symbol of sporting discipline and willpower.

The same person in another country: the professional roadman Jan Ullrich is obliged, in front of the entire German public, to explain how stupid and naive he is, the gigantic scale of his mistake, how he's gone off the rails, how on 11th June he got drunk on vodka and Red Bull, bought two Ecstasy tablets from a man he hardly knew, and swallowed them. Instantly the Olympic Champion, World Champion, and Tour de France winner becomes a symbol for indiscipline and failure.

After his public confession on 6th July Ullrich pushed his way out of the Frankfurt Conference Hall through a crowd of people, most of whom live off him: cycling journalists, who for years have written thousands of words about him - plus the occasional snippet about his teammate Erik Zabel; cycling officials whose association, without Ullrich, would be no more important than the local volleyball club next door; and the Press Officer of Team Telekom, whose job, without Ullrich, would be no more stable than Telekom's shares.

'I can't leave the sport like this,' Ullrich said. 'I want to race again. Now I'm completely down, but I'll get right back up.' But how likely does it look now?

The young man from Rostock is a World Star: it's what he does. But he's never learned how. Ullrich is a fabulous rider, possibly the best there's ever been - but there's more to it than just riding the bike. He's got to be able to talk comfortably with the public - and it's beyond him. He needs to be able to control his environment like Michael Schumacher does. But he can't. And he has to be an example of good behaviour. But he isn't. 'I want to enjoy life,' Ullrich often says. And for a man in his position, that's a hell of a wish.

Like all sports stars in the East and the West Ullrich's childhood and youth were cut short. 'Cycle racing stole my youth,' says Jens Voigt, the Credit Agricole professional. Voigt had the same upbringing as Ullrich: they were at the same sporting academy. While others of their age are going to the cinema, they're training to be worldclass athletes. While the others are snogging with their first girl-friends on the park bench, drinking alcohol for the first time, smoking, getting into fights, and looking for the meaning of Life, the would-be athlete is training. How else can he become be world class?

In the DDR talents like Ullrich's were caught early and systematically developed. Peter Becker, cycling coach with SC Dynamo Berlin, holding the rank of Captain, got hold of the 13-year-old Jan and put him in the Berlin sporting academy, with his mother's agreement. Father had gone off years before. Becker is the man driving the Wartburg who'd follow the squad on their training rides. Under his direction the youngsters would be shielded from all distractions. For 15 years now he's been Ullrich's coach, adviser, moral linchpin, and substitute father.

Becker has turned his protege into the perfect racing cyclist. Nobody rides so elegantly, stylishly, so brilliantly as Ullrich. But once released from the true way into the real world of capitalism, Captain Becker could no longer control 'his' Ulle. So in order to put his pupil on the way to a professional career he moved with him to Hamburg. Along with Ullrich's manager Wolfgang Strohband he set up a little copy of the DDR's sporting academy. Result: in 1993 Ullrich, at 19, became the youngest amateur world champion in the history of the sport.

For most of his life Jan Ullrich had lived within an authoritarian structure, directed by a powerful personality. In these conditions he was always successful. First at the Berlin academy, then with Becker in Hamburg, and finally in the army. In 1994 he signed a contract with Team Telekom, and sought out for himself a new mentor: Bjarne Riis, then the captain of the team, who took on Becker's role. Ullrich became his willing helper. With his help Riis won the 1996 Tour de France. Ullrich, the water carrier, finished an amazing second, and even today he says it was his best Tour. Ullrich would have liked to go on serving Riis further, even though he had for a long time been riding better. He started 1997 as domestique to the Dane - but he was simply too strong: he was bound to win himself - it was inevitable.

That was the turning point. After that he was on his own and no-one else could tell him what to do, what not to do. Now he had no chief: he was his own boss. And after 1997, after the pinnacle of his season in France, he didn't work at it any more. Without supervision he got fat in the winter, didn't train as conscientiously.

For the product of the DDR's system the freedom of life as a professional in the West was a culture-shock. Walter Godefroot, Telekom's Belgian directeur sportif, has the most easy-going philosophy of any of the team managers. Only once a year, at the start of the season, is his team a true team, training together in Mallorca. For the rest of the season they're individuals, riding when and how they like. Checks are carried out as and when they're needed. The stars' racing bikes are totally cornputerised: performance levels, kilometres ridden and pulse rates are measured and recorded. In the evening the athlete sends his data by e-mail to the team doctor who then draws up his training schedule and e-mails it back to him. Technology provides the professional with every conceivable support. On a human level, Godefroot doesn't get involved. There's no record on the computer of visits to the disco. Behind this system lies an ideal: the responsible athlete. But (we have to ask): Is Jan Ullrich a responsible athlete?

Godefroot had already realised that his anti-authoritarian methods for leading his co-workers wasn't working, particularly for the ones at the top. He brought the 61-year-old Becker back into service. In the winter of 2000 - 2001 Becker went to South Africa and followed Ullrich on his training rides in a hired car. Ulle came out of the Christmas break slim and fit. At the beginning of the year Becker took over Team Telekom again. At once Ullrich began to take it easy - and in the summer, just as easily, Lance Armstrong left him behind in the mountains.

It was in this year that they took on a chef with the aim of improving Ullrich's nutrition. Becker was responsible for every aspect of his welfare: it was DDR Sport in the middle of a Western democracy. During the winter in Africa Becker brought Ulle into a form he'd never previously reached so early. But Ullrich is now older and obstinate. During the season his climbing style was often criticised. He was strong enough to climb the severest mountains sitting comfortably in the saddle. In 1997 he was climbing at a cadence of 90 rpm, but as the season progressed he raised his gear a tooth and pedalled at only 70 rpm. In this year the powerhouse wanted not only to win, but also to prove the superiority of his method of riding, even against the advice of his coach. In order to strengthen his legs for the torture, Ullrich had to spend more time in the weights room. More power means more load and stress. Almost inevitably, it seemed, something gave way in his knee. In December he felt the first stab of pain. At the start of the year he had to stop training.

On the evening of 30th April Ullrich realised he'd have to forfeit his ride in the Tour. He called Becker and asked permission to spend an evening in a bar with his friend Eyk Pokorny. Becker gave his permission - but only until 10.30. But this was one of the two or three evenings in the year when Jan Ullrich was ready to rebel. Late that night he crashed into a bike rack in his Porsche and fled the scene. In the morning he got the regulation dressing down from his coach. But now the affair couldn't remain a state secret. 'I live in a glass house,' Ullrich says. 'If I go out on four evenings, then three of those times everybody knows about it. In my case everything comes out.' A month later he was sitting on the terrace of the Hamburg Hospital. His knee had just been operated on. He referred to the night of the accident as a 'huge piece of stupidity', and hoped that eventually he'd be able to ride a bike again. 'It's summer now and I want to go out, to get back on the bike as quickly as possible. If I have to. spend the whole summer sitting in my room I'll go off my head.' He had to spend the summer sitting in his room. And went off his head.

The knee wouldn't heal and he was sent to the rehab clinic at Bad Wiessee. The Medical Director's prognosis was unpromising: 'There are no miracles in medicine. Proper training might be possible at the end of the year at the earliest. Perhaps never. If thing's go badly: end of career.'

At the rehab clinic Team Telekom had withdrawn their Babysitter System: Becker, Godefroot, Manager Strohband and Jans Gaby - Ullrich was fretting about his future and no-one was there to offer guidance. 'Friends' appeared, only too willing to help him over the bad times, by taking him away. He went off with his mates: more discos, more alcohol - and two pills. The next morning he had to pee into a bottle: he was positive. Perhaps he'll go down in history as the first sporting invalid to test positive for an illegal drug.

Ramin Minovi