If you are a lover of Lance, then look away, because his house of cards appears to be falling to the ground.

Perhaps that’s too harsh, calling the empire Lance Armstrong has built from his fame and success a house of cards. It’s certainly stronger than that. But if all it takes is one cleansing rain to wash that all away, then it might be coming down nonetheless.

The New York Times — which, along with the Wall Street Journal, has been covering the hell out of the USADA’s investigation of Armstrong — is reporting that at least one unnamed former teammate has corroborated some of Floyd Landis’ claims that Armstrong doped and encouraged others to do the same. This comes on the heels of further, similar revelations that have cast further the black cloud of suspicion over Armstrong’s seven-year reign as king of the Tour de France and, by extension, cycling itself.

The problem with Armstrong as a doper is that he doesn’t fit the mold we typically expect. It’s easy for us to dismiss men like Michael Rasmussen or Bernhard Kohl as cheaters — they are cyclists, and we assume that all cyclists cheat, whether they get caught or not.

But Armstrong is different. Armstrong inspired. He continues to inspire. The first person my mother thought of the afternoon her oncologist told her she had breast cancer, after her family, was Lance Armstrong. And thus, he was a symbol to so many people for that very same reason.

But inspiration can be tainted. Mark McGwire used performance-enhancing drugs. Ty Cobb was a known and public racist. These things taint their legacies, and instill in us at least enough doubt to dismiss the men and women who commit these crimes as frauds.

But will the same be true for Armstrong, if this all shakes out against him?

Perhaps never in the history of American professional sports has one athlete been so successful at marketing themselves and their message. Armstrong’s campaign against cancer has raised millions, started worldwide fashion trends and put him, quite literally, in front of presidents.

Lance Armstrong is the face of the fight against cancer, in any form. How would this diminish that?

Well, of course, it would. People are fickle. We are desperate for heroes, and expect too much. We only want to see machines, gladiators gathered for our entertainment, when we turn sports on.

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So the Tour ends tomorrow, but we at PBT are just going to assume that Andy Schleck won’t attack Alberto Contador in Paris, and the GC is finally decided. So let’s get a head start on this rather cliched exercise, and go ahead with winners and losers, GC edition.

Winners

Alberto Contador

This was Contador’s opportunity to show the cycling world that he was his own champion, free of Johan Bruyneel and the Lance Machine. It was also his chance to prove he could win with an entire field out to nail the bull’s eye on his back.

He accomplished both quite emphatically. Contador was clearly the best all-around rider in the Tour, given his prowess over Schleck in the time trial. Chain-gate not withstanding, Contador was the field’s strongest rider, and he goes into Paris a deserved champion.

Andy Schleck

Certainly no Poulidor, Schleck proved in this Tour that he can win without his brother, and that he is able and willing to match cranks with anyone in the world. At just 25, it’s also quite clear where his weakness is, (the time trial) and he has plenty of time to improve. Contador and Schleck are forming a worthy successor to the Armstrong-Ullrich rivalry of not so long ago.

Denis Menchov

Menchov’s was a Tour de France to forget in 2009, when a crash ruined his GC hopes early on the tour. 2010 puts that to rest.

A strong time trial lifted Menchov above Samuel Sanchez and into the top three, giving the Russian a well-deserved second career podium finish. His was also an impressive tour in that he was one of precious few men that looked able to follow the accelerations of Contador and Schleck, at least some of the time.

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There’s really nothing clever or witty to say about Alberto Contador’s decision to counterattack Andy Schleck during today’s Tour de France stage, after Schleck’s initial attack was foiled by a dropped chain. There’s probably a pretty good Swiss bike mechanic looking for a job right now, I guess that’s clever.

No, nothing cheeky or smart comes to mind regarding The Pistol’s attack today, because the move itself was nothing but shameful. It’s an unwritten rule not to attack an opponent immediately following a crash or mechanical problem. But more than that, it’s distasteful, and a sign of weakness.

Bike races — particularly grand tours — are spectacles of sport, elegant and grand. There was nothing either elegant or grand about watching Contador ride away from a helpless Schleck in what might prove the decisive moment in an otherwise riveting Tour.

But if there’s one person who is seething more than anyone around him realizes right now, it’s probably Alberto Contador.

This Tour de France, whether he would admit it or not, was all about proof for Contador. Proof that he could win with the field gunning for him. Proof that he could win without Lance or Bruyneel. Proof that he could beat all comers in what has been, practically since its beginning, one of simply the most epic Tours in recent memory.

Yes, Schleck put time into Contador on the cobbles, and then again, ever so slightly, in the mountains. But Contador has, for the most part, looked the stronger and more aggressive rider — at least until Schleck’s ill-fated attack today — and it was always fair to assume the slim gap Andy held over the defending champion could be brought back in the final time trial.

Contador was riding this Tour as his crowning achievement, and his alone. His Astana team drives the pace at every occasion, and he has quite often looked simply unbeatable. This Tour was Contador’s legacy.

Not anymore.

Now the diminutive Spanish climber has little to gain. He could match Schleck’s likely attacks from now until Paris, blow him away in the time trial and sip champagne on the Champs-Elysees, and his crowning victory would still be remembered for the one moment in which he adopted what Team Sky rider Greg Henderson later jokingly referred to as “prison rules.”

Despite all its troubles, cycling still fancies itself gentleman’s sport, with gentlemen’s rules, and Alberto Contador has fought hard against the perception that he doesn’t give his sport enough respect. Today, any pretense that he truly wants to win such a fight sailed off the Pyrenees cliffs, as Contador rode away from an opponent rendered useless, in a moment that likely solidifies his reputation forever.

Of course, this isn’t a defense of Contador. A knee-jerk reaction could be defended, an initial acceleration eventually slowed once adrenaline subsided and everyone realized what had happened to Schleck.

Instead, Contador continued to drive the pace, even on the descent. He had 22 kilometers to let up. He did not. Case closed.

But at the end of the day, this will haunt Contador far more than it haunts Schleck. The latter is young, talented, just wading into the waters of his burgeoning talent. The former has been fighting nothing but a negative image since his first Tour win in 2007, and today might have marked the end of that fight.

If nothing else, it taints a Tour victory that now seems likely, but hardly seems far.

As Cervelo team owner Gerard Vroomen said on Twitter: “Contador just gained a great chance to win, but he lost the chance to win greatly.”

It remains to be seen whether he’ll get a chance at the second ever again.

He might, perhaps, feel aggrieved at the penalty after two riders were merely fined a total of 800 swiss francs for fighting last week, but Mark Renshaw cannot deny that he deserved to be punished, and punished harshly.

The reason he can’t deny it is the very same reason officials had no choice but to remove him from this year’s Tour de France.

For those who have not seen, (Spoiler alert for you DVR warriors) Renshaw appeared to headbutt his Garmin-Slipstream counterpart Julian Dean several times at the head of Thursday’s field sprint. It’s unclear exactly why Renshaw did what he did, whether it was born of anger or a desire to move over for his sprinter, Mark Cavendish. According to the eventual stage winner from the Isle of Man, it was to move Dean off Renshaw after they had hooked elbows, something he attempted to plead to a race official to no avail afterward.

Now, the physicality of a pro peloton as it masses for a field sprint is predictable, from weekend races on up. Headbutting, elbowing, jostling, it all happens. Hell, it made Robbie McEwen famous.

But Renshaw’s mistake — or rather, mistakes, as he appeared to go for Dean with his head three times — came at the worst possible moment: In the final meters of a sprint finish at the Tour de France. (One could also easily make a case for unfair impeding, as Renshaw moves right after moving Dean and then appears to swing back to his left after noticing that Garmin sprinter Tyler Farrar was coming up hard behind Cavendish.)

It goes without saying that cycling is a sport with an image problem. Not this image so much, granted, but an image problem nonetheless, one that from time to time probably leaves race officials feeling somewhat devoid of power.

If they had chosen not to punish Renshaw, or simply to disqualify him from the stage and fine him, they would essentially have been okaying his behavior, which was, once again, quite blatant.

Too many cameras caught Renshaw’s rather obvious action for officials to even consider swearing off the incident by claiming they could not adequately see it. What he did was put on display for the world.

Renshaw headbutts Dean once, then twice, then backs off, and then a third time. There could be no other decision that would not have compromised race officials’ authority.

Now, this does seem heavy-handed compared to the simple fine levied against battlers Rui Costa and Carlos Barredo. But that’s more an indictment of poor decision-making in the latter situation than the other way around.

Renshaw has, to my knowledge, not said anything publicly yet, nor has his Twitter account been updated today. When asked, Cavendish and Farrar took up predictably opposite sides of the debate.

But at the end of the day, Renshaw had to go, for the sake of authority, and for the sake of common sense.

So this is how perhaps the greatest dynasty in modern professional sports ends, not in a moment of glory, but with the faintest of forced surrenders.

His jersey and his mouth hanging open, the customary silver chain dangling from his chest, Lance Armstrong’s Tour de France career came to an effective end with the Texan apparently holding back — of all people — Chris Horner, his teammate who missed last year’s race because of Astana’s persistent infighting. It appeared for large portions of Armstrong’s slow, painful, televised pre-retirement on the way to Morzine as if perhaps the Tour’s greatest rider was actually holding Horner back, a cruel image for the only man ever to win the Tour seven times, much less consecutively.

Of course, Armstrong’s career always had a (presumed) finite end. After coming out of retirement for last year’s Tour, the 38-year-old announced via his popular Twitter account that this go-round would be his last. Given his age and changed demeanor — Armstrong has, over the last two years, seemed far less combative and competitive than in his prime — it’s easy to believe 2010 will be it.

The cards were stacked against him, sure. Even given the strength of his Radio Shack squad, this year’s Tour is the deepest in years, likely richer with overall talent than any Armstrong had ridden previously. Contador, Schleck, Evans, Wiggins, even Leipeheimer — the names roll off like an all-star team.

Now, they roll on without their most high-profile compatriot.

“When it rains it pours I guess,” he said in via Twitter. “Today was not my day, needless to say. Quite banged but gonna hang in here and enjoy my last 2 weeks.”

Armstrong was the first to admit after the stage that so many times, the breaks, as it were, had fallen in his favor. Untimely crashes missed him by a whisker, teammates seemed to turn up at the right time. He once even took a ride through a country field and arrived further down the course after being forced off the road.

The cycling gods had been kind. Until last week.

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My first reaction upon reading Floyd Landis’ varied and detailed admissions/accusations today was probably not unlike yours: surprise, bordering on shock, followed by skepticism. But then came a feeling I must admit I rather did not expect.

I believe him.

Not 100 percent, of course. Liars tell lies, and the more lies they tell, the better they get at them. But so much of what Landis has “revealed” strikes at what many people have wondered at, albeit privately, for a long time.

It’s not so much “Did Lance dope?” No, I think that most American cycling fans, were they honest with themselves, would probably admit he likely has. It’s simply the cost of doing business in professional cycling, as with many other professional sports in this country and around the world.

No, this goes deeper than that. This is: “How did he do it? Who did it with him? Just how deep does this all run?”

Well, if you believe Landis even, say, 50 percent, pretty damn deep.

These claims of Floyd’s, they aren’t empty. These aren’t bags of needles found in a dumpster in the middle of the night that never see the light of day. There is significant detail to what he’s said.

In a series of e-mails to anti-doping officials, reporters and others, Landis outlines not just the what (alleged substances included HGH, EPO and even insulin, among other things) but also the who, the when and the where.

Most reports you’ll find quoting Landis or his e-mails directly implicate Johan Bruyneel as essentially the person who helped “instruct” Landis and others on how to use various drugs or methods. Landis said he began using upon joining Bruyneel and Armstrong’s Postal Service team in the early part of last decade.

Aside from the generous mention of Armstrong’s name, Landis’ admission directly implicates George Hincapie, Levi Leipheimer and Dave Zabriskie as well. Even Phonak, the team Landis rode for when he won the Tour de France in 2006, helped fund a doping program, Landis alleged, according to an ESPN report.

So why believe a man who spent millions and even wrote a book in defense of his innocence, only to come clean when it appears he had nothing left to lose? Three reasons come to mind.

1. Again, the detail. The Wall Street Journal report on the subject also sheds plenty of light into that. These aren’t fly-by-night accusations. There is depth, there is vividness. This paints a very believable picture.
2. Cyclists use performance-enhancing drugs, and just because not all get caught doesn’t mean not all are guilty. People have asked quietly, for years, how Lance Armstrong could be so dominant in a time when some of his closest competitors — Basso, Ullrich, Pantani — became embroiled in drug scandals. Armstrong bristles, predictably, at such questions, but they are completely fair.
3. By his own admission, Landis has nothing to lose. Four years after winning the Tour, he is untouchable, unable to break back into the ProTour, despite possessing at least some of the ability that made him one of the sport’s best, drugs or no drugs. Yes, this will be seen by some as just trying to drag others down with him, grabbing a last few minutes of fame. And it probably is that. But it’s also probably, at least at some level, a man clearing his conscience, and perhaps even trying to make sure something good comes of it.

And so we come to the liar’s paradox. The liar says something is true, but how can it be true when coming from a liar?

It doesn’t matter.

What does is that cycling stands on precipitous ground in the American sports world. The emergence and success of people like Landis and Armstrong and Leipheimer pushed the sport to the front pages for the first time in a very long time.

Considering as well their considerable success, the impact this generation of American cyclists have made in the growth of the sport in this country makes them arguably the best, collectively, in the country’s history. Landis’ allegations, if ever proven to a reasonable degree, injure such progression deeply, and the effects on cycling in America could be devastating.