We are your fans, Ben. The ones who watched you storm past Carl Lewis, storm past everyone, and win the gold. We cheered. We saluted you. We worshipped you.
You proved unworthy of the divinity we bestowed upon you. Gods do not need steroids. Your church is empty, Ben. We have found other gods.
You are in our laboratory, Ben Johnson. Your soul is on our dissecting table. We are stripping it away.
We are watching the clock. How fast will your soul disappear?
You made a big mistake, Ben. You will pay, Ben.
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We, after all, never make mistakes. We never cheat to get ahead. Temptation does not tempt us.
But forgiveness always eludes us.