OF POT AND HOT WATER

I'm willing to bet you had the same reaction I did when you heard
about Olympic swimming champion Michael Phelps getting caught hitting
the bong at a South Carolina frat party: "Who cares?"

Even in the U. S., where anti-cannabis hysteria is much higher than
Canada, I suspect most people would agree a story entitled "Dog bites
man" has more sizzle than "23-year-old male smokes pot."

But that still hasn't stopped the flow of ink about Phelps' sin, and
it makes me wonder to whom the story appeals. To me it just ain't
that much of a scandal. Yet there's a distinctly childish quality to
some of the reporting -- mostly feigned, from what I know about
journalists -- and I think it's aimed at what someone believes are
the childish attitudes of the public.

There seem to be two approaches to this matter, as reflected by
opposite poles of reaction from Phelps' sponsors. Speedo and Omega
basically said, "He's a great swimmer, a good guy, and we stand by
him."On the other hand, Kelloggs implied, "This rogue shall never
again encourage our precious children to eat Frosted Flakes."

In between, I read numerous commentaries where the hounding of Phelps
is deemed to exceed his transgression but, still, many wonder
incredulously, how could a high-performance athlete not truly
understand the dangers of illicit drugs?

Such parochial diatribes reminded me of a fascinating Canadian
magazine article I read back in the 1980s. Its title, if I remember
correctly, was "Pop a beer, light a joint, and hit the road," and it
told the fascinating story of a scrawny Scot living in Victoria named
Al Howie, and his unlikely rise to become the top ultra-marathoner of his era.

Ultra-marathoning involves running long, long distances. Back in
1987, for example, Howie jogged 580 kilometres non-stop in 104.5 hours.

The magazine article was effusive about Howie's radical techniques.
He mostly ate just fish and chips, except while running. During a
standard double marathon his sustenance would consist of 13 beers and
five joints. He briefly had a beer sponsor.

He was hardly alone. I once met a professional marathon runner with
multiple major wins under his belt, and he freely admitted marijuana
was a regular adjunct to his training regime.

Still, despite what is known by him and, I suggest, thousands of
other intense athletes, nobody seems willing to publicly acknowledge
any benefits from the use of marijuana. You will recall during the
Ross Rebagliati incident at Nagano, the snowboarder followed the
company line of many cannabis advocates by emphasizing it's not a
performance-enhancer.

Well, maybe it is. Cannabis is a known vasodilator, which means it
expands veins and capillaries, allowing more blood flow and perhaps
greater oxygenation.

Nevertheless, Phelps took the standard and, I would suggest, cowardly
way out. He is sorry and will never let it happen again.

Just once, though, I'd like one of these celebrity pot users to
formulate an adult response to his accusers. For Phelps it could have
been, "I'm the healthiest stud on the planet and I smoke grass
occasionally. And responsibly. What business is it of yours?"

Until that message is delivered unashamedly by society's most
respected figures, the colossal waste of public resources on
marijuana prohibition will continue. So will the hypocrisy.

Last week, for example, U. S. federal authorities raided several
medical marijuana dispensaries in California, despite President
Barack Obama's commitment to end such raids in states where those
programs have been legalized. Remarkably, he holds to that pledge,
saying it is a matter of cleaning out some Bush appointees to ensure
it won't happen again.

Obama knows, like the two presidents before him, that having smoked
cannabis does not automatically disqualify a person from great achievement.

But he needs help if he wants a new political generation, one largely
unblinkered by Reefer Madness hysteria, to concentrate its energy on
more serious matters.