Where Your Dreams Become Reality
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Poster: Mack Yavelly
Subject: RE: Eddie Hellebuyck "'Yeah,' he says, 'I did it.'"
The first time I met Shawn Hellebuyck was, coincidentally, very soon after Eddy reports having started doping. My impression at the time--and I don't get this sort of vibe often--was "now there's a person who'll do *anything* to get her way. She'll be nice as you please if it's to her advantage and as mean as a snake if it moves her further into the cash pile."
As the RW story shows, this impression was no accident. She's known all along about his doping, of course, but fought every step of the way to keep the sham alive, even after Eddy himself was worn down and finally ready, even craving, to salavage what he could of his own conscience if not reputation. She helped file his appeals, lied to John Brant, interposed herself between Eddy and Brant during the whole process of collecting information for the story, and right until the end was full of insanely brazen and craven excuses, e.g., "Hey, Eddy was just small-time! The *real* cheats are on systematic regimens involving hGH!" as if Eddy had not scored ill-gotten gains to the tune of thousands of dollars.
On top of that are the things visitors to the Albequerque house that has been infamous in running circles since at least the late 1990s. Sure, anyone renting rooms to untold numbers of transient runners over a period of years is going to accumulate a fair number of sour judgments concerning their hospitality. But the nature and penetration of *these* complaints, along with other similar ones I have heard and my own assessment of the couple, has me strongly doubting any refutation by the Hellebuycks of the charges against them.
Eddy himself may be genuinely contrite, or maybe he's just hoping that the passage of years alone will soften the inevitable backlash from other runners. Probably a blend of both. But one thing is plain: While Eddy sold his conscience up the river, he at least appears to have retained shreds of it. His wife, by contrast, is a bona fide sociopath, an unrepentant wretch who is not only a complete stranger to the slightest whiff of contrition, but also cannot even *fake* being at all regretful for the sake of her own husband's quest, however justifiable, to achieve some peace or make symbolic restitution or whetever. In the end I'd let Eddy coach my kids but would not allow Shawn Hellebuyck within a half-mile of anyone in my family.
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