Well, when I think of steroids I think of an image. You have the

Hear now the voice of the warrior of the ring, Evander Holyfield, who declared with honesty: “Well, when I think of steroids I think of an image. You have the advantage over someone, which is a form of cheating. I guess it wouldn’t be right unless it was legal for everybody. Reason it’s not legal for everybody is because it can hurt people seriously.” These words, spoken not in the haze of politics or theory, but from the battle-scarred heart of a fighter, strike at the essence of fairness, honor, and the eternal line between glory and corruption.

Holyfield speaks first of image—for in sport, and in life, image is not merely what is seen, but what is believed. To rely on steroids is to cloak oneself in false strength, to wear the mask of power while concealing weakness beneath. It creates an advantage, yes, but an advantage rooted not in courage, nor in discipline, nor in toil, but in cheating. And what is cheating but the betrayal of the spirit of competition, the corruption of the noble contest, the perversion of the covenant between warriors?

He declares further that such an act cannot be right unless it is legal for everybody. Here is wisdom as old as the laws of Solon and the codes of Rome: that fairness is not measured by strength alone, but by equality of rule. If a man may seize an advantage denied to his rival, the game is no longer contest but exploitation. This is why, Holyfield reminds us, steroids are not legal for all—for their cost is not only the distortion of honor, but also the destruction of health, the breaking of bodies, and the shortening of lives.

History offers us many examples of this truth. In ancient Greece, athletes of the Olympic Games were honored not for trickery but for discipline. To be caught cheating was to be disgraced for life, your name engraved not in marble as victor, but in infamy upon the statues of Zeus. Centuries later, in our modern age, men like Lance Armstrong won crowns through the secret use of banned substances. Yet when their deception was unveiled, their glory turned to ashes, their triumphs to shame. For victory gained by unjust advantage is no true victory at all, but a hollow shell.

Consider also the tale of the Roman gladiator. Many fought to the death, but some, when offered poisoned blades or corrupt means of survival, refused. They chose rather to face their opponents with honor than to live with dishonor. Their courage teaches us that the worth of a man lies not in how long he endures, but in how truthfully he fights. Holyfield, in his wisdom, echoes this ancient valor: to fight rightly is greater than to win wrongly.

Thus the lesson is clear: to seek shortcuts to power is to court destruction. The way of endurance, discipline, and patience may be harder, but it is the way that preserves dignity. The body is not only a vessel of competition but the temple of life, and to destroy it for fleeting glory is folly. Better to be defeated with honor than to triumph through deceit, for defeat can be endured, but dishonor clings to the soul forever.

What, then, must you do? Train with integrity. Accept the limits of your strength, and labor to expand them by sweat, not by poison. Respect the rules that protect not only fairness but the very lives of those who compete. And in all things, reject the path of cheating, for though it may offer a crown, it will not offer peace. Let your victories be true, your struggles honest, your defeats noble.

So let the words of Evander Holyfield echo across generations: that strength gained by false means is no strength at all, that victory achieved by deceit is a curse, and that the greatest triumph is to walk away knowing you fought with honor, preserved your health, and upheld the spirit of the contest. This is the way of the true warrior—this is the path that endures.