What game theory teaches us about Lance Armstrong

Just stay with me there a minute...

Lance Armstrong, once cycling’s poster child, now faces a future in disgrace. Forced into standing down from the chairmanship of his cancer charity Livestrong, Nike has unceremoniously dropped him in the face of “insurmountable evidence” put forward by the US Anti-Doping Agency.

Having masterminded what USADA has referred to as “the most sophisticated, professionalised and successful doping programme that the sport has ever seen”, Armstrong cheated his way to an unprecedented seven Tour de France wins. Hard evidence and witness accounts have now testified, however, that the only thing Lance Armstrong convincingly won in his cycling career was a doping arms race.

With the help of controversial doctor Michele Ferrari, Armstrong and his team mates at the US Postal Service team stayed one step ahead of anti-doping officials. Not only were doping regimes planned to evade detection, but Ferrari was given information relating to testing procedures, allowing him to devise specific workarounds.

The conflict between dopers and scientists is an interesting one, with anti-doping officials continually closing doors only opened by the dopers themselves. A chicken and egg argument with a definitive answer, but no apparent solution. Athletes continually uncover methods in which to subvert the regulations, only to leave anti-doping officials in a perpetual state of catch-up.

Anti-doping authorities like USADA and WADA must tighten their practices and work towards enforcing much stricter parameters for athletes to qualify from; however they are at an instant disadvantage given the position from which dopers can work from. Game theory, the mathematical modelling of how two intelligent entities strategically interact, has been used to refine airport security measures to become less predictable, could it be used in a distinctly similar fashion here to thwart dopers?

A particular strain of game theory, dubbed Stackelberg, game suits the doping proposition perfectly, as it requires one entity to establish its defences first whilst the other conducts surveillance to identify weak spots. The notion of a sequential move, with the opposite entity responding to measures established by the first, closely resembles the way in which cycling’s dopers have found ways to subvert cycling’s anti-doping strategy.

Stackelberg game is also capable of introducing what has been billed as systematic randomness to the equation, vital in this instance given the random nature of drug testing. Cyclists can be requested to provide a sample at any time, even in the middle of the night, a factor which can be worked into the game. Stackelberg game has been used in airport security to make strategies harder to analyse through surveillance, a method which could have thwarted the way in which Armstrong and Ferrari successfully thwarted USADA for more than a decade.

What Lance Armstrong has managed to make abundantly clear is that current anti-doping controls are not working. Testing procedures need to become significantly more stringent and randomised if they are to be considered fit for purpose. If Stakelberg game can profess to do just that, then perhaps it’s time the theory’s own systematic and intelligent randomness was put to good use.

Lance Armstrong. Photograph: Getty Images

Liam Stoker is the aerospace and defence features writer for the NRI Digital network.

Getty
Show Hide image

The deafening killer - why noise will be the next great pollution scandal

A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too.

Our cities are being poisoned by a toxin that surrounds us day and night. It eats away at our brains, hurts our hearts, clutches at our sleep, and gnaws at the quality of our daily lives.

Hardly a silent killer, it gets short shrift compared to the well-publicised terrors of air pollution and sugars food. It is the dull, thumping, stultifying drum-beat of perpetual noise.

The score that accompanies city life is brutal and constant. It disrupts the everyday: The coffee break ruined by the screech of a line of double decker buses braking at the lights. The lawyer’s conference call broken by drilling as she makes her way to the office. The writer’s struggle to find a quiet corner to pen his latest article.

For city-dwellers, it’s all-consuming and impossible to avoid. Construction, traffic, the whirring of machinery, the neighbour’s stereo. Even at home, the beeps and buzzes made by washing machines, fridges, and phones all serve to distract and unsettle.

But the never-ending noisiness of city life is far more than a problem of aesthetics. A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. Recent studies have linked noise pollution to hearing loss, sleep deprivation, hypertension, heart disease, brain development, and even increased risk of dementia.

One research team compared families living on different stories of the same building in Manhattan to isolate the impact of noise on health and education. They found children in lower, noisier floors were worse at reading than their higher-up peers, an effect that was most pronounced for children who had lived in the building for longest.

Those studies have been replicated for the impact of aircraft noise with similar results. Not only does noise cause higher blood pressure and worsens quality of sleep, it also stymies pupils trying to concentrate in class.

As with many forms of pollution, the poorest are typically the hardest hit. The worst-off in any city often live by busy roads in poorly-insulated houses or flats, cheek by jowl with packed-in neighbours.

The US Department of Transport recently mapped road and aircraft noise across the United States. Predictably, the loudest areas overlapped with some of the country’s most deprived. Those included the south side of Atlanta and the lowest-income areas of LA and Seattle.

Yet as noise pollution grows in line with road and air traffic and rising urban density, public policy has turned a blind eye.

Council noise response services, formally a 24-hour defence against neighbourly disputes, have fallen victim to local government cuts. Decisions on airport expansion and road development pay scant regard to their audible impact. Political platforms remain silent on the loudest poison.

This is odd at a time when we have never had more tools at our disposal to deal with the issue. Electric Vehicles are practically noise-less, yet noise rarely features in the arguments for their adoption. Just replacing today’s bus fleet would transform city centres; doing the same for taxis and trucks would amount to a revolution.

Vehicles are just the start. Millions were spent on a programme of “Warm Homes”; what about “Quiet Homes”? How did we value the noise impact in the decision to build a third runway at Heathrow, and how do we compensate people now that it’s going ahead?

Construction is a major driver of decibels. Should builders compensate “noise victims” for over-drilling? Or could regulation push equipment manufacturers to find new ways to dampen the sound of their kit?

Of course, none of this addresses the noise pollution we impose on ourselves. The bars and clubs we choose to visit or the music we stick in our ears. Whether pumping dance tracks in spin classes or indie rock in trendy coffee shops, people’s desire to compensate for bad noise out there by playing louder noise in here is hard to control for.

The Clean Air Act of 1956 heralded a new era of city life, one where smog and grime gave way to clear skies and clearer lungs. That fight still goes on today.

But some day, we will turn our attention to our clogged-up airwaves. The decibels will fall. #Twitter will give way to twitter. And every now and again, as we step from our homes into city life, we may just hear the sweetest sound of all. Silence.

Adam Swersky is a councillor in Harrow and is cabinet member for finance. He writes in a personal capacity.