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.

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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.