Athletes through the centuries have abused the rights and privileges of a higher power for short-term success, from Noah's world champion crew team and David's major upset in the first UFC championship match through the Catholic Church's 1500-year run as the best Risk players west of Constantinople. Constantine himself threw the Titans over the side and adopted Christ when he saw a performance advantage in losing his religion.
Today, cheaters such as Dwight Howard would carry the Orlando Magic to championship after championship with His good footwork if God hadn't called Grant Hill home to the land of his people: Phoenix. (Not that God has forsaken Dwight Howard; clearly, the 6'11" 270 lb. PF/C built tougher than a 1974 Buick Le Sabre shall inherit the title.)
Tony Dungy called his operator to get Jesus on the line when he needed heavenly hands to get the mortal fingers of Peyton Manning off his own damned throat. D'Brickashaw Ferguson requested that cool name to intimidate his foes. David Robinson asked and received a higher power for permission to leave his Navy sub posting to become God's warrior until Robinson's hubris allowed him to accept the MVP trophy in the same state as Hakeem. And so on.
Therefore, please stop mocking Rafael Betancourt and Clay Hensley with thrown needles and get Dick Pound to stop chasing Marion Jones through the mall parking lot on his Rascal with a pee cup in his hand. Instead, let's concentrate on the real villains of competitive sport: the pious. Once we stop allowing those holier than us to dominate sports, we can get back to playing sports as mere mortals enduring our mortal failings and succeeding on our own mortal merits. You know, as God intended.