In the moral maze that is the fight to rid sport of drugs, Michael Rasmussen — kicked off this year’s Tour de France over missed drug tests with victory in sight — is depicted as a scheming villain, while Great Britain’s Christine Ohuruogu — gold medallist at the World Athletics Championships after serving a ban for missing out-of-competition tests — is portrayed as a wronged innocent, her naivety abused by heartless anti-doping zealots.

Yet both athletes made the same mistake: they failed to keep up with the expectations of out-of-competition testing and whereabouts programmes. Both athletes put these failures down to hectic schedules and forgetfulness, as if missed drugs tests were like family birthday cards.

Now the British Olympic Association (BOA) is expected to tear up its own rulebook to select Ohuruogu for the Beijing Olympics. Rasmussen in contrast is a pariah, his career seemingly in ruins and his loss of earnings immeasurable. In the world of athletics, punishment equates to a slap on the wrist, but in cycling’s climate of zero tolerance, riders get burned at the stake.

The discrepancies between the treatment of Rasmussen during July’s Tour and the rapid rehabilitation of Ohuruogu at the World Championships, should ring alarm bells for all those who hope to see a standardisation in the treatment of athletes who commit doping offences.

Although three missed tests equates to a doping offence, neither Rasmussen or Ohuruogu tested positive, yet despite its state of chaos, cycling would appear to be far ahead of athletics in its intolerance of those who bend the rules.

In the Danish cyclist’s case, he was brought down by his inability to clarify his whereabouts to the International Cycling Union (UCI) and his sponsor, although he vehemently denies lying. Ohuruogu seemed similarly incapable of keeping her appointments for out-of-competition testing. When she missed her third test in 18 months, she was disciplined.

Yet Rasmussen, as much because of his sport’s chronic image problems as his own clumsy justifications, was immediately presumed to be hiding something. Ohuruogu in contrast, was given the benefit of the doubt and depicted as naïve and childlike by a sympathetic British press corps.

One law, it would seem, for the dodgy Danish cyclist, another for the happy, smiling British sprinter.

Yet imagine the reaction from the European media, from his peers and from rival nations, if Rasmussen had been selected by the Danish national federation — and then won a gold medal in next month’s World Championships in Stuttgart.

Both Rasmussen and Ohuruogu are professionals. They are well aware of the importance of out-of-competition testing and whereabouts programmes as tools to monitor athletes who disappear for weeks on end, often training in remote locations, with a clique of ‘consultants’ and ‘doctors.’

As doping detection has become more sophisticated, so has the evasiveness of some athletes. Out-of-competition testing, particularly in relation to blood tampering, has become a key tool in catching cheats. It should not be dismissed as tiresome bureaucracy either by athletes or their managers. In fact, as an effective deterrent to doping, they should embrace it, because it is an essential means of establishing their credibility.

According to Andy Parkinson of UK Sport, "To provide whereabouts information and be available for no-advance notice out-of-competition tests is a fundamental responsibility of being an elite competitor."

David Millar, who served a two-year ban after admitting to taking EPO (Erythropoietin), will be watching Ohuruogu's case with interest. Millar, now an outspoken campaigner against doping, is also hopeful of the BOA overturning his own lifetime ban from Olympic competition. It seems unlikely though; after all, Millar is a Tour de France cyclist.

Pat McQuaid, the UCI president, believes that there are “double standards” in the attitudes towards anti-doping measures in sport. “There are other sports in our shadow that are grateful that cycling is taking all the flak,” he said. “And I wouldn’t wish what cycling is going through on any other federation.”

With the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) and the UCI meeting in early October to discuss new anti-doping measures in cycling, the net is likely to get even tighter, with less flexibility applied to the rules over out-of-competition testing and whereabouts programmes. There is also likely to be a trickle down into other sports suspected to have doping problems, but reluctant to admit to it.

Frederic Donze, of WADA, refused to be drawn into the debate over the desirability of new world champion Ohuruogu’s possible selection for the Beijing Olympics by Team GB. “That is a question for the IOC (International Olympic Committee), not for WADA,” he said. “It’s an eligibility issue to do with the selection of athletes for Great Britain under that federation’s own rules.”

However, Donze highlighted a decisive strand to the Rasmussen Affair, that separated it from the Uhurougu case. “Rasmussen’s withdrawal from the Tour was a decision taken by his team and sponsor,” Donze said. “It was not a disciplinary procedure.”

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