ANYONE who launches a $2m lawsuit attacking the inept cycling stewardship of Pat McQuaid and his predecessor, Hein Verbruggen, gets my vote but forgive me if I am at odds with what seems like a blunderbuss approach by Jamie Fuller, chairman of Skins, the multi-million dollar compression clothing company.

Fuller has professed his "very clear values about fuelling the true spirit of competition. If we've got a partner, whether it's an individual or a team, and they don't espouse those values or do things that don't reflect that, then we have to terminate our relationship."

The Australian-owned, Swiss-based company which sponsors competitors and teams in a range of sports (including cycling) claims that poor governance by the UCI, cycling's governing body, has caused them to consider dropping the sport from their portfolio: a costly withdrawal given their investment. Hence the $2m lawsuit.

Fuller is also a founder of Change Cycling Now, a campaign aimed at ridding the sport of doping, which he says cannot be done with McQuaid in the saddle. Predictably, with his tenure as president under threat, McQuaid has labelled Fuller's actions a publicity stunt. Fuller (instrumental in having Switzerland withdraw McQuaid's presidential nomination) denies it and, with typical Aussie bluntness, labels McQuaid "full of s**t". No quibbles so far, then. This is the kind of zero-tolerance of which I approve, even if Fuller clearly has a vested financial interest. Where I part company with the Australian is in his anti-doping strategy of enlisting the world's most infamous drug cheat, Ben Johnson. That does smack of a publicity stunt, for which Fuller has past form. He once had to withdraw the swoosh logo of a rival company, used upside down like a frown in his own advertising.

Having plunged into the athletics arena, Fuller is bankrolling a campaign that would be fine with me, too, but for the presence of Johnson, stripped of Olympic 100 metres gold following his steroid-fueled charge in 1988. Later this month, on the 25th anniversary of that race, the Canadian will unfurl a giant anti-doping petition along Lane Six of the Jamsil Stadium where he stunned the 90,000 crowd with a world record (9.79 seconds) of which he was soon also stripped. Forgive me, but it's about as appropriate as Bashar al-Assad chairing a clean-air campaign for Damascus.

I was in the Seoul stands in 1988. Johnson was not the first - and possibly not even the worst - Olympic cheat, but it was assuredly the death of sporting innocence.

Fuller paraded Johnson in the UK last week as figurehead of Choose The Right Track (CTRT), a campaign to regain public trust in anti-doping. The global tour, for which it is claimed Johnson is not being paid, will culminate in Seoul.

The campaign proposes the creation of an Athlete Support Council (to support, educate, and offer whistle-blowing advice) and a Truth and Reconciliation movement (to bridge a cultural gap and mistrust between competitors and sports administrators.

Perhaps more pertinently, CTRT wants sweeping change for the World Anti-Doping Agency, including total independence and autonomy, and global enforcement powers. It's suggested that its $26m annual budget is inadequate - true - and that this is a ridiculously low amount given that the sport industry is reportedly worth close to $1000 billion annually: also true.

People kill for tiny fractions of such incomprehensible sums, never mind take drugs to get a share of rewards. Cheating competitors, global sports federations and the Olympic movement itself: all have a vested interest in the status quo, and inefficient global anti-doping. The IOC helps fund WADA. On reflection, the well-meaning Fuller might do better pleading for global corporate ethics.

Johnson's demeanour, when wheeled out last week, was full of contradictions, short on contrition and left much to be desired. He admitted he had lied to the Dubin inquiry in 1989, while his doctor, Jamie Astaphan, testified that he had injected Johnson with steroids, some "50 or 60 times".

Despite that testimony, Johnson revisited his tired old script: he was victim of a conspiracy, that his drink was spiked, that everyone else was doing it. He "knew it was wrong", but had to do it. He said he took "full responsibility", and that the current campaign shows he is "someone who wants to fit in with society".

Carl Lewis (promoted to gold in 1988) failed three tests at the 1988 US Olympic trials, yet was allowed to run. Hence Johnson's bitter tirade: "He tests positive and gets clearance. I test positive and he gets the gold. There is an unfairness."

Only two runners from that 1988 Olympic final finished their careers untainted by drugs, and, of the five men to have run faster than Johnson's 9.79 in Seoul, only the current world record-holder, Usain Bolt (9.58), has never failed a drug test. From the same Trelawny parish which was Bolt's birthplace, Johnson maintains he could run as fast as Bolt, given today's improved technology.

Yet I am as uneasy about Johnson promoting anti-doping as I am about a similar role for the Scottish cyclist David Millar, or Linford Christie, the 100m bronze medallist in 1988, being allowed to coach athletes after his conviction as a dope cheat.

I applaud Fuller's mission, but it is devalued to publicity stunt status by enlisting the inappropriate Johnson.