Legacies aren’t what they used to be.

A constant rush to judgment has dug a grave for the once-important word.

We can start with Lance Armstrong.

The man beat cancer and went on to win seven Tour de France titles.

On Tuesday, the story finally breaks, “Oprah confirms: Armstrong admits to doping.”

This time last year, I would have figured such a headline belonged to a humorous, but fictional piece from The Onion.

Despite countless investigative sports journalists in the world — some of whom have likely spent years trying to uncover the deception — it’s Oprah to reveal the latest version of the truth from Armstrong.

Go figure.

More to the point, Armstrong’s legacy has fallen from the greatest cyclist of all time to a walking punch line trying to salvage any fans he has left.

The confirmation of a longtime suspicion shouldn’t result in such a stark contrast.

We should have known better.

The same could be said for baseball stars wrapped up in the steroid era.

Once upon a time, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa reignited interest in baseball with their historic race to Roger Maris’ cherished single-season record of 61 home runs. Barry Bonds then captivated the nation and eclipsed them both, while chasing down Hank Aaron’s all-time mark.

Those records should secure a legacy among the greatest sluggers to ever swing a baseball bat. They didn’t live happily ever after, though.

While most celebrated the achievements, time in the spotlight caused a few eyebrows to raise from the less naive, and like Armstrong, the rare accomplishments made critics dig.

Once the evidence of dirt was too great to overlook, these guys saw their reputations go from heroes of the American pastime to a mockery of the game.

Again, in both cases, we should have known better.

Performance-enhancing drugs were prominent in cycling throughout Armstrong’s run of titles, yet the ultimate underdog could climb right past the tainted competition through the mountain stages.

Baseball’s power numbers boomed in the 1990s and early 2000s, but players’ biceps were growing at a similar rate and there still wasn’t much of a clamor.

In retrospect, it would have been wise to hesitate place these so-called heroes on a pedestal.

The more information we gather, the better we can evaluate an athlete’s true historical impact.

Unfortunately, there’s no time to waste developing a complete and thorough evaluation in today’s Internet-driven society.

Quarterbacks don’t need years to build a legacy. To many pundits, they can be constructed or ripped down in a single game.

Apparently, Joe Flacco deserves to be labeled a franchise QB and Matt Ryan got over the hump en route to joining the game’s elite over the weekend.

However, their legacies are significantly different if Denver plays proper defense on a desperation heave or Atlanta kicker Matt Bryant misses a 49-yard field goal.

These types short-sighted evaluations are why the term “legacy” no longer holds water.

Most of the time, when legacies are discussed, it’s actually nothing more than an incomplete and lazy opinion.

I prefer to wait on judging a book until the story is actually over.

Jason Orfao is a staff writer for the Butler Eagle.