Proof of Concept²

My takeaway from Race 6 of the 32nd America's Cup match:

America's Cup 33 will probably be just as exciting as this one. No more 5-0. It's been 24 years since we've had a contest for the Cup that had this sort of back-and-forth drama, and the new format—the pre-event racing—is responsible. As Alinghi tactician Brad Butterworth said after his come from behind win in Race 6, "The Acts brought all the boats together. If the defender has an advantage, they see it. They go into the LVC and the challengers get tough racing. And the unskirting shows everybody what you've got."

Watching first-time challengers such as Shosholoza perform well against bigger teams gave me a similar thought a long while back, and I wrote a story called Proof of Concept. Seeing this kind of competition in the Cup racing itself convinces me that I am looking at Proof of Concept².



Only a few All Black believers held out against the popular view that Alinghi would walk over Emirates Team New Zealand. Lots of people predicted a 5-0 shutout. After all, Alinghi won in 2003 and then dominated the Acts. But once again, in Race 6, NZL 92 got ahead and just might have stayed there. These boats are a close match, and so are the teams.

The scoreboard speaks for itself. I do not want to seem to diminish the accomplishments of the sailors of SUI 100, who look good to successfully defend the cup for Ernesto Bertarelli and his Société Nautique de Genève. I'm just making the point that this has been a real contest, and when it is over the Alinghi team will know they had a fight on their hands. No 1995 5-0, no 2000 5-0, no 2003 5-0.

And refined pre-event racing could make things even harder for Alinghi next time.

But there I am, writing in the past tense, as if Alinghi has already won, when New Zealand could still win the next three straight.

I'm not investing my Widows & Orphans Fund in that one, but it sure would make a great story. That's what made Dennis Conner's win in Australia so big. He went down there and won back what he had lost. It was a crusade. That had story. The Kiwis have story here, but the trend line of the last two races is all-Alinghi.

Off Malvarossa Beach, Valencia, June 30, 2007: Race 6

So Alinghi had the starboard entry. Here is Pieter van Nieuwenhuyzen (aka Peter van Alphabet) on the bow of Alinghi, reaching toward the box . . .



And entering the box . . .



I know that dialups don't look exciting, but on board the boats, they are, baby, they are. And the Race 6 dialup was a long one, both boats trying to maintain control downspeed, with rudders losing their grip on the water, crews trying to keep a grip on the boat even if the boat has almost no grip—if the mainsail catches air, you lose the boat—and it was New Zealand forced to bail first.



Ed Baird, helming Alinghi, had the starboard-tack entry to the box, and in that dialup Baird was guarding the right-hand entry to the course. As events unfolded, with both boats bailing and hustling back downwind into the box, Alinghi held New Zealand out of the right, and Kiwi helmsman Dean Barker made a close gybe that the Alinghi team wanted called as a foul.

The umpires green-flagged it.

Alinghi tactician Brad Butterworth said of the umpires later, wry on wry, "They do the best they can."

I doubt that any single photograph captures an incident, but this shot by Lyn Hines has something to say . . .


Photo by Lyn Hines

Baird was able to keep Barker controlled through the remainder of the countdown, and both boats headed out to the left with SUI 100 living comfortably to weather of NZL 92 for a long, long time. And then—



Butterworth again: "We hung in there for as long as we could, but just about two minutes short of the lay line we couldn't hold there any longer. They got a little too powerful for my liking, and we tacked away."

Advantage to New Zealand, which led at the top mark by 14 seconds, with the breeze dropping from whitecaplets at the start, maybe 10 knots, to flat, blue water at the top of the course. The breeze would be down to 7 knots at the finish.

And you want close? That first reach was close. Alinghi couldn't quite get to New Zealand's air, but there was a point at which I was watching the leading edge of NZL 92's gennaker probably as hard as the trimmers were—to see if it was going to break—until my eyeballs hurt and I realized I was overachieving.

It's been amazing to see these two boats so evenly matched: SUI 100 with more fullness forward in the hull and presumably a liking for more breeze, but the proof has been hard to come by, and NZL 92 with a finer entry and (I believe) a narrower beam, always heeling a bit more than any of its opponents and carrying more mast rake to weather. And then coming back downwind together, right together. And then the deciding moves.

New Zealand, leading in on starboard, chose to sail straight for the left-hand gate for the easiest-possible rounding with the best-possible speed.

Alinghi, trailing and also on starboard, chose to soak down for the right-hand mark, sacrifice some speed in that, sacrifice more speed by gybing, and go for separation.



And separation won it.

Add one score for the leeward gate for opening up possibilities for the boat behind in a match race.

New Zealand tacked to cover as Alinghi headed out to the right-hand side of the course on port tack, but Alinghi was getting the goods: tiny cells of better pressure that translated into more speed plus more pointing.

Butterworth again: "In these boats there is a huge difference between 7 knots and 7.5 knots, and that difference might be 5 degrees of pointing. That's what happened."

Bit by bit, Alinghi advanced to a position to come back and attack New Zealand with starboard-tack rights. Twice the Kiwis held with safe-leeward tacks, but, closing on the second weather mark, there were right shifts helping Alinghi. Barker's third attempt to plant a lee bow tack on Alinghi failed. From a position where, "We had been feeling pretty good about life," Barker said, "At one or two minutes to the layline, things turned around dramatically."

SUI 100 passed and stayed in front. Finish line delta: 28 seconds.

These kids at the Beach Club alongside the harbor, waiting for the raceboats to return, just might be Alinghi family . . .



The match now stands at 4-2 Alinghi with Race 7 scheduled to start at 1500 Sunday. If Alinghi wins, it's all over. If New Zealand wins, well, "We're still a dangerous team," Barker said. "We believe we're good enough to get ourselves back into this, but it's a big ask."

ACM would be irresponsible to not be prepping for an Alinghi win on Sunday and attendant festivities, but should New Zealand interrupt their plans, the noise from Auckland could reach all the way to the Gran Vía Márquez del Turia—Kimball

The Gallipoli of Spinnaker Snafus

Kiwis, I hand it to you. I've seen and participated in some considerable spinnaker snafus, but what happened in Race 5 of the America's Cup match was a standard-setting intergalactic bell ringer, the Gallipoli of spinnaker snafus.

It was also the undoing of a strong bid to put the Kiwi challenger up 3-2. Instead, the advantage is now to Alinghi.

And to think it all began with what Emirates Team New Zealand boss Grant Dalton called, "A twenty-cent tear" in a high-load area as the Kiwi boat led around the weather mark by 12 seconds. Then there was the quick-as-a-bunny crew work to try to get a replacement kite hoisted before that kite could blow but NO not quick enough, as we see in the Thierry Martinez/Alinghi image here.



The twenty-cent tear went platinum and the kite went to pieces just as the new one was ready to hoist and then the recoil, as the load released, tried to fling the bowman right off the spinnaker pole and while he was grabbing hold for dear life to anything he could grab hold of, the new sail went up—miscommunication? tack not tacked?—and became enraptured in the old sail and there were spinnaker parts flying everywhere. Spinnaker parts flailing from the masthead. Spinnaker parts trailing in the water. Spinnaker parts driving Cadillacs to Washington, DC . . .

They had to get rid of both sails to make room for a third, and that took a while, and doggies if the new-new sail didn't wrap. Can't win fer losin'.

As Dalton said, it's a situation that would be pretty hard to replicate and practice.

Or forget.


Ivo Rovira/Alinghi


Off Malvarossa Beach, Valencia: June 29, 2007

Race 5 removed any doubt that NZL 92 might be a sufficient weapon to win the America's Cup. It is that.

Let's revisit this thought one more time: About a million years ago, looking ahead to racing for the America's Cup, Emirates Team New Zealand's American tactician Terry Hutchinson predicted, "I think it will be about how they go against us in the light stuff and how we go against them in a breeze." In Race 4, Alinghi looked just fine in the light stuff, and in Race 5, New Zealand looked just fine in 14-15 knots—the alleged Alinghi weather—until they developed those technical issues with the big, bright ballooner(s) out front.

Even having the series tied 2-2 going into today's race was not enough to erase the thought that, perhaps, it was supposed to be 4-0. But no. What the sailors were telling us early-on was spot-on, that the boats are very close in performance.

Had the prestart been a boxing match with points awarded, the points would have gone to Dean Barker on the helm of NZL 92. Barker got beneath Ed Baird, driving SUI 100, at the first encounter, which was not quite a dialup, and with New Zealand holding Alinghi above the line, Baird ran away into the spectator fleet. Both boats close-shaved the press boat and a few more, then New Zealand broke off the game to lead back.

NZL 92 strategist Ray Davies said, "Our expectation was a good, even track, so the call was for Dean to take it to them in the prestart, but opportunities can change quickly once you get in among the spectator boats. Deano decided to not engage much more."

Leading back, Barker kept squeezing his opponent so that Baird tacked to port at the gun. Nowhere else to go. Barker kept going for a bit but soon tacked to cover, and then came a drag race to the starboard tack layline and beyond in that "Alinghi weather" and there was nothing in it. The broadcast technology showed a tiny port-tack lift on the right-hand side of the course, and maybe those 2-3 degrees were real, and maybe they helped New Zealand, inside on the lift. With Alinghi pushed beyond the layline, New Zealand was helped again with a bit of clockwise-wind going to the mark.

And then the rounding and then Gallipoli and then Alinghi doing its thing, adeptly, to seize and secure the lead and the win.

Dalton said that, from here, "How you react is the key to how you go forward as a team. You can make it the defining moment, but it's important that we don't."

And having written this much, I see that it's pretty much about how New Zealand might have won, but lost, Race 5. It's not about how Alinghi won it. Perhaps that's not fair, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

But howzabout this Ivo Rovira shot of the tow home . . .


Ivo Rovira/Alinghi

The jury speaks, sort of

Once again, if you're up for the details of this mushy jury ruling re. emergency drop capability for the mainsail, check in with Tom Ehman at BOB. Anybody who could have once functioned as head of the challenger committee is a better read on this stuff than I could be.

Silver-frame Kores

I had a little fun recently with my friends at Kaenon, when they ran an ad touting how NZL 92 tactician Terry Hutchinson "chooses the original, the tried and true Kore. Our original award-winning design." And I just had to point out that the silver-framed Kore that Terry favors is no longer in production. Black, yes. Silver, no. Those same silver frames are favored, for that matter, by a lot of the sailors at the top of the game. I discovered they were un-replaceable when I lost a pair and went to the store and tried.

All in good fun, and I received a cheery note from Steve Rosenberg at Kaenon saying that, basically, the athletes love the silver frames but the bigger market does not. Here's Steve: "I have bean counters in my ear constantly, and while I tune them out most of the time, this was one decision where they got their way."

It's just like I said, guys, Don't wear'em. Save'em and sell'em on eBay—Kimball

Layday Bloody Layday

Protest.

Dismissed.

I figure the whole Rule 31.6 protest about being able to lower a mainsail to the deck "without the necessity of a crew member going aloft" was all about Emirates Team New Zealand seeing a man aloft on Alinghi when they dropped their sail at the request of the measurement committee and—without really expecting there was any serious skullduggery—decided to lodge a protest, because, why give Alinghi skipper Brad Butterworth an unfettered night's sleep?

And why not take a shot, just in case there's something there? And why not give the media something to write about other than that race you just lost?

There's been way to much ink on this already, and as of Thursday evening we've just been told that the jury will issue a written account of their split decision, dismissing the protest, on Friday morning. Those of you who care have access to plenty of analysis (try BOB, Tom Ehman's BMW Oracle Blog, which tells you what you need to know about the major nonevent of post-Race 4.

Images in the House of the Cup

I wrote a while back about disappearing images of Cup heroes at the House of the Cup here inside the racing venue. More recently, I noted the return of the portrait of three-time winning Cup skipper Russell Coutts, the man that the rumor mill keeps linking to Larry Ellison's next campaign, but you already know that.

After writing about the return of the Coutts pic, I found this note from Michel Hodara, AC 32 COO, among the blog comments, and I think it is important to move it up and share it here, because it tells a story that is different from the one I told.

Dear Kimball

You deserve to know the whole story about the portraits of the House of the Cup.

Few years ago, Louis Vuitton commissioned a series of those unique "polaroid" type portraits.

LV then loaned them to us—organizers of the 32nd America's Cup—to be displayed in the House of the Cup.

We commissioned as well another series with the personalities of the 32AC.

In the LV lot, there never was a picture of Paul Cayard, explaining why not displayed.

For Russell, the picture was displayed until January, when LV asked us the portrait to be featured in Paris at the America's Cup exhibition in the LV Store on Champs-Elysées.

Once this exhibition finished, LV forgot to return the portraits to the House of the Cup.

When the portrait was finally returned, it was immediately put back in place.

As you can see, no bad intentions.

Sincerely

Michel Hodara
COO 32 AC
JUNE 28, 2007


An Absorbing Interest

I think maybe it was one of those conspiracy things. Bob Fisher writes a book that costs so much, not every bloke can see his way clear to buying one, but the cagey Fish brings it out right before the America's Cup, and so we have Louis Vuitton's Bruno Troublé buying scads of the things to be given out as special gifts and even given as prizes to the Luna Rossa guys that lost out in the Louis Vuitton Cup to the Kiwis. I think maybe I'll hit up Fish for a loan. For the rest of you, here, below is what I wrote by way of a mini book review in the July issue of SAIL. Mini, yes, but enough to say what needs to be said:



If you're going to write yet another history of the America's Cup, you're going to have to justify it. When I took in hand An Absorbing Interest by one Bob Fisher, a sailor of accomplishment and a journalist/author known as "the Fish" in every sailing haunt and worthy watering hole on the Blue Planet, I measured the book by what it told me that I didn't already know. It measured up. I speak as someone whose personal history of the Cup covers 17 percent of the total.

At 425,000 words in two volumes, richly illustrated but to a degree ("It's meant to be read; if I had wanted a coffee-table book I'd have put legs on it"), An Absorbing Interest is aimed frankly at the absorbed. You know who you are. The value will remain long after the price is forgotten.

An Absorbing Interest: The America's Cup. A History 1851–2003
By Bob Fisher
£200
John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

News point

Karol Jablonski, the Pole who did well as helmsman for Desafio Español, has been named skipper of United Internet Team Germany. Jablonski won the Admiral’s Cup in 1993 and the Mumm 18 World Championship in 1999. He became Match Race World Champion in 2001, currently ranks fifth place in the World Match Race Ranking, and took the Spanish team as far as the semis in America's Cup 32.

So, on Friday, we sail Race 5 and break the tie. Emirates Team Boss Grant Dalton is still making noises that the protest is not quite over, so we'll have to see if the measurement committee has any special requests to make at the end of the race—Kimball

Even Or Not ?

About a million years ago, looking ahead to racing for the America's Cup, Emirates Team New Zealand's American tactician Terry Hutchinson predicted, "I think it will be about how they go against us in the light stuff and how we go against them in a breeze."

Well, in Race 4, Alinghi went very well against New Zealand in the light stuff.

Considering how lumpy it was, you might have thought the narrower NZL 92, with its finer entry, would be happier than the famously upmoded SUI 100 (even if it's been recently downmoded to meet its opponent partway).

If ever the Kiwi boat was going to look superior to the Swiss boat, surely this was it.

Instead, Alinghi's wire-to-wire win inspired German photographer Heike Schwab to say, "Back to normal."

And I understand.

But that's a strange thing to say, isn't it? Much less agree to. When only five minutes ago Alinghi was down one race to two and hearts were palpitating and adrenalin was pumping and a lot of really harebrained ideas were being propagated on the internet.

Not that I'm predicting an abatement of harebrained ideas on the internet.

We are reminded that, yes, Alinghi is the house bet. When Alinghi won Race One I wrote, "Who would have thought that what everybody thought would happen, would happen?"

Now we're back to what we've been successfully programmed to believe is a "normal" trend line.

Except of course under the roof of the Kiwi base, where team boss Grant Dalton would order a public spanking for such thinking.

Such explains, or so I believe, why there is a more fervent reaction among the pilgrims here when New Zealand is in front, be they Kiwi, Swiss, or agnostic.

And then there's the protest that might change everything, but probably won't change anything. Keep reading.

Do you like to race?

At the start, mystery helmsman Ed Baird and tactician Brad Butterworth got SUI 100 off the line on starboard—matching NZL 92—with speed and enough separation to live forever on their opponent's hip. Or if not exactly "forever," then beyond the port-tack layline, which in this deal is forever-enough.

It was a long drag race. Aboard NZL 92, Dean Barker and Terry Hutchinson had hoped to close up on Baird at the start line or soon after and force him away.

Not to be.

Each boat had gainer-episodes, but the averages favored Alinghi, with small cells of pressure flowing through to lift the Swiss boat off New Zealand to gain and gain.

New Zealand waited patiently for the leftie that would have put them outside on the header (to maybe gain it all back), and then a shy boy walked onto the darkened Kiwi stage and announced, "Godot will surely come tomorrow."

Or, as Hutchinson put it, "The left shift did come, when we were at the layline."

From that point on there were two events in progress: There was an earnest tussle of expert sailing technicians, on one side to hold an advantage (successful) and on the other side to bust that advantage open (unsuccessful). To anyone who can read a racecourse and appreciate the game well-played, this was a fascinating exercise. It was also a reminder that sailboat racing has shortcomings as a spectator sport.

Alinghi led all the way, with 30 seconds in the bank at the finish.

Frankly, I'm running a little low on gas to talk you through all the moves. The thing is, it sounds so much like all the races that went before: Tight cover, but loose enough to go for the gainers. And when it was all over, Brad Butterworth was challenged to declare whether this all comes down to a design race, and he said, "Yes. For the last time, yes."

Okay, the protest

In the ACC Rule, section 31.6 states: "Mainsails shall be able to be lowered to the deck without the necessity of a crew member going aloft."

Part of the deal here is that the regatta committee can enforce rules by means of random checks. Something of that happened on Wednesday, and it led to a situation that the Measurement Committee declined to carry to protest. But Emirates Team New Zealand did not hesitate. News came late in the day, with little supporting material, but fortunately Paul Cayard was ready with some insight. Here's Paul describing something that I did not see:

"After the finish, there was a request by the measurement committee for both boats to drop their mainsails without sending a man aloft. Normally a halyard is attached to the sail at the end of each day's racing to lower the mainsail. But there is a class rule that requires each yacht be capable of dropping its mainsail from the deck by way of a "trip" mechanism, for safety reasons. Team New Zealand complied immediately while Alinghi actually had to send a man up the mast in order to drop the sail. This seemed absurd to all of us here. How obviously in contravention of the request of the officials. I think this one will get discussed long into the night.

"What could come of this? Disqualification of Alinghi for non-compliance? I doubt it. Re-race the race? Maybe. That is what happened with Mascalzone and Desafio earlier in the Louis Vuitton Cup. A fine? Maybe. How much would be an appropriate fine? Stand by. We may not be done with Race 4."

There is no question that Alinghi bowman Pieter van Nieuwenhuyzen went to the masthead to release the head of the sail. However, the explanation of that, by strategist Murray Jones, is this: "They elected to do a random measurement check on our boat. One was to ensure that the mainsail can release off the main halyard lock without any assistance. So with the big waves we asked whether we could put the halyard on loosely so the whole thing didn’t fall down and break battens and damage stuff when you do actually release it. We tripped it off and that was that."

If so, the protest probably falls under the category of hassling'em if you can.

For the record

I don't know when this happened, because I certainly don't check in often, but a photograph of Russell Coutts has been returned to the walls of la casa de la America's Cup. Coutts, yes. Cayard, no. If you care, the background is here.
No racing on Thursday but we're back on Friday for Race 5, or maybe Race 4.2—Kimball

Is "Oracle'd a Verb?

Something happened here today. The underdogs took a big bite out of the big dogs and the place went crazy. There were reporters running, Kiwi fans running, an ear-shattering chorus of horns, why, you'd think the America's Cup had done been won.

Instead, it's Emirates Team New Zealand up 2 races to 1 in a first-to-five.

Picture NZL 92 closing oh so slowly toward their final meeting with Alinghi on an agonizing light-air reach to the finish—if you think it's hard to watch something like that, try being on board when you need to go faster and the boat . . . just . . . won't . . . go . . . faster—and New Zealand Herald reporter Julie Ash was watching and hardly breathing and wringing her hands and shaking like a leaf.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

For something that started out as a snore, delay-delay-delay just waiting for the light breeze to settle down enough to get a race going, this one turned into an emotional barn burner. Have we seen such a punch-out in an America's Cup race since 1983? I don't think so. Have we ever, ever seen that many lead changes? I don’t think so. By my count there were four major, critical lead changes. Lower the bar and you easily find many more. Someone said twenty lead changes, but with the boats split wide on the way to the finish, who can really say? New Zealand strategist Ray Davies chewed on the question, then joked, "I can't count that high."

I'm in the newsroom of the Press Center as I write, and there's an energy in here—people focused, writing, nervous to get it right and get it out—that was never here in the Acts, never here in the LVC, not here even on Sunday when NZL 92 evened the score. Something happened here today. Or do I repeat myself?

So we've just had the most dramatic America's Cup race in 24 years, and who does Alinghi send to the press conference?

Rodney Ardern, runner/grinder
Dean Phipps, runner/pitman

Well-spoken, superb sailing athletes whose skills go far beyond those job descriptions.

But not up to the drama of the moment.

I was not angry.

I was insulted.

Race 3, Match 32

To answer, for now, the question implied by my headline ("Is Oracle'd a Verb?), I'd say no, Alinghi is not now looking like the next version of a BMW Oracle cockpit meltdown. Race 3 was a hard one. With the leftover lump from an overnight storm angled away from the new breeze, and that breeze plagued with oddments and strange behaviors, you couldn't just reach into your tactician's or strategist's Valencia Racecourse Playbook and turn to page 37. It was a minefield out there, and I'll bet you that NZL 92 tactician Terry Hutchinson, when he says his bedtime prayers, includes a thank-you to his lucky stars.

The same Terry Hutchinson, btw, who wore his silver-frame Kores to work today.

Given the expectation that NZL 92 favors a light breeze and SUI 100 likes more, there's no question that the Kiwis were happier than the Swiss to see a race get under way. In a press release from Alinghi, strategist Juan Vila is quoted as saying of the race committee's decision to go: "From our side we didn't see the conditions improving, but that is their call and we have to go with what they decide." A release under the America's Cup Match logo quotes Alinghi team boss Ernesto Bertarelli: "I don't think the race should have happened . . . I think we raced well and we were just unlucky . . . I'm sure for those who are watching it is exciting, but you can go to Las Vegas for that. It's not what sailing should be about."

The race winners were strangely more sanguine.

For the record, the cutoff time for racing is 1700, and the flags flew just barely ahead of that. Define "barely"? The official starting time at the end of the 10-minute countdown is listed as 1710.

So: The highlights tape on this one runs 1:43:32 plus 5 minutes in the prestart box. It was a boxing match from first meeting, and at about -30 seconds, we had SUI 100 to leeward, both boats on starboard and Ed Baird squeezing NZL 92 up and up and forcing a tack when Dean Barker didn't really want to tack. Then we had Baird hitting the line with speed, going left and looking good to the tune of maybe 3 lengths, and NZL 92 late to the line and slow but on its way to the right-hand side of the course to meet the weather team's call.

Alinghi tactician Brad Butterworth, rather than leave his opponents free to explore the right, tacked early to match them. Still, there was a lot of separation. And the right-shift that Kiwi weatherman "Clouds" Badham had predicted was there waiting for New Zealand. Once in, Barker tacked, and the advantage was amazing. Maybe 4 lengths? More? And to compute the gain, add the distance NZL 92 was behind at the start. First cross to New Zealand, big time. They bounced Alinghi left a couple of times, and about halfway up they entered a zone where New Zealand, well to weather and ahead on starboard, sailed in a lifted breeze while Alinghi suffered in a headed breeze. It was a big zone, and it went on for a long time. No wonder Bertarelli was sounding a bit cross. (Some Alinghi people even questioned the Kiwi claim of a weather call.)

Top mark delta: 1:31, but this was a volatile racecourse.

Now let's fast-forward down the run to something else we're not used to seeing: the Kiwi team botching a spinnaker drop. Yet another windshift forced a change in plan for the rounding, and that had the foredeck scrambling, and mid-bowman Richard Meacham slipped overboard—caught a line and hauled himself back—and in the fracas the gennaker got sucked into the clew of the jib real ugly-like, and it stayed there for two tacks. I'm trying to think. When was the last time I saw knives out on an ACC boat? Two shots by Chris Cameron/ETNZ:





So there went the big lead, but not all of the lead, and Alinghi knocked on the door all the way up the next beat. Then, coming in close to the starboard layline but well ahead of a tacking point for the rounding, Butterworth called a tack to force the game along. Hutchinson called a dial-down to shut them out of going behind, and saved it, and then there was the same sort of exchange again but Alinghi had gained and when they got to the mark had the lead. Alinghi by 15. Back from 300, maybe 400 yards down.

Not a good time aboard NZL 92.

But what to do? What to do? If you're Brad Butterworth. How do you cover in such conditions?

Hutchinson had covered from ahead on the first run, and that allowed Butterworth to make big gains. So Alinghi played it loose. Way loose. Looser than they wanted to—a 1,300 meter split?—but then nothing came their way that felt good for a gybe and they dug themselves into a hole.

The finish: New Zealand by 25 seconds.

One thing comes out clearly. Those few who once speculated that Peter "Luigi" Reggio, the professional race officer who lays the courses and makes the go, no-calls, was inevitably in the pocket of Bertarelli to favor the defender in a doubtful situation, are now free to take up some other line of speculation.

There was a lot of chatter prior to this race about how often the boat that wins Race 3 wins the event. Often. See you Wednesday for Race 4—Kimball

"Sailors Are Hot"

So says CBS anchor Katie Couric, who shared a few words and views at the induction ceremony Sunday night for the America's Cup Hall of Fame, after a day out to watch the racing.

Nothing to do with America's Cup Management here and now, the America's Cup Hall of Fame is part of the Herreshoff Marine Museum in Bristol, Rhode Island, the Herreshoff family being a thread that runs through more than a century of America's Cup yacht racing. Halsey Herreshoff, who has continued the tradition, sailed variously as bowman, tactician, and navigator in four successful defense efforts for the New York Yacht Club, and then the 1983 effort that failed. Here's Halsey, as photographed by Bob Greiser . . .



The Hall of Fame ceremonies go where they want, which on Sunday night was the Santiago Calatrava-designed l'Hemispheric in Valencia to induct two new members, Kiwi designer Laurie Davidson and French helmsman, entrepreneur, and bon vivant Bruno Troublé.

Russell Coutts was on hand to pay a tribute to Laurie Davidson and to remark that if he had listened to the designer every time out, "We might have gone faster."

Laurie Davidson

Here's a bit of what the Hall of Fame has to say:

Laurie Davidson played a role in the design of the New Zealand fiberglass 12-Meters that were among the top performers in 1987.
In the 1995 challenge in San Diego, Laurie was the designer of NZL [which] went on to win the Cup in five straight races over the American Cup defender.
In 2000, when Laurie was chief designer for Team New Zealand, it was asserted that designers for the other teams had used NZL 32 as their point of departure. But that year Laurie took another jump ahead and came up with what is now known as the “Davidson bow.” This is a forward overhang geometry that provides slightly greater sailing length within the rating. Again the Davidson boat won in five straight.

During the 2003 challenge, all the boats involved but one had the “Davidson bow.” The exception was the Italian Prada entry, which part way through the campaign had its bow modified to be similar to the other boats. Davidson was then chief designer for the Seattle USA challengers. The Louis Vuitton Cup was taken by the Swiss Alinghi, a yacht also resembling in important respects previous Davidson designs.
It is the feeling of the Selection Committee that Davidson was the designer chiefly responsible for taking the Cup to New Zealand in 1995 and keeping it there in 2000. Advances he made, particularly in hull shapes, have been emulated by AC designers ever since.

Here's Bobby G's shot of Laurie . . .



Bruno Troublé

Bruno, a Flying Dutchman and Soling champion, was skipper of two challenges for the America’s Cup led by Baron Marcel Bich. Bruno had been drafted from the 1976 French Olympic sailing team and did such a good job at starting he was promoted to skipper FRANCE I during the Challenger series in 1977. He then returned to skipper FRANCE III in 1980. In 1983 he participated in a challenge led by Yves Rousset-Rouard.
Bruno visited the New York Yacht Club when he was 17 while competing in a 505 World Championship in Larchmont. Standing in the model room of the Yacht Club, the atmosphere and history of the America’s Cup had such an impact on him that the Cup eventually became a significant part of his life. From sailor and lawyer, Bruno went on to create a PR agency in Paris (D’Day) and became the driving force behind the Louis Vuitton Cup for challengers.
As the America’s Cup has evolved from amateur to fully professional, Bruno has respected the traditions and found a balance between innovation, commercial involvement and the unique history of the Cup.

Here's another Bob Greiser pic, this time of Russell Coutts, Bruno, and Paul Cayard . . .



It was not an evening conducive to remembering quotes, but North Sails' Tom Whidden did remark something to the effect that, when the USA lost the America's Cup in 1983, it became the best thing that has ever happened to the competition, and "I'd do it all over again."


To the Kore

When Kaenon brought out its Kore line of sunglasses a few years back, they had an instant classic on their hands. Sure, the brand-new company had the advantage, in the sailing market, of being run by sailors, very good, well known sailors. And they had the confidence (and budget) to market through a campaign to place a Kore on every high-profile sailor they possibly could. It also mattered that people liked them a lot.

I've lost track of how many Kores I've been through. At the moment I'm down to one pair of black rims with G-12 lenses, but my favorites were the silver frames with C-28s. So when I tried to replace the last pair that went overboard (I was carelessly wearing them on the top of my head; they don't fall off when worn per-design) I was shocked (shocked, I tell you) to learn that Kaenon no longer makes the frames in silver.

This despite the fact that the most recognizable sunglass design in Valencia is the silver-frame original Kore. Not only here. In Alicante for the TP52 races, I counted six pairs in one crew.

Guys, don't wear'em. Save'em and sell'em on eBay. There's going to be money in it.

I've been thinking about this for a while now, but what got me going today was my morning Scuttlebutt with a Kaenon ad. I quote in part:

"It’s a question of style. Terry Hutchinson chooses the original, the tried and true Kore. Our original award-winning design. Straight-up performance. Brad Butterworth is going new-school with the new Hard Kore. A bit more attitude, a bit more style. An evolution that compliments the ever so clever and sophisticated Butterworth. Two different styles…one common theme."

But what do we see Team New Zealand's Terry Hutchinson actually wearing? Not the available black frames, but silver. And not just one time; all the time.



ADD NOTE: I came to the port for Race 3 and saw John (works for the other magazine) Burnham, who said, "After reading your blog this morning I felt even worse about losing my silver Kores when I broached my Shields. I didn't realize they were unreplaceable."

Steve (at Kaenon), we love you, babe, but I just don't understand what went on in that meeting where you dumped the silver frames—Kimball

Lions One, Christians One

I'm a reporter, not a partisan, but I have to admit. Things are more interesting around here when New Zealand is in front.

Race 2 was technically interesting while Alinghi was doing its Superior Boat thing for the first three legs, but the presumed predictability of it held the excitement level at about that. Things lit up when the Kiwis seized the lead just short of the second weather mark and defended to the finish.

The underdog has that much going for him in any sporting contest. But I think there's something else in play here. A while back I wrote a column asking, "Where are the characters of America's Cup 32?" and concluded that they had been submerged and tamed within the corporatized environment of big campaigns. Now it occurs to me that, besides being the underdog, Team New Zealand (Emirates Team New Zealand) is something of a collective character here in Valencia, relative to Alinghi. Coming in with so much to prove, making it this far, and attracting a noisy, cheerful fan base all the way from the other side of the globe, they've imprinted their presence. Alinghi, meanwhile, deliberately went low-key through the challenger eliminations, and it's not as though they haven't been nice to me and it's not as though they don't have a presence—America's Cup 32 is the defender's show, after all—but I couldn't describe them as, "something of a collective character."

I'd better not make too much of this. Mostly, amping up the excitement is about seeing the underdog get in a bite.

Geordie Shaver (Stars&Stripes 1995 and 2000; Oracle Racing 2003; color commentator 2007) watched the race and declared, "Lions one, Christians one."

And how dedicated is the Kiwi fan base? Well, remember these guys from Race 1?


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

They were back for Race 2, and in the Department of a Small World, I ran into one of them, Wayne, on the Number 19 bus 0n Sunday morning. And he had a problem. He had to make a decision. Wayne and his wife are on a long bus tour, which they ducked out of in order to come to Valencia. Anticipating Race 2, here is how Wayne framed his problem: If we stay after this to see more racing, we miss being with the tour through San Sebastián and Bilbao. I hear those are really beautiful places. If we go back to the tour we miss the racing, but then, we'd have to stay two days to see one race. But then, if they win today, who wouldn't want to see a race when they're tied 1-1? But then, if they lose, well, they'll need the support."

Race 2, Match 32, was noteworthy for breaking the winning streak of Brad Butterworth and other Alinghi team members who came over from Team New Zealand after winning in 1995, defending in 2000, and then winning in 2003 for Switzerland's Société Nautique de Genève. The winning streak in America's Cup races went to 16 races and ended on Sunday.

Race Two

The race was sailed in 10 knots of breeze, dropping off to 9 knots or so at the finish, with complicated variations throughout. Lots of pressure changes. Meaning, fully powered-up and short of the 11-knot mark where, in the ACC fleet, boats start to depower.

SUI 100 had the starboard entry, but NZL 92 sailed across the box clear, so the starboard side was up for grabs as both boats explored circles on the right-hand side of the box. It looked to me as if both boats were fighting for the right, but SUI 100 skipper Brad Butterworth said later that his team wanted the left.

Coming back toward the line with about one minute to go on the countdown, Dean Barker on the helm of NZL 92 got underneath his opponent and was all but in a position to drive Alinghi over the line early or otherwise force his advantage. Butterworth: "When they hooked us, I was afraid we weren't going to get it [the left]."

Instead, Alinghi helmsman Ed Baird was able to tack away for a B start while Barker got away ahead and moving faster, entering the course with an A+, both boats on starboard, New Zealand to weather, much like Race 1 except with less wind and less lump.

And then SUI 100 started doing its thing. Speed, maybe. Pointing, yes. And about three minutes into it, New Zealand was breathing gas (Kiwi strategist Ray Davies: "We were a bit surprised that we got spat out of there") and had to tack away.

Not everyone buys into the "left shift" story that was put out to explain how New Zealand lost its advantage in Race 1 from almost the same position. I figure that's not worth fussing about at this point. In Race 2 there was definitely no shift. Alinghi simply squeezed New Zealand outta there. The boat looked dangerous as a hungry monster. It had gone from behind to ahead and it was no accident, no fluke. There were lots of people ready right then and there to write the obituary for Emirates Team New Zealand.

But wait.

We had Alinghi leading by 19 seconds at the top mark, 13 seconds at the gate, and looking believable if not inevitable to hold that lead all the way to the finish. But that's why real competitors never give up.

Most of the way up the second beat, Butterworth said, "We got worried about the right, because New Zealand had made some gains there. Historically, late in the day, the right side of the course has been strong." And so, in their next meeting, Alinghi did not tack on New Zealand but instead continued to the right. The Kiwis, unhindered, continued left, banged into a leftie, and corked that up into a lead. Kiwi strategist Ray Davies called it, "The biggest leftie we'd seen in the whole day, and we got it just when we needed it."

Coming back to the right and then carrying on beyond the starboard layline, with Alinghi even further out and not overlapped, New Zealand had a smooth rounding and entry to the final leg. I'm sure they never felt safe in the final three miles to the finish, but Alinghi was never quite in a position to take back the lead, and the delta at the finish was 28 seconds.

Here's the quote from Alinghi team boss Ernesto Bertarelli about the exchange of lead: "It was all about the last cross on the second upwind leg, where we came back on the right and the wind went left. The boats were equal there, and I think we just tacked a little too early. It was really just a boat length in it. On the second run, the wind settled down and there were no other opportunities to pass. It's the first defeat for Alinghi in an America's Cup match, and we hope it will be the last."

Ray Davies, summing up the day from a Kiwi point of view, said, "It's huge for the team to come from behind. That's always a boost, and there is nothing worse than going into a day off on a loss. The only way to recover from a loss is to get back out there and redeem yourself."

No racing on Monday. Somebody goes 2-1 on Tuesday—Kimball

Subtleties of the Breeze

Who would have thought that what everybody thought would happen, would happen?

That is, Alinghi winning Race 1 of the America's Cup match.

But I'm thinking it didn't have to happen. I think this was a weather-team race. And for almost the first time since we kicked off in April, Emirates Team New Zealand got a bum call.

New Zealand wanted the right and got it.

Alinghi believed the course was even or would favor the left--and got a strong taste of it in the prestart--and they were happy to take the left.

Being on the left determined the advantage for the leg and the weather mark rounding. But it sure was exciting for about seven minutes. In those seven minutes, with both boats going off on starboard tack, NZL 92 was nosed ahead and living to weather of SUI 100 and looking strong. And then.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

And then a left shift dropped them into gas. They had no choice but to tack and said later they were happy to tack because they expected to strike gold on the right. They didn't.

Did SUI 100 have a touch more speed upwind in 12-13 knots of breeze and a lot of lump? Maybe. I'm not sure. Did SUI 100 have more speed downwind, which wouldn't fit the playbook? Alinghi made gains downwind, for sure, but both crews (in public, anyway) attributed that to variations in breeze and waves and catching a good one here and there. Even the 21-second gain on the second downwind leg. So I'll give them the benefit of the doubt until the evidence accumulates.

A Kiwi win in Race 1 would really have lit things up around here. Rearrange the odds and shake up the pundits and all that good stuff. And really light up the Kiwi crowds, which were doing pretty well on their own power, pre-race. This group was looking for the right place to set up . . .



And here they are, after they set up. I think you have to be Kiwi, to fully appreciate the Buzzy Bee . . .


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

But Olivia's face is plain to read . . .



Alinghi's supporters are more Swiss-sedate, with the occasional cowbell thrown in . . .



And of course, the personal touch . . .



Even people who want Alinghi to keep the Cup would rather see a hard-fought series and not the oft-predicted 5-0 shutout—a shutout that does not follow logically or inevitably from the events of Race 1. I'm telling you that I couldn't see any evidence that this result hurtles us toward a 5-0 shutout. But I have to add the disclaimer that, lately I've become accustomed to very close, dicey racing that produces lopsided points tallies. And then the sailors come back and tell us what we already knew, that the racing was closer than the slamdunk on the scoresheet.


Race 1, America's Cup 32

It was not an explosive prestart, with New Zealand's tactician (he's an American) Terry Hutchinson looking to the right and Switzerland's tactician Brad Butterworth (he's a Kiwi) looking to the left. Which probably explains why Alinghi helmsman Ed Baird (American)—entering from the left, on port—went so gently into the dialup, and out of it.

Hmmm. I'll leave that line as-is, but I doubt that, on the boat, it felt the way I wrote it. Anyway, after the breakway, Baird and Kiwi helmsman Dean Barker (amazingly, a Kiwi) boxed loosely in the right-hand side of the box, then wiggled their way upwind--Baird would have liked to lock Barker out, but it wasn't happening--and started pretty much together. The official delta was one second at the start, with NZL 92 looking to have the better speed and eking out a small, definite lead.

As we've seen all season, NZL 92 heeled more than its opponent. The Kiwi machine seems to heel more, in less wind, than any other boat here, and then to come to its lines and hold there, no matter what. Returning to the subject of that five-minute drag race to the left, and then the left shift that dropped New Zealand into gas, New Zealand's tack was followed only 20 seconds later by Alinghi. But with just that separation for leverage, and with more left-shift coming in, over the next eight minutes those little lefties made the race. Twice in subsequent meetings, Alinghi tacked to leeward of New Zealand and bounced her back to the right. Nineteen minutes into the leg, Alinghi crossed ahead and tacked on New Zealand's wind. Both teams made 15 tacks on leg one, an interesting figure because Alinghi in the final cross did not force New Zealand to tack yet again for the customary two-tack, trailing-boat penalty.

Mark 1, 13 seconds
Mark 2, 20 seconds
Mark 3, 14 seconds
Finish, 35 seconds

The breeze at the start: Gradient, 13 knots, from 75°.
Breeze at the finish: Gradient, 12 knots from 71°.

And yes, there were episodes when NZL 92 took bites out of the lead. What does that have to do with the off-direction gradient wind and extra lump, and will we see big differences if, as predicted, race 2 goes lighter in smoother water? So easy to ask. And so easy to answer. If you'll just be patient till I get back from the racecourse, one time more.

Quote Unquote (amalgamized)

Dean Barker, skipper, ETNZ:

"We had a call that we'd like to be on the right, and we were happy to get to where we thought the good stuff was going to be. We got off the line going well. But the wind went left about 10-12 degrees, and it dropped a bit. That was the key to the race. The day was all about the subtleties of the breeze. Alinghi capitalized on that. But we feel competitive, and that's the best we can ask for if we don't win the race."

Juan Vila, navigator, Alinghi:

"Our call was for the left to be favored or even, so we were happy to start to leeward. And we were in a right phase [in the prestart], so the trend was to go left next. [And boatspeed comparisons?] Pretty even, for sure, upwind. Downwind, it's harder to say."

The Day

We had fireworks for starters . . .


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

And an airshow . . .



A close start . . .


Ivo Rovira/Alinghi

And a rather good race . . .



And quite the spectator fleet. Not too long ago I read an article suggesting that it would be effective to promote the America's Cup as a green sport, because sailing is so clean. And sailing is that. But I'm not so sure about the carbon footprint of the America's Cup. I was choking on the fumes . . .




Race 2 on Sunday. The Kiwis have probably figured out that they need to win this one—Kimball

Enter at Five

Imagine 1
It's 1983 on Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island and the shuffleboard gets reshuffled ever so slightly. (It wouldn't have taken much, folks.)

The Aussies have finally come to the party with a faster boat, the wing-keeled Australia II, but the Americans win anyway. (That match should never have gone seven races, but John Bertrand and the thunder from down under required that many races to finish off the Dennis Conner machine.)

This time, imagine, we're lacking that spot of extra breeze out to one side of the final run in Race 7, we're re-timing a gybe and . . .

Imagine 2
It's 2007 and we're on the America's Cup racecourse on Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island, where the New York Yacht Club defenders are seeking to extend their 156-year winning streak. In the 24 years since the big scare of '83, the Americans have never again been caught behind in the technology race, but challengers keep coming back because the mountain is so high.

As the clock winds down to the first race of America's Cup 2007, a group of men in straw hats raise their binoculars . . .

Imagine 3
It's 2007 and we're on the America's Cup racecourse in the Med off Valencia, Spain, and today you're going to sail Race 1 of the 32nd America's Cup match, and probably somebody has told you to go out and sail it as if it's just another boat race, but it's not that, it's not that. You are one of 34 men, 17 aboard Alinghi and 17 aboard Emirates Team New Zealand, and this is your moment. For the next five races minimum, nine races maximum, every small triumph on the racecourse is yours to keep because it won't be forgotten. It will be remembered, recorded, scrutinized. As will every tiny error or questionable call. As will any glaring deficiency. Anything you do or say has a chance of becoming part of the story that forms the spine of the history of sailing, the America's Cup. As the countdown closes on five minutes and your entry to the start box, the world seals off around you. The weather team goes silent. Your radios go overboard in a waterproof pouch to be picked up by a chase boat. Your sailmakers can only watch. Your engineers can only watch. Your sponsors can only watch and pray as 17 men get on with the business of sailing a boat race, come what may.

And so you commence doing what you've trained to do . . .

Imagine skipping the prerace press conference

I decided I couldn't, because I've hammered on some of the principals in the past for not showing up. Now I have to go, even though I expected slim pickings and was pretty much right. You can't put meat on the table unless there's been blood spilled somewhere.

But it wasn't a complete waste.

Interesting, for example, to see Alinghi tactician Brad Butterworth appearing far more relaxed than Emirates Team New Zealand tactician Terry Hutchinson. Not that I'm asking you to read a lot into that. I think that Terry runs pretty wound-up anyhow. He was geared tight during the challenger races, which came out OK for New Zealand. And interesting to go back over the Butterworth story: Age 27 at Fremantle in 1987, and crewing for Chris Dickson on the fiberglass 12-Meter that was eliminated in the final challenger round by Dennis Conner's team. Aboard with the Kiwis for the big win in 1995 and the big defense in 2000, then jumping ship to follow Russell Coutts to Alinghi, then helping to take the Cup off New Zealand in 2003 and now still with Alinghi after Coutts has famously split. Twenty years of America's Cup sailing, and 15 Cup races in a row that he's won.

Quote Unquote Brad Butterworth

On the battle-hardened experience of his Kiwi opponents . . .
I think our in-house racing has been as good as the challenger racing. The happiest day of my life was when the Louis Vuitton Cup ended, because I was sick of watching the racing on TV.

On his role as skipper, as well as tactician, in selecting Baird to drive . . .
Between Ed Baird and Peter Holmberg there's not that much. It came down to a few in-house regattas [some six weeks ago] that Ed won. He's one of, probably, five people in the world who can sail one of these boats as well as they can be sailed.

On going up against an unknown . . .
It's not as though we haven't raced those guys, and they haven't raced us. We don't need any more time.

And as for the roll call at the press conference:
Present: Dean Barker, helmsman for New Zealand.
Absent: Ed Baird, newly named, as expected, to helm Alinghi for Race 1 and presumably the match (absent from the Alinghi press conference as well as the ACM press conference; but he had been in stride at the AC Match party the night before.

Also present was Alinghi boss Ernesto Bertarelli, who faced some tough questions and partly answered some of them and danced around others.

Quote Unquote Ernesto Bertarelli

On relying heavily on non-Swiss sailors on the boat . . .
When you look at the shore team and the team overall, Swiss is the largest nationality in the team.

On the Kiwi threat to bring back nationality requirements . . .
The nationality rule does not go back so very far. It does not have a lot of history. We abolished the nationality rule to reduce cost for this Cup. The last time, the residency rule forced us to support second homes for our sailors, one in Switzerland, so that they could meet the rules. But if you win the Cup you get to decide what to do with it. That's the beauty of this game."

Which, I believe, is an answer about how teams in the past, not only Alinghi, have worked around the spirit of nationality requirements. And then, on pushing branding and commercialism . . .
The problem is, the America's Cup is not earning its living. The Cup is still a game supported by wealthy owners. For the sake of all the sailors and the people who make a living off the America's Cup, we should continue this and get to a state where the America's Cup supports itself."

On what's been the hardest part of being the defender?
Grinding!

One ritual of the pre-event press conference is the coin toss for first starboard entry. Terry Hutchinson called "heads" for the challenger and the toss came up heads, so New Zealand has the advantaged, starboard-tack entry for Race 1. Should the series go to nine races, they will have five starboard entries to four for Alinghi.

Weather forecasts are all over the board, but if you make two piles, the one marked "light wind, perhaps even un-raceable on Saturday" is a lot bigger.

Conventional wisdom has it that NZL 92 will continue to favor a lighter breeze, even though it has been remoded with a longer bulb to more closely match Alinghi.

Conventional wisdom has it that Alinghi's fuller hull lines will continue to favor more breeze, even though there is reason to believe that SUI 100 has been remoded to more closely match New Zealand.

Conventional wisdom has it that, when two teams go out to race, a lot of the outcome is up to them.

Oysters Away



Not everyone spent the past week practicing or resting or worrying. A fleet of 37 Oysters, 45 feet to 82 feet, competed in the Oyster Regatta Valencia. As you might expect of a gathering of large, luxurious cruising boats, most with in-mast mainsail furling, the point was to have a good time, much more than to prove cutting-edge competitive skills. But, you know, it's hard to keep the juices from flowing.


At the start of Thursday's second race, Oyster CEO and founder Richard Matthews smelled-out the goodies and port-tacked the fleet in his chartered 82-footer, Zig Zag. Given the opportunity, who could resist? (No, I don't have pics of this moment; I was on the main and it seemed best to focus on my duties should, um, developments develop). At other times I caught sight'ems such as this, a committee boat on loan from friends. Thank you, race committee . . .



These are some powerful boats . . .



While racing, the boats flew the fleet flag . . .





But, to comply with the branding requirements of America's Cup Management, they had to remove the flags before re-entering Port America's Cup. A few people even played with those big, bright balloonsails that go out front, but I'm not sure they had more fun than we did playing white-sails-only . . .



I can tell you though, they work a man to death on an Oyster 82. One race trimming main, and the thumb I was using to push the electric-winch button was done for. We're talking a need for serious massage.

And speaking of Port America's Cup, you couldn't call it empty . . .



And you couldn't call it full . . .



So I guess there really has to be a reason why the megayachts did their big regatta at Palma, and haven't exactly shown up in droves.

Now, readers here in Valencia, listen up. There may be a few of you unaware of the Night of San Juan, kicking off Saturday night after Race 1 but nothing, I assure you, nothing to do with the America's Cup. It's described to me as a night when the beach is filled with a mass of people--it's the solstice--drinking heavily and jumping over bonfires. German photographer Heike Schwab has lived near the beach for the last several years, and she says the entire neighborhood shuts down; traffic doesn't come in or go out, and the howl goes all night long. I don't think you will find me there, but having attempted to be a guide to certain other local festivals and customs, I thought you ought to know.

Now who thought that one up? Let's get drunk and jump over bonfires. It's right up there with, let's get stoned and operate power tools—Kimball

The Festival of Hindsight

So we're nine races max, five races minimum, from the point at which the events about to unfold will be possessed of an apparent inevitability—having thus been established as fact—and already I can feel the pulse of the Festival of Hindsight. On Friday, Alinghi will reveal the defending helmsman—

. . . drumroll, please . . . no, no, a really LOUD drumroll . . . I'm sorry, I can't hear you . . . oh well . . .

—for America's Cup 32. And should Alinghi lose in the absence of Russell Coutts, what a hopping festival it will be. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

Of course, we well know, the script says that Alinghi wins, whether steered by Ed Baird or Peter Holmberg. But, as New Zealand team boss Grant Dalton put it to New Zealand Herald reporter Julie Ash a month ago, when she seemed to take it for granted that BMW Oracle would win through to the challenger finals: "Where's the evidence?"

I bumped into Areva's Dawn Riley yesterday afternoon, and after working our way through certain predictable this's and that's, we found it easy to agree that everybody's talkin' and nobody knows nothin'.

Thus, streetwise notions aside, my heart will be in my throat when SUI 100 and NZL 92 answer the guns on Saturday.

Sigh.

Horns, actually, not guns.

Such a ringing phrase from olden times, to "answer the guns." There's not much drama in saying that SUI 100 and NZL 92 will "answer the horns."

And yes, it will be SUI 100, the newer boat in the Alinghi stable. That was announced on Wednesday, to no great surprise.

But, whatever calls SUI 100 and NZL 92 to the moment, that moment will form part of the collective story of Those Who Sail. Nothing else comes close to Race 1 of an America's Cup match.

Go figure: The debunking of the America's Cup is as fundamental and predictable as the hyping of the America's Cup. Happens every time around. And the debunkers aren't wrong, on their own terms. But they are outside, looking in, to this seething, sordid, marvelous, compelling, and, ultimately, grand confection of ego, innovation, and achievement. Where else can a fat cat pay this much money for an opportunity to pratfall on a grand scale? Or enter the pages of an enduring history? Thomas Lipton (Sir Thomas) challenged five times and lost five times, and sold a lot of Lipton's Tea, and became a beloved figure in the Americas for trying and trying and left behind an epitaph:

"I canna' win."

With only the rare exception, everyone comes to this through what was first a simple fascination with wind and water and a little boat.

And that is something that, perhaps, bears repeating.

With only the rare exception, everyone comes to this through what was first a simple fascination with wind and water and a little boat.

That is why, no matter how outrageous the details of an America's Cup match might be, it is still connected right down the spine to (for example) a kid dreaming about someday getting to sail a real Opti.

Meanwhile, yes, I know there's been a great buzz lately about detachable stays and where they're to abide during racing. If you're a junkie, you've already read about it upside down and sideways on other web sites and blogs. If you're not a junkie, babe, you don't need to know. Here's a firm prediction. I'm really going out on a limb with this one, folks: The disposition of stays will not determine the outcome of America's Cup 32.

Whew. Gutsy call, eh?

Unless, perhaps, the "stays" really do have an additional purpose upwind, which actually does take us out on a limb. If you haven't been reading BOB, you're late to the party, and it's time to start. BOB is the BMW Oracle blog, written by Tom Ehman, founding chairman of the Challenge Committee, and it's been a great blog from the beginning. But lately, given Tom's insider view, it's been a must. Tom will bring you up to speed on what can be known, from this side of the fence, about Alinghi's backstays.

Pivoting to our question of the day. Why does Windows XP spell-check not accept the word "blog?" Are they, like, so totally 20th Century?

Dude! —Kimball

Warriors in a Hostile Country

I sat down with Rolf Vrolijk in Alacant and we were there for the TP52's, but of course the talk got around to these sailboat races that start on Saturday in Valencia, the ones where somebody is going to win the America's Cup. Vrolik is the principal designer for Alinghi, with final responsibility for all design outlines and configurations. He wasn't into making predictions, but he was very clear in his thinking.


"We've done a good job at Alinghi," Vrolijk told me. He was sitting under a huge Breitling MedCup tent surrounded by an array of talent that included just about every name-brand sailor you ever heard of, save those still prepping for the one-bigger in Valencia: "This is not a prediction about the America's Cup. We have to win. We have to keep the Cup in Europe."

Strong stuff. But very much in keeping with the talk, since New Zealand won the right to challenge, on the implications of the outcome.

Meanwhile, New Zealand team boss Grant Dalton's public utterances hint that the divide is less cataclysmic than the characterization making the rounds, which goes like this: 1) The Cup says in Europe, and in the future we have lots of 'tween activities and racing, with lots of teams in the mix, and the trend line of growth continues; or 2) The Cup goes to the antipodes to be squirreled away by the Kiwis (they went five years between winning it in 1995 and defending it in 2000, then three years to the loss in 2003) with an aggressively nationalistic agenda and nationality requirements for the crews that will stunt the growth curve.

Putting it a different way: it is less than clear that the differences are that stark. Or that a Cup-in-Auckland would put a whole generation of professional sailors—the first of their breed; these guys are scientists/athletes-with-trainers; they're nothing like the paid hands who crewed on the boats a hundred years ago—out of work.

Dalton, I'm pretty sure, would rather focus on the business at hand rather than a squabble of what-ifs. But even if the differences are not so stark, of course it makes a difference where the Cup goes. If you're riding the wave of professional sailing in Europe, you know who you're pulling for. For whom you are pulling. Or, as Churchill once responded to an underling who edited a dangling participle, "This is the sort of nonsense, up with which I will not put!"

There's a part of me that envies people of singleminded opinion. That's because, on many matters, I wind up agnostic. This holy grail of yachting thing, for example. I see it both ways.

The Circuit, on a Cycle
I have no difficulty making an argument for rationalizing the game of America's Cup yacht racing. The sport would benefit from having an ultimate-end circuit. Why shouldn't it be based upon the only event that has name recognition? If, as sailors, we are going to put our game before the world, why shouldn't it be with a game that dates to the mid-1800's, the oldest prize in international competition anywhere, the battleground of Vanderbilts and Liptons and other people you may have heard of? And doesn't it make sense to have a circuit because it just makes sense to have a circuit because it just ... makes ... sense ... to have a circuit? Cut out the guesswork about next time, and let's have some racing. Yes, rounding it off with a match race bound by an antiquated Deed of Gift is awkward, but it can be done.

America's Cup, the Mountain
Sailboat racing is nonsense. It's been nonsense since the invention of mechanical power rendered it irrelevant to improving the navy, and part of the wonderfulness of it is surrendering to nonsense, and I love it to death and don't bother arguing with me unless you're making nonsense. The America's Cup is grand nonsense, and part of the strange magic is the power of the defender (a phenomenon still evolving) to drive the next event by arranging for a like-minded challenger of record. It's been a crazy, runaway freight train since 1983 and that's part of the fascination. Every time out, it's a one-off; it's history on the hoof and sometimes it's history on the mis-step. It's danged hard to explain what's going on to the unwashed, but if you regularize it, tame it, make it predictable, don't you lose something?

These long, big-budget campaigns have pushed the game pretty far into the camp of the corporatized. Even where an individual is fronting big dough, it's done through corporate mechanisms that take the edge off, and return-to-sponsors is a major issue. For the marketing types, not being able to tell a potential sponsor where and when the next brand exposure will take place is like wearing wolf traps on both ankles.

But dig the Kiwi deal, those tiny islands way out yonder that send out sailors that rock the world. Here they are, a band of warriors in a hostile country, and just as in the days of yore, the Cup is theirs, if they can take it.


TP52 Racing at Alacant

Now I know what a grand prix fleet looks like. The IOR version, years ago, was genuine but different, very different, from the sight of 23 box-rule 52-footers hitting a start line together. Nine of the boats are new this year, and the rest have been tweaked big-time. You didn't have to have a new boat to win a race at Alacant, the opening event of five on the 2007 Breitling MedCup circuit. Race wins got passed around quite liberally. But you weren't going to do well if there were any holes in your program. Period.


Diedo Yriarte/MedCup

With so many boats racing now, holding your lane off the start line is key, according to Vrolijk, whose design firm, Judel/Vrolijk, wound up with three of the top five places. If you get kicked out of your lane and start chewing on dust, you're going to keep getting kicked and kicked and kicked. The top boats sail higher and faster this year, Vrolijk said, and the facts of that are among other details that you will eventually be able to read in the pages of SAIL magazine. Going into the final day of racing, the Judel/Vrolijk-designed Bribón was leading the pack and looking strong to take the regatta. Two general recalls and a dying breeze later, the day had gone to heck, there was no racing, and the Trofeo Alicante was theirs.

Bribón is sometimes steered by the king of Spain, but pro Bouwe Bekking stepped in for this round. As the shouting died down, he said, "This morning I told the guys we should go out and enjoy it no matter what happened. It is a surprise for us to be here because we were so late with the boat. When you only have two days sailing before you come here, and some of the crew saw the boat here for the first time, you do not really expect to win."

And no, you didn't have to have a new boat to win a race, but some force appeared to favor the nubility. The final standings:

1. Bribón (José Cusi, ESP, Judel/Vrolijk 2007)
2. Valle Romano Mean Machine (Peter De Ridder, MON, Judel/Vrolijk 2007)
3. Mutua Madrilena (Vasco Vascotto, ESP, Botin & Carkeek 2007)
4. Artemis (Torbjörn Torqnvist/Russell Coutts, SWE, Judel/Vrolijk 2007)
5. Patches (Eamon Conneely, IRL, Reichel Pugh 2007)


As a flatfooted American, I was interested in the scene itself, the whole culture of grand prix sailing in Europe, with an event sponsor, a big tent, and nary a yacht club in sight . . .



But, thanks to Siemens, some very nice sightems that might be hard to get authorized, going through the committee at the good old YC . . .





Every race boat has a tender chasing it around, onloading and offloading sails and delivering snacks and water between races. Then taking away anything unconsumed because, of course, water is weight. There are two American boats on the circuit, Doug DeVos with Windquest and John Buchan with Glory. Both are longtime campaigners that need no introduction, and both had a sort of welcome-to-the-MedCup kind of regatta at Alacant. Now they've got that out of the way. Here's Windquest meeting the tender, John Bertrand at the wheel of the raceboat . . .





Alacant (in Valenciano and Catalan) becomes Alicante in Castillan Spanish, and that's how you will see it written most of the time. By using Alacant, I'm just being quirky, as alleged in certain quarters, and letting my Valencian influences rub off. When I said "so long" to Sébastien, who runs my gym, and told him I was off to Alacant, he heard me. And he liked it.

Think of Alacant as a beach resort city in the predictable manner, with lots of unfortunate, medium-rise construction everywhere you look and some wonderful architectural surprises tucked away. A tiny, pedestrians-only old town clings to the side of a mountain topped with a citadel, and of course I took a break from the racing and hiked to the top.



If you've ever been to one of these mountaintop fortresses, you probably were taken by the angles and juxtapositions of natural stone and cut stone . . .



I dig it. But I never was very good with heights, and I noticed here that, the higher I got, the lower the enveloping walls . . .



Here's the same thing with my backpack for scale. I got a bit woogy-wookie just walking up and placing the thing there . . .



Seriously . . .



And here is how the finish of the first coastal race looked from the top of the mountain . . .



A nice touch in Alacant: their tree-lined promenade beside the sea, a tiled walkway running half a mile at least, and you could get seasick looking at it if you're not careful, but it's lovely, and in the evening the locals come down with their folding chairs and take in the scene . . .



Full disclosure: This wrapup of the MedCup opener is written from Barcelona. At least I didn't miss a nailbiter finale. But having been in Spain since early April, and having seen little of Spain beyond Valencia, I decided I owed myself a walkabout in this break between selecting a challenger and the opening race of the America's Cup. Saturday, June 23: first to win five races takes the Cup. And by the way, it's been raining in sunny Spain the last two days. We're not to the Cup yet, but you can bet your best jammies that the Alinghi weather team is trying to push this system out of here by sheer will power.

You won't be seeing pics from Barcelona. This is a sailing blog. But having written so much about Valencia, I am struck by the contrast.

In Valencia the attractions are defined. The old city, the river, the Calatrava architecture at the foot of the river. The rest of Valencia can be relegated to my phrase above, "unfortunate, medium-rise construction." Barcelona, however, just goes on and on with fascinating neighborhoods and beautiful buildings. Very international. Very cosmopolitan. Hip and happening. And filled with tourists. Way too many people who look like me. So as soon as I'm Gaudi'd and Picasso'd to the brim, I'll be happy to get back home to Valencia and put my feet up in my own apartment. I do appreciate Barcelona, however, for having a higher class of street musician, on average, than Valencia.

In Valencia, you see, there's this guy with a cello (as opposed to a celloist) who's been setting up around the corner from El Calle del Editor Cabrerizo, but not far enough around the corner, and he knows about five songs, and he hits all the notes but he doesn't put any music behind the notes, and the night before I left, he was about one Over the Rainbow away from getting that dratted cello wrapped around his neck.

I'll probably leave the blog as-is for a day or two, but I'll be back with you as we close in on showtime, unless I'm in jail—Kimball

Being Valenciano

It's not about being Spanish, it's about being Valenciano, and Valencia—the traditional and the not so traditional—is part of the experience of America's Cup 32. So I suggest that you join me in dropping in now on the Procesión del Corpus, a tradition dating to 1355 and still big on the local calendar. Big enough that, in the heart of the city, time stops for a day and is interrupted for three. I might point out that 1355 was before Marco Polo invented the tourist industry and long before the bankers of Valencia loaned a few nickels to Isabella so that she could cover the cost of a boat ride for Chris Columbus.

If you're just here for racing stuff, cool. Check out my interview of Hart Jordan, Volume, Counterbalance, and the Crossover. (What did New Zealand learn from Desafio Español, and will that be enough?) And do drop into the blog another day.

The rest of you, listen up. This is a long post. It was a long parade. But if you stick with me, you'll see, it's not really about the parade. And if you just have to go, I understand.

First, some tips.

1. If you're flying into Valencia you will be connecting through London, Madrid, Munich, or something such. When you get to the final flight, probably a short one, try to get a right-side window, especially if it is daytime. Depending upon the approach, you could be rewarded with an all-on panorama of the racing area, the port, and the city center.

2. Checked baggage has a checkered history. Plan accordingly.

3. A lot of what goes on here is not about being Spanish. It's about being Valenciano.

4. The best web site I know for learning about Valencia itself is valenciavalencia.com.

5. Expect good things.

Sunday being the culmination of three days of activities, and the grand Procesión del Corpus itself, I guess that accounts for the fact that my usual-resort internet access points in the old city were closed. Meaning that the sure-shot way to accomplish a Sunday post was to bike to the Media Center at the port. Meaning that I felt, ahem, rather cross. But there's always the silver-plated lining. In this case it was riding the former-river-now-a-park and discovering the ordinaryness (to a San Franciscan) of this green-alternatives festival under way there. Except for the Calatrava-designed bridge over the river, in the background, it was just like a Sunday in Golden Gate Park . . .



Right down to yoga in the meadow, but with no strange, sickly-sweet smells . . .



And there is a shorter way to the port, but I prefer the dogleg past the Museum of Science. Can't get over this place . . .



I've shared this much to show that a city of nearly one million people has a lot going on. Valencia lives right along, with most of the inhabitants knowing nothing of the Procesión del Corpus except what they read in the papers. In the old city, however, this is serious business.

Valencia is an unusual place. It's a town with wonderful museums (should I say that again in capital letters with lots of exclamation marks?) that are almost empty because, somehow, people just haven't got the message. It's also a town that lives its traditions fully and unhurriedly, because it can.

The three-day Fiesta Corpus Christi is, at heart, a solemn religious festival combining services in the churches, concerts and plays, and finally, the procession of the Rocas. And the Rocas are . . .

The Rocas are horse-drawn carts that spend the rest of the year in a museum, mobile works of art depicting biblical themes, the oldest dating to 1512. On the Friday before the procession, 60 days after Easter, they are delivered individually from the museum to the Plaza de Virgins, each drawn by horses and accompanied by a band. They are on display there until Sunday, and the procession.



This is Roca la Purisma, thanks to valenciavalencia.com . . .



There also are these carved figures that wait in the plaza for the procession, and here's a factoid for you. The world's most famous maker of hand-crafted merry go rounds relocated from Paris to Valencia for the sake of the local craftsmen, who are part of this tradition.








One thing to understand about this deal: It goes on forever.

A couple of Rocas go down the calle and you think (if you're new in town), Okay, it's started. And you're right, it has. In its own way.

The Rocas may be ancient and holy, but the horses don't seem to get the idea. Horse troubles was a recurring theme. Note the layer of dirt that has been laid over the cobblestones. These people have fiestas down to a science. All of that dirt will be gone before midnight.



So, as I mentioned, yes, the procession has started. And stopped. Now you stand around for an hour and nothing else happens.

Finally, finally, finally, a cart comes by with a guy tossing out fragrant greenery. People collect some of it, but most remains in the street.



Another hour goes by.

By now your feet are starting to go, but the locals are fine. They have the chairs that they set out first thing in the morning, they visit with friends and neighbors, and when they feel like it they duck around the corner and go home for a spell.

Being congenitally unable to stand still, I walked (back) upstream all the way to the Plaza of the Virgins. Dig that dappled light. The awnings live on permanent wires; they're drawn back for daily life and then pulled out to create shade on special days. And there in the plaza was a different crowd contained behind barricades. But still, since the tossing of the green, nothing.



This thing is not staged for tourists. It's not even, at heart, a spectacle. It's a home-town, family thing. Eventually the main body of the parade kicks off and look, there's cousin Juan all dressed up in one of his costumes . . .



And look how little Maria has grown!



A day like this is about keeping tradition alive for another generation: Being Valenciano. The dialect was long-suppressed; now it is taught in the schools. When Franco finally kicked the bucket, there were forces in Madrid that wanted to see Valencia as part of Catalunya. No way. Staunchly and successfully resisted.

Ah, in another year or two, the boys won't be able to sing like this . . .



What's coming next?



While you're waiting, you need a fan . . .






While I'm waiting I like to play with my big brother. I feel big too . . .



Other times I feel so small (!)




And this John the Baptist thing I don't like at all . . .



We have dancers . . .



And maskers . . .



And societies of honor . . .



With the parade in full swing, I could no longer make my way along the main calle and used back streets to change my spot. Along the way I encountered this remnant of a wall that made me wonder. In San Francisco we have a phenomenon called the technical remodel. Meaning that if you keep a few sticks from the original building, it's easier to get the permit to build because it's not "new construction." Is this a technical remodel in process ?



Whoops. Things were happening while I was away . . .



And that storm of flower petals coming from the balconies surely heralds a climax . . .









The flag of Valencia receives veneration . . .



The priests pass in a cloud of incense. Truly a cloud . . .






And it just wouldn't be real, and it wouldn't be settled that Valencia is Valencia and will always be Valencia and everything is going to be fine until the next festival and procession--say, about a month from now --without an appearance from Madame Mayor . . .



By now I was whipped. Footsore and back-weary. I couldn't wait to get to my apartment, maybe 6-8 minutes walking distance away.

And this is my report from the Department of Slow Learning.

When I got home I realized that I live here.

And I have a folding chair . . .



Ahh, being Valenciano—Kimball

European Union

An eerily quiet day at Port America's Cup. Two NZL boats went out, but both Alinghis are in the shed, all through (or are they) with sparring against Luna Rossa. Time was, defender and challengers never commingled. But Prada-Luna Rossa boss Patrizio Bertelli is united with Alinghi boss Ernesto Bertarelli in wanting to keep the America's Cup in Europe, so on Friday and Saturday, out went ITA 94 to spar against either SUI 91 or SUI 100. There were differences of opinion as to which Alinghi was out, on whichever day, and I'm not going to confuse myself further with that.

In sum, Alinghi got the best of the racing on both days, though some people criticized the crew work on board the defender. I don't think the details will matter, come the America's Cup match. In the words of Sir James Hardy, "You shouldn't read too much into it. Alinghi was sailing against beaten men."

I ran into Hardy at the Louis Vuitton Cup prizegiving, and he was grinning from ear to ear, having been Alinghi's guest aboard a spectator boat to watch the proceedings on the water and--unjaded veteran that he is--delighting in it all. In fact, there was quite a substantial spectator fleet out there, so who knows what shenanigans the defenders may have been up to, or not, in terms of using their best or worst kit and knowing they were being watched. They would have pretty good metrics on any sail combination they might fly—not necessarily their best and not necessarily their worst—and their goal is to get a guage on Luna Rossa in order to extrapolate a guage on the boat that beat Luna Rossa in the challenger finals, New Zealand. The boat they're going to meet in the America's Cup.

On Friday James Spithill and the A-team were on the water for Luna Rossa. On Saturday, the boat was in the hands of Philippe Presti and the B-squad. (For the record, Ed Baird helmed Alinghi on Friday, fueling speculation that he is the chosen driver, for the Cup defense, in a camp that has been run with a driver competition between Baird and Peter Holmberg.) Spithill on Saturday was freed for evening duty with Louis Vuitton, to say some nice words, as runner-up, about the Kiwis who squelched his shot.

Hardy, an unabashed Spithill fan (Aussies are like that) got a bit excited when his man took the stage: "Tell James I choked on my champagne again."

For anyone who just came in, let me introduce "Gentleman Jim Hardy" as an accomplished small boat sailor in his day, and then skipper of Australia's challengers Gretel II (1967), Southern Cross (1974), and Australia (1980). He was sailing advisor to the Australia II team that captured the Cup in '83, and in his spare time he was a pioneer in developing the Australian wine industry and establishing its position in the world market. Remember when nobody drank Australian wine? The knighthood thing happened in 1981.

And yes, I would agree. To watch an Alinghi beat up on Luna Rossa is all well and good, but, "You shouldn't read too much into it." I would expect to see a few more ripples cross the pond between now and June 23, which is Race 1 of the America's Cup match.

The night belonged to Louis Vuitton and Team New Zealand. Left to right, Bruno Troublé of LVC, Dean Barker, LVC president and CEO Yves Carcelle, and Grant Dalton.



And now I must sing the praises of the Louis Vuitton prizegiving dinner, held at the greenhouse, L'Umbracle, in the City of Arts and Sciences, the spectacular Santiago Calatrava architecture that has become the signature of the new Valencia. Many a time I've been through here, strolling and savoring, but I never imagined that I would experience it in this fashion. A feast set within a visual feast. Bruno Troublé was proud to point out, The table is 120 meters long . . .



That's a picture that ought to run HUGE. Let's try a detail shot. Thanks to the great Bobby G for the pics.



That would be Bob Greiser, no ordinary shutterbug. And it wouldn't be Valencia without fireworks . . .




Now I must ask, what's a home team worth ?

Italy fielded three Cup challengers and went gaga for the America's Cup. From talking to the Italians here (so many, many Italians here) it's clear that the defeat of Luna Rossa was a great disappointment. But they'll be fine.

Team New Zealand is a different deal. A national institution. Part of the collective psyche. They've pretty well purged the ghosts of 2003 at this point and are now free to race for the America's Cup and win or lose with honor. But if they had gone down 0-5 to Luna Rossa (Luna Rossa went down 0-5 to New Zealand) it would have been a national emergency. A dark night of the soul for every cab driver in Auckland who knows the meaning of footing to the header, or gybing on the lift, and staying up all night to watch the home team sail.

But how does this holy grail of yachting thing play in the US of A? The San Francisco Chronicle never got around to sending a reporter to cover the fortunes of Larry Ellison's campaign with BMW Oracle, even though Ellison has a house in San Francisco and headquarters his giant software company in a suburb to the south. The New York Times has the good services of Chris Clarey, who technically works for the Herald Tribune, and he's in for the duration. However, the Washington Post, which had veteran Angus Phillips on the case through the challenger finals, has noticed the absence of an American challenger. They've pulled the plug and called the man home. This, even though the Washington Post has enough juice to get Angus an invite to the visit of, and the dinner for, Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Here is Tutu, meeting the sailors of South Africa's challenger, Shosholoza. I have to be honest with you, the SAIL Magazine blog did not make the cut . . .



Nonetheless, quote unquote Angus Phillips:

"I'm outa here."

Me, I find myself missing the days when there was still a Spanish team in the hunt, and local kids would swarm this place chanting VIVA ESPAÑA VIVA ESPAÑA VIVA ESPAÑA VIVA ESPAÑA VIVA ESPAÑA VIVA ESPAÑA VIVA ESPAÑA !

Remember these guys? This is all going too fast—Kimball

Where are the characters?

Where are the great characters that once stomped around the America's Cup stage? AWOL from Valencia, I can tell you that.

Dennis Conner may not be a made-for-TV personality, but you can't fault him as master of his own universe. Tom ("Dennis, I don't think you should have said that") Blackaller? A loose cannon, larger than life, and no favorite of The Dennis, but their rivalry made great grist for the likes of yours truly. The first time I ever laid eyeballs on those two, they were flipping a coin to decide who was the greatest sailor in the world, and of course the toss settled nothing.

Buddy Melges—what a guy for a quote: "I'm one guy who can sleep with the commodore and talk about it."

(When his wife was commodore of the Lake Geneva YC.)

But I'm not asking about the whereabouts of the late Tom, Super Buddy, or DC, who is racing his Cotton Blossom II in the classics season in the Med. I'm asking, where are the characters in America's Cup 32? And I'm afraid I know the answer. They're buried under the corporate layers of big-budget campaigns and expectations that are no different from working for any other corporation. Say the correct thing. No shocks, please.

Oh for just one Ted Turner crawling under a table to retrieve his Jack Daniels.

The one drama of special dimension here, so far, was the early demise of BMW Oracle. Meltdown in the cockpit. Shared responsibility, no doubt, but with all fingers pointing at CEO, skipper and helmsman Chris Dickson who exited with a clean, corporate face and might as well have left behind a statement saying that he "wants to spend more time with his family." Around that, the shades are still drawn. Had the same thing happened to Paul Cayard, he would have turned the press conference itself into high drama, with nary a dry eye in the house.

So it is what it is, America's Cup 32. Instead of a conquistador out to capture the silver con el alma en los dientes, with his soul between his teeth, now we have one after another high-paid player in the America's Cup industry watching out for the next contract.

I reckon the characters are just as large, but masked.

I understand, but it's a pity.

Twelve Pounders

That's what some people used to call the 12 Meters, for no particular reason except to have their own name for them. Now they've been revived as a classics class, and they will be racing in Valencia June 14-17. What you see below is a strangely quiet, empty New Zealand base in the foreground (not so strange, actually; twas the day after the night before) and a couple of Twelves being prepped to race.



Back in the day of the Twelves, there was much hand-wringing over the fact that faster boats existed, and shouldn't America's Cup racing have the fastest boats, countered by the argument that the class was healthy and worth preserving, and used boats were available to encourage new players, and you don't need the fastest-possible boats for match racing anyway and . . .

Does that sound familiar? I think so—Kimball

The Rematch Is On

I expected a lot. I figured that Dean Barker and his tactician, Terry Hutchinson, would have their hands full, stomping around down there in the bush, trying to finish off a wounded lion. I figured the Luna Rossa team, down 0-4 with nothing to lose, would be savage in the prestart because we know they can be. I remember Luna Rossa putting two fouls on BMW Oracle in the prestart of their fifth race of the semis.

It was not like that. It was, however, close. Hutchinson walked off Emirates Team New Zealand at the end of the day, rubbed his face, and declared, "Man, I'm glad that's over. Those were maybe the hardest few legs we've sailed so far. Forget about it being a 22-second race. It felt like an 8-second race. At the last exchange, when we needed a gainer the most, we got it. At the finish line, I just about jumped out of my skin."





Asked to respond to the piles of speculation over recent months, on the part of some people, not all, that Dean Barker was overhorsed on the helm of Team New Zealand—Barker's been hit hard from certain quarters—Hutchinson stopped, chewed on the question for a while, then decided to say what was really on his mind:

"All those comments about Dean were crap."

At last, Team New Zealand was relaxed, smiling, ready to party. Every comment was qualified by a reminder that winning the Louis Vuitton Cup is merely a step on the road to challenging Alinghi, but New Zealand now is the challenger. The America's Cup match is more than two weeks away, 10 would-be's have been eliminated, and even the celebrated work ethic of team boss Grant Dalton wouldn't stand in the way of a champagne dousing at a moment like this.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

Strategist Ray Davies said, "The team has been under a lot of heat. It feels good to be putting some wrongs to right."

And here is skipper Dean Barker, who was on the helm in the infamous meltdown of '03, responding to a question about the feelings of New Zealanders: "Was that loss bruising to our national pride? Absolutely. Now we've been able to turn that around."

Kiwis, you will recall, take their sailing seriously, they take the America's Cup seriously. They're a tiny island nation, but they've been in four straight matches for the Cup—1995, 2000, 2003 and now 2007—and they never expected to lose in '03 to Alinghi. Now the rematch is on.

So we saw the semifinal matches go 5-1 (Luna Rossa over BMW Oracle) and 5-2 (New Zealand over Desafio Espanol) and now the challenger final round goes 5-0 to the surprise of just about everybody. For one thing, there had never before been a 5-0 outcome in the Louis Vuitton final. "We knew from the get-go that Luna Rossa was not a team that could roll us," Hutchinson said, "but we didn't expect it to go like this."

And here's Hutchinson on the team outlook going into Race 5: "We sailed today as if it was the first race of the series."

Race Five

ITA 94, under a new certificate, spent a noticeable amount of time sailing before the start, getting used to whatever was new under the water. Probably new winglets on the bulb and/or a new rudder. A different mainsail, I believe. Why not try something? And then—

They were sitting in dialup with New Zealand on the left and Luna Rossa looking strong on the right, except that ITA 94 was too far forward and a bit too wide, wasn't she, Jimmy? So not so strong after all. NZL 92 filled her jib, spun to the right, and escaped down Luna Rossa's left side slick as an eel. Then Barker headed out toward the right-hand side of the starting box with Spithill chasing. There was a lot of jockeying as both turned back for the line on starboard, with Spithill taking the right—both boats wanted the right—and the opening gambit being distance off. That is, Barker wanted to start close to leeward of Spithill, who wanted distance off and got enough. Luna Rossa was able to live in the weather berth for a healthy distance coming off the line, something more than a minute, before tacking to port and being matched (synchronous sailing?) by New Zealand.

Hutchinson again: "Both boats had a similar game plan. We liked the right, but not the bottom right. We wanted to sail two minutes on starboard, then tack."

Once again in this matchup, the pair sailed a long port-tack board out toward the starboard-tack layline (time passes, time passes), but there was no magic right-shift to serve up the advantage to Luna Rossa. Instead, eventually, with the layline about to rain all over him, Spithill finally tacked, and Barker dropped in to leeward and inch by inch worked up into Spithill and forced him away. Score one.

But, I repeat, this was no runaway. New Zealand would have to win Race 5 all the way around the track. Luna Rossa threatened again and again and made an especially strong bid on the second downwind leg, the one where New Zealand led across the finish line by 22 seconds, which felt like 8 seconds to Hutchinson.





So now we have a 17-day break and then, on June 23, Race 1 of the 32nd defense of America's Cup.

The grab bag

The Louis Vuitton Cup press conference was held without the presence of LVC's Bruno Troublé, who invented the concept of a challenger's trophy in 1983 and has been our witty master of ceremonies since. Yes, things are not right between America's Cup Management and Louis Vuitton, a good and powerful sponsor of the game for a quarter of a century.

A fake gybe allowed Luna Rossa to separate on leg one but not take control. Hutchinson said, "We had a call that if they threw a dummy at us we would go through with our gybe anyway."

So Emirates Team New Zealand wins the Louis Vuitton Cup and, "Are they partying in Dubai tonight?" asks Stu Streuli, Sailing World editor (yeah, he's competition; I steal from everybody) who sits six feet away. Now you know what a small, incestuous world we inhabit here.

The James Spithill view has it that, "In light air, on this course, it's not often that a boat behind can pass. The story of this week is that things just didn't break our way." And what were your expectations? "Both teams were prepared for a long series." And how did it get away? "It was probably a lot of little things." And why was he not able to plant the moves on New Zealand that he did on BMW Oracle? "Dickson took a lot more risks." And how do you feel, Mr. Spithill, at the end of your third America's Cup, at age 27?

"It's been an amazing experience."

That, I believe. This is perhaps a good opportunity to remind the reader that all of us here are living a vivid experience, something that comes around only once in this guise even if you've been to other editions of the America's Cup (starting in 1980 for me) and even if you expect to see the next one.

Spithill was at the point of the spear, and he'll be back—Kimball

Hats off to Torben Grael

Our sport's only five-time Olympic medalist, as tactician on Luna Rossa, had a hard day yesterday. He made some calls that helped put his charge in first place, and then in second place, in a two-boat race. And he showed up to talk to the press. And I think that shows class. Thank you, Torben Grael.

You might infer from the above that I have been disappointed with the face time of certain principals. But, you know me, I'm too shy to say so.

Race 4 done and Race 5 to come

"If there was anything obvious we could do, we'd have tried it already." Quote/unquote Jonathan McKee after Luna Rossa lost its fourth race in a row to Emirates Team New Zealand. And this time they had to come from ahead to do it.

The forecast for Wednesday, Race 5 holds out a promise of more wind than the fitful 7-9 knots of Race 4, which fit NZL 92 very well in its current mode. The forecast 9-11 is enough to bring Luna Rossa back to life, perhaps, but not so dramatically that you'd start pushing your chips over to ITA 94. One thing that is obvious is that Luna Rossa does not like to tack in the light stuff, and every added knot gives her a better shot. But New Zealand passed on windshifts in Race 4, not hull speed, and extended on three of four legs.

Think split start, ITA 94 going right on their weather team's call from a line that favored the right. You've already guessed that NZL 92 went left. It was the first time we have seen such a major disagreement, much less (in the finals) a separation of 1,000 meters. It was also the first time (in the finals) that we have seen Luna Rossa out front. Luna Rossa helm James Spithill had three lengths on Dean Barker and New Zealand when they finally came back together, and Luna Rossa tacked to force the Kiwis back to the left. When they next came back together, Luna Rossa tactician Torben Grael chose to tack ahead and to leeward.

He'd take that back, if he could.

"We felt we were on a leftie," he said, "and we wanted to protect the right. But they got some pressure, and that pressure never came down to us. It's a very unpredictable place to sail. We finally got to a big rightie [that could have shifted the advantage back to Luna Rossa], but it was too late; we were already at the top of the course."

As near as I could tell, there was also something in it for New Zealand in the way of pointing ability, but I didn't have the angle to say that with my pundit hat on.

New Zealand led into the mark—overstood on a long starboard-tack board—and rounded 19 seconds ahead as the race committee signaled a leeward-mark shift to compensate for a change in the average wind direction. Not enough, perhaps. The leg was biased, making it harder to pass, and there was yet another course shift leaving the gate. By then, however, it was hard to stay fiercely interested, with NZL 92 carrying a 54-second lead into the second beat and looking unassailable.

Now we have at least one race more. The Kiwis aren't (and shouldn't) say anything cocky to jinx themselves (strategist Ray Davies: "Things can change dramatically out there; it's hard to make good calls all the way up the course") and what the Luna Rossa guys can say is as limited as what they can do. American mainsail trimmer Jonathan McKee said that they do have re-mode options, but from the way he said it I got the impression that those options do no include a deep reach into the magic mojo box. "What we can do," he said, "is go out and sail the way we have tried to sail in the last four races."

Torben Grael: "We're not slow, but we're not a rocketship."

Life at Port America's Cup

Who would have thought that this many heavyweights knew how to levitate.

Going into round robin racing we had quite a crowd of people around here imagining an ACC future with ongoing teams and lots of racing in Europe, but now that's all up in the air along with the players as Emirates Team New Zealand continues to hammer Luna Rossa into the mud. Cup in New Zealand? It scares the willy out of most of the marketing types in the America's Cup game, but it could happen. Luna Rossa helm James Spithill got the first cross today (for the first time in the finals) but has yet to lead at a mark of the course.

New Zealand needed six races to win four off semifinal opponent Desafio Espanol. Now they've won four straight against Luna Rossa, and they need just one more win to get through to Alinghi.

Some of the name-brand players will tell you, in unquotable moments, that Alinghi will walk through the challenger. That may be, but I haven't seen that pony on the track. It occurs to me that accepted wisdom hasn't taken us very far here, and the quiet, big stick from Kiwiland just keeps on whacking down one opponent after another. It's now easy to imagine them going 5-0 against Luna Rossa, which I couldn't imagine when this series began. Only weeks ago, Luna Rossa shocked the town and sent BMW Oracle to the barn, 5-1. Luna Rossa looked like the new sheriff in town. But that was then and this is now.

The best line I've heard came from Paul Cayard. He was talking about the Race 3 start, but it may prove to be a one-sentence summation of the Louis Vuitton Cup final round: "Jesse James Spithill showed up for four minutes."

Rumorwelter

Everybody's got an angle. In the space of a few hours I got the inside skinny (pssst, but don't tell everybody) that Larry Ellison is pursuing Russell Coutts with a vengeance and untold piles of gold to lead the next Oracle campaign. Really? That one's been on the street for weeks. I also got the inside skinny that Larry Ellison has decided to blow the whole thing off and not challenge again.

So, if you see me wearing my rubber boots in the media center, you'll understand.

Valencia, Loving It

I like Valencia.

THERE!

I said it. Now quick. Duck back into the foxhole.

Peer over the edge.

Is everybody laughing at me?

No? I've been liking Valencia since I got here, but there's been this bizarre dimension to it that so many people come here with their expectations twisted by something they've read, and it wasn't about the kind patience of the people, or the play of sunlight under the leaves of a tree in an outdoor café, or the endless surprises in store if you're willing to open yourself to another culture.

Fortunately, my homey Matt Gregory showed up en route to the Transpac 52 races in Alicante, and his reaction was enough to get me going on this. First he was impressed by the scale and quality of Port America's Cup. It's far beyond any Cup facility that came before. (Matt sailed in both of the Auckland editions of the Cup.) Then there's the town itself. Monday being a day off from racing, Matt and I had a morning bite at the outdoor café around the corner from my apartment, and he said how much he had enjoyed Valencia so far, in the neighborhoods he had explored and what he had in front at the moment—old architecture, broken Roman columns in the park, college kids scarfing coffee in a comfortably bohemian atmosphere—and how surprised he was at that. Because he came here, I think, expecting to see all of the negative things that he had read about.

Well, my purpose at the moment is to adjust the expectations of those yet to come. I like it here and lots of people agree.

I believe in being kind to houseguests, so I saddled up Matt on the bike that I bought for 45 euros from China Team and sent him off with a small briefing on how best to wander the old city (randomly) and how, when he felt saturated with ancient churches and narrow, winding streets, he need only trend "thataway" to eventually blunder into what the locals call The River, meaning the city park created by diverting the waters of the Turia into another river that flows around the city. (That was done after a devastating flood in the 1970s, and since the former Turia has a natural place to flow, the system has worked so far and ought to keep on working.)

In what became the Gardens of the Turia you can now ride a bike or walk or skate pretty much all the way across this city of not-quite-a-million, and you never cross traffic. The cars go by overhead on bridges that in some cases are hundreds of years old; other examples could (and do) show up in modern-architecture magazines. And "in the foot of the river" is the new City of Arts and Sciences, where Valencia threw a major budget at native son and architect, Santiago Calatrava, with a design brief that went something like, Do anything you want, but don't bore us.

Elsewhere, in the main parts of town, there are vast stretches of apartment blocks that are oh-so boring, so I don't go there, unless I'm passing through to the port. And I don't worry about thievery, nor do I carry all my cards or cash. Duh. Sort of the ABC's of traveling.

No, it's like this: I love the sights and sounds and surprises of old Europe. I love bold new architecture. I greet the people of Valencia as if I'm happy to be here. They treat me as if they're happy to have me.

And that's the report from the sunny side of life—Kimball

Note: For those of you with too much time on your hands, or a special interest, here's a tiny sampling of what Matt might have encountered on his wanderings. If you want a personal word re. this city where I'm spending more than three months, ring my chimes at my temporary email: kimball.livingston@primedia.com

First, walking out the front door, Matt would have seen this at the old college of art at the end of Editor Cabrerizo . . .



In the winding, narrow streets beyond the cathedral, he might have stumbled across somebody's cat door . . .





Repeat readers already know my images of the cathedral square, maskers, religious processions, and stilt walkers. They're still there for those determined to find them. We won't repeat, except there is this little girl, walking in a calle deep with rose petals after the procession of the statue of the virgin . . .



But I haven't previously shared this Senora from the same procession. Look at the way the neighbors line the streets with their folding chairs . . .



Or this young lady who just needed to get off her feet . . .



There was yet another festival/parade today, and I crossed the route as I was on my way to find a fast connection for this post. Not as colorful as the festival of the virgin, but worth watching, if only I were not in a hurry to get online. So I let it go. There will be another festival soon, and another parade, judging by the evidence. So, back to our project. I don't feel like repeating my many posts of festival activities in the Plaza de la Reina, for example, but anything can happen as you pass through. And when you get to the river there is the broad roar of traffic, but on the other side an opportunity to ride down the ramp and . . . there you are in the quiet space . . .



There's more than I can tell you about, but dig this little grove of whatever trees they planted to entertain us . . .



And when you get to the foot of the river, there's the Calatrava architecture . . .





It's hard to make a bad picture in this environment, but I have this sense that I'm running out of envelope. And yes, as a few of you will notice, these last few pics of the Calatrava are a year old. Except for riding through once on my bike, a month ago, I haven't been back to the Calatrava on this trip. I've got to get there. I love it. But there's this phenomenon called the America's Cup life. Maybe some other off day.

And that is not where I wanted to leave this, but I'm on a public wifi, and it's going buggy, and this may be the last transmission from my starship. Gotta find send . . .

The View from under Barker's Boot

Well, he did it.

James.

Spithill.

Won the start.

And the result is . . .

Forget the drumroll. The result is a crushing loss. Emirates Team New Zealand home first by 01:38 over Luna Rossa. Not that winning the start caused the loss.

It

just

didn't

matter.

No one could fault Spithill and the crew of Luna Rossa for the Race 3 prestart. The main feature was a long (long is long) dialup with New Zealand on the left, out front and in trouble. Both boats well over the line. Luna Rossa in control. Dean Barker on the helm of the Kiwi boat with no good options except to sail backwards, which is exactly what he commenced to do, quickly matched by the Italian team. See the bottom of this posting for some dope on dialups and how the crews manage these boats when they start slipping backwards.

As the clock ticked down to a minute and change, Barker broke it off, sheeted in on port, and made a bid to make some something happen. What happened was that Spithill luffed, Barker responded, and while he was responding Spithill left the party to lead back for a clean, up-speed start. NZL 92 trailed like a puppy dog (no options) and the prospects looked very good for Luna Rossa to finally put points on the board. Luna Rossa entered the course on starboard tack leading by four seconds and going faster. New Zealand was downspeed and hurting.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

However

New Zealand's trailing position allowed Barker to wheel up into a starboard-tack spot where he could live on Luna Rossa's hip. The Kiwis had wanted to start to the right of Luna Rossa, but the price was high. Luna Rossa quickly had a full-length lead. More than the mere nose-ahead that had proved to be enough for the Kiwis to win the first cross in the first two races. Things were looking good in Italyville.

And just as quickly, as both boats made tracks to the left, the Kiwis got pressure and an inside lift. Nothing dramatic, in 10 knots of breeze average, but enough. You could take it as proof that the gods love New Zealand. Which—come to think of it—is pretty much the message I got from the Kiwi fans at Port America's Cup. We're starting to see a lot of them around here, and they're loving it.

From the Italian point of view, the moment smacked of that old countryism, can't win fer losin.

A few minutes, a few hundred yards, and Spithill's start-line advantage was laid to waste. Both teams agreed that Luna Rossa, before New Zealand got the inside shift, needed 10 more meters of gain to be able to tack and cross. After the shift, Luna Rossa was behind, and Torben Grael, riding as tactician to Spithill's helm, hung there and hung there, hoping that the gods would spill a little something back his way. Hoping, and when he eventually saw the layline looming and gave up hoping, and Luna Rossa rolled into a tack, you could see Barker already putting his bow down to build speed for his own tack, the one that would stomp Spithill underfoot.

So, three races into the final challenger round, Luna Rossa has yet to lead at a single mark of the course. There's a lot less talk about Spithill's genius in the prestarts, and the folks in the anybody-but-Dean crowd are rapidly adjusting their position.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

I wasn't alone in expecting to see an exciting contest between Emirates Team New Zealand and Luna Rossa. In Race 1 we had that. In Race 2 we had it for a good part of the opening leg. But it was hard to stay keenly interested in Race 3 of the Louis Vuitton Cup finals. Let's see: 40 seconds at the first mark, 55 at the second, 55 again at the third, and 01:38 at the finish after Torben went beating around the woods, hoping to get lucky, and didn't.

Now my Italian friends are depressed, and the Luna Rossa business line is "one race at a time" and that sort of stuff that really means, What can we say?

The Alleged Press Conference

No Dean Barker.

No James Spithill.

Nothing against the four fine gentlemen who were dispatched to speak to the press following Race 3, but the traditions of this event demand something more.

Here's one something: Luna Rossa afterguard member Ben Durham, challenged to justify his team's decision to go left off the line when they had a pocket full of options, "There was bias on the line. We took the bias and having them slow."


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

The Dialup

Long, long ago, when all of this was but a gleam in the eye, I sat down with American Terry Hutchinson, tactician on Emirates Team New Zealand, to get his low-down on the dial-up. The original version appeared in the America's Cup preview issue of SAIL. For those of you who missed it, here it is again:

Kids, if you want to grow up to be America's Cup sailors, pay attention when they teach you how to sail that Laser backwards. At the Cup, unless it's really breezy, dialups are the number one prestart maneuver. And if these big puppies stop, and commence slip-sliding backwards, you'd better have your game on. Our guide to the dialup, Emirates Team New Zealand tactician Terry Hutchinson says, "You're playing chicken with big boats. It takes a bit of nerve."

Well over half the starts in this fleet feature at least one dialup. The boats wheel head to wind, right alongside each other, probably close. Maybe they stay there and maybe they don't, but if they hang there long enough they'll probably start sliding, and somebody could win—or lose—the start right there.

To a spectator a dialup may not look aggressive or exciting. But if you're on a race boat it is, baby, it is. So here we go.

Yellow, entering the box with starboard-tack right of way, has an obligation under the rules of sailing and the racing rules alike to allow the port-tack boat room to keep clear. Under the match racing rules, however, starboard is allowed to "hunt" up to a point just short of collision. So the tactical aim of Yellow is to maintain a collision course while leaving room for Blue to squeak clear (barely, and shake'em up if you can).

Hutchinson says, "Part of my job as tactician is to watch the speed of the other boat. Probably the boats are reaching down toward each other on opposite tacks and the gap is closing. If I'm coming in with starboard rights, I want to match the speed of the other boat because, in a dialup, speed puts you out front, and being ahead in a dialup is dangerous; we'd rather be even or behind. If I'm coming in on port I have the opposite goal. I want to achieve a speed difference. I want to sail slower than the other boat and try to trap them into nosing ahead on the dialup."

As the boats turn into the wind and hang there, Blue will turn just enough to technically, legally, complete a tack to starboard. Now we have two starboard-tack boats with Yellow to windward and burdened to keep clear. The challenge now is to maintain downspeed control as the boats slow, perhaps stop, slip into irons, and maybe eventually begin to slide backwards. If Yellow taps the other guy he fouls. That's why, entering with starboard-tack rights, Yellow wanted to not get caught out front.

Welcome to the dialup.

"In theory," Hutchinson says, "if Yellow does it right, Yellow should win every start." Of course, reality is more complex than theory, so let's rewind and go in again from a different point of view: Two big machines, 17 racing crew apiece, and the guy on the helm isn't the only guy driving.

As the boats turn head-to-wind they slow. The flow of water over the rudder lessens, and the helmsman begins to lose control. Now it's the bowman's turn to steer the boat, by forcing the jib to one side or the other. He'll be wearing a headset and listening to the helmsman. Hutchinson says, "It's amazing how little backwinding you need to have a huge effect on the boat. To help the bowman get a grip, we have webbing sewn into the foot of our genoas. On our boat, Dean Barker will be talking to the bow saying, 'Jib left, jib right.' "

The boat on the left, formerly port-tack and now leeward-with-rights, wants to close the gap between the boats. They're thinking, Come on, tap us; do a penalty turn. (Pre-start penalties are taken after the start, which is deadly.)

If the boats stop, the sails are useless, and if the boats slip into reverse, the sails become part of the problem. Control, if any, is relative. Hutchinson says, "You have to be constantly tending the runners. Even the slightest twist can cause the mainsail to set and then you've lost the boat. You want the main flapping without resistance, so you're always easing the runners to the sail and pulling them back and easing them again."

So, handling the running backstays is a job where you can't win the race, but you just might lose it. On board the defender, Alinghi, it's one of the jobs shared by team president Ernesto Bertarelli.

The bowman by now has switched his focus to watching overlap between the boats, because sooner or later somebody's going to bail out. Hutchinson says, "Sometimes we might sit in dialup until we're ready to make a time-distance run to the starting line, but if you're the boat on the left and you're closing the gap, you have a good chance of scaring the other guy out of there."

Often, both boats bail out, circling to the left and right, respectively, and then come back for another dance. (Here's a mini Tip From the Top: Hutchinson says, "Always push the boom out, on the side you want to go to, to help the boat rotate.")

It can be an advantage to be the boat on the right. If Yellow can bail, build speed, and tack back while Blue is stalled, Yellow will be closing with starboard-tack rights and one of two things will happen: 1) Yellow will attack, swerving away at the last instant and calling down a foul on Blue; 2) Blue will see the danger and get going in time to avoid the foul, but she will be downspeed and disadvantaged.

Note that Blue would not gain a comparable advantage from a mirror maneuver because she would be returning on port, without right of way; however, she might have an opportunity to pass and become the right-side boat, if she wants that.

One thing we've seen so far in ACC racing in Valencia—more often than not, right makes might—Kimball

DENIED

I'll take Valencia, but it sure would be fun to hit the bars in Auckland tonight. Dean Barker and his crew on Emirates Team New Zealand just hammered their opponents something fierce and now they're up two-zip in the final challenger round and looking like a team that could go through Luna Rossa 5-0. That's not at all what I had been thinking beforehand. Nor is it a prediction. Yesterday looked different and tomorrow is another day. But the story was compelling: New Zealand in front but not by much and Luna Rossa throwing everything they had at the problem. You could have imagined this was not Race 2 of the challenger round but a final deciding race for the America's Cup with both crews prepared to cough blood. 23 tacks on the first beat. James Spithill at the helm of Luna Rossa buried and tacking to escape. Barker tacking to pound him. Spithill quickly tacking again and Barker extending a touch, building speed and then pounding Spithill again and Spithill immediately tacking again and again and when he finally broke it off the Italian boat had gone from one boatlength behind to three. Access denied.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

How it came to that:

With both boats wanting the right side, Barker had the starboard entry in the prestart and went to the dialup but was the first to break it off, bearing away on port to start a loose dance that included—late in the dance—the Kiwis flagging for an umpire call on a port-starboard near-miss. Green flagged. NZL 92 never stopped turning, so, good call, umpires, and no loss from the Kiwi point of view because they had just forced Spithill to wheel hard right, away from the line, to avoid them. Then the Italian boat had to make another big, speed-eating turn to chase the Kiwis toward the line in an attempt to set a hook and push them over early. All they got out of that was a downspeed start in swampy backwash and a downspeed tack to port, to get off the hip of NZL 92.

One way to look at that: They seized the right, and paid and paid and paid.

Yes, you can lose money on real estate.

New Zealand (Davies again) "had a good rumble going" and made its matching tack with speed. As both teams would have known, making their start in 12 knots of true wind, the top mark had an additional two knots coming from two degrees farther right. To no one's surprise, the breeze would be 17 degrees farther right at the finish.

For a while Race Two looked a bit like a rerun of Race One: two boats heading out on a long port-tack board, except the left-right, windward-leeward positions were reversed, and the leeward boat this time was not going to get to a right-hand shift that would allow it to cross ahead. No, Barker on the left had pocketed a small lead off his better-speed start. There was no point at which Spithill could have picked that pocket or escaped his licking. Luna Rossa tactician Torben Grael lived with this for about eight minutes, then decided he had to try something before they hit the ditch (the starboard layline). Thus the tacking duel, per above, with NZL 92 making only 21 tacks to ITA 92's 23 tacks.

To be fair, the way these guys train, a 23-tack beat is another day at the office.

Make it a 25-second delta at the top mark.

Make it 35 seconds at the gate, with NZL 92 going for the most conservative of drops (clean and tidy two lengths ahead of the mark!) and ITA 94 making a last-minute decision to follow around the right-hand mark and dumping an emergency on the foredeck crew and ragging up the rounding. Nothing profound, but it happened. Make it a 39-second delta at the second weather mark and 40 at the finish with the Kiwis loose-covering for the occasional low-risk gainer and tight-covering the rest of the time.

That refreshing seabreeze in your face just isn't the same when the other guys already have their spinnaker drawing . . .


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

The man who engineered the new-look, back-from-the-grave Team New Zealand is round the world veteran and team boss Grant Dalton.

Here is Dalton's take on the day:



“They made us sweat for every meter on the first beat and they were close enough to capitalize on any mistake. In a tacking duel there are plenty of opportunities for something to happen, but the boys responded to the pressure. No hesitation. No misunderstandings. No drama. Faultless execution. They were just doing what we have trained for. The weather team and the afterguard got the calls right, and Dean’s start set us up for the win.”

Ray Davies went one step farther. He called Race Two of the Louis Vuitton Cup finals, "One of the best days we've had."

For Race Three, the weather eyes are predicting less breeze—down by 2-4 knots—which in theory is better for the shape of the New Zealand boat. They switched mainsails between Race One and Race Two, and there was speculation that may have helped them on Saturday. The Kiwi team did not, however, join publicly in that speculation. What I'm waiting for now is something to remind me of why, not so long ago, I was dazzled by James Spithill's prestart skills. Methinks Mr. Barker has been schooled for this matchup, and rather well—Kimball

Right Makes Might

The conclusion to be drawn from Race One of the challenger finals is that New Zealand beat Luna Rossa by refusing to bet on the breeze. It was a hard-headed decision from a team that prides itself on such things.

The other news of the day: Those of you who have been planning to watch some ACC racing on San Francisco Bay in September now have time on your hands. BMW Oracle Racing chief Larry Ellison, who had pushed hard to make a regatta happen on his home waters, now has his people saying that, instead, the team needs time "to regroup." Oracle never formally announced any plans for the event and tried to avoid getting press on the subject until and unless all the ducks lined up. For good reason, obviously. But it wasn't a manageable secret, so here we are, and there we're not.


Chris Cameron/ETNZ

Race One: The eight-second differential at the finish line, for once, tells us the race as the sailors lived it. Emirates Team New Zealand's Ray Davies said his opponent, Luna Rossa, was "pretty dangerous most of the way around the course."

That's the way it looked to me. But the Luna Rossa afterguard bet on the breeze.

Aboard Luna Rossa, according to tactician Torben Grael, there was an opinion that the left might pay enough to compensate for the standard-issue right-side advantages—that you can't win from the left unless you gain enough to cross ahead on port, meaning that you must gain a boat length at least, plus room to tack; perhaps 120 feet minimum.

The breeze of the day was erratic, but trending to the right as the seabreeze component grew. Aboard New Zealand the big-picture weather call was to fight for the right side, especially because the breeze had already been in a left phase, "But we didn't have a lot of confidence in that," Davies said. New Zealand did fight for the right, however: "We made it clear to Dean that we thought it would be hard to get around them if they were on the right side of us." Which proved to be exactly the case for Luna Rossa, with New Zealand on the right of them.

It was and it wasn't all over in the prestart.

Luna Rossa helmsman James Spithill--he entered with starboard-tack advantage, won on a coin toss, but handed it away--had New Zealand helmsman Dean Barker on the right side of the box in the prestart and looked to be making a bid to lock him out of the starboard-tack layline. But that wasn't happening. When Barker got scrappy about taking the right, Spithill seemed happy to shrug and go left.

Barker gybed and made the first bid for the line. Spithill set up below him but with extra time on the clock and no attack option except to try to close the gap. Failing that, Spithill settled for an even start, and Barker was able to live on his hip for about a minute and a half coming off the line. The Kiwis tacked first, Luna Rossa accompanied, and if you were looking for boatspeed drama on the long port-track board that followed you were looking in vain.

Here's Luna Rossa tactician Torben Grael's version of events: "We were happy with our start. Then we lost on a long port tack board to the right side of the course when they got to the shift first. The story could have been different."

Yes, it could have been different, but that's the story. New Zealand was right to fight for the right. When Barker got the shift and came back on starboard, Spithill went for a lee bow attack, but it didn't have any teeth in it. New Zealand held, and with that, took the race in hand.

The breeze had lots of shifts in direction and pressure, and the right-trend continued, with New Zealand consistently, persistently, with bullet-headed precision, protecting its advantage there. Luna Rossa closed on the final downwind leg, as the breeze dropped to 11 knots from 12-14 at the start, and a windshift then could have switched the advantage. With Luna Rossa coming on strong, ETNZ gybed in front of them, close to the finish line, giving away some distance but preserving position. I heard some criticism of that call. But at this level, if you don't have confidence that your crew can gybe when they have to, you might as well go home now. And you can't argue with first points on the board.

No blow-out, this. All indications are, in this matchup, the last man standing will go down a few times first—Kimball