Cambridge cruise
Men and women make it a double for Light Blues
Underneath Mortlake Bridge, just past the winning post, James Letten, Cambridge’s giant American oarsman, stood in the winning boat and spread his arms out wide before bellowing out his triumph. At 6ft 10in, he was in danger of grazing his knuckles on the brickwork. Not that he cared. This was a win to be celebrated long and hard.
Letten’s response was more than appropriate: for Cambridge this was a big win in every way. Victory in both the men’s and women’s races gave the Light Blues the first clean sweep since 1997. No wonder the cries of victory echoed through the gathering dusk.
“For all of us, this moment is going to remain with us for the rest of our lives,” said the Cambridge president and cox Hugo Ramambason just before he was ceremonially chucked into the Thames by his team-mates.
But whatever the excellence of the supporting cast, it was the victory in the one that counted that will resonate. Cambridge didn’t just win the 164th staging of the University Boat Race, they hammered their opponents.
Almost from the moment they set off from Putney Bridge the result was never in doubt. “I knew from the second stroke,” said the Cambridge coach Steve Trapmore. “They went off like a bullet.”
It was a late start for the oldest of rowing challenges. To catch the tide, the boats did not line up for the off until 5.30pm. With a thick pall of cloud, visibility was poor from the off. If not quite as bad as the infamous time when John Snagge told the radio audience that the fog was so heavy he had no idea who was winning, but it was either Oxford or Cambridge, the quarter of a million enthusiasts lining the Thames would have been pushed to peer through the gloaming and work out who was in the lead.
Not that conditions muted the enthusiasm. All afternoon, the banks were thronged with chaps in stripy blazers enjoying the hospitality opportunities, many holding on to golden retrievers wearing light blue scarfs. The boat houses at Putney were packed with the heavily refreshed. Parties spilled on to the balconies of the pricey bits of real estate flanking the river. Pubs like the Duke’s Head in Putney were doing six months’ worth of business in an afternoon.
And the expectation was this was going to be a race as tight as many of the spectators. It was a race too that had a far more local flavour than many an edition. Including the coxes, there were six British members of the Oxford crew and five Britons wearing the light blue of Cambridge. Dara Alizadeh in the Cambridge No 4 seat, did his best to uphold the recent multinational heritage of the race on his own: the race programme listed his nationality as Bermudan/British/American/Iranian.
Stroking the Oxford boat, meanwhile, was Felix Drinkall, reckoned the future of British rowing. Still only 18, he was following in the wash of Matthew Pinsent and Constantine Louloudis, earmarked to make the step up from the Boat Race to international success. Fired up by the Oxford coach Sean Bowden, the master of delivering a result when it matters, Drinkall guided his crew on to the start line long before their opponents arrived.
But Cambridge’s tardiness did not last. The moment their cox’s arm was lowered, they powered into a perfect rhythm: relaxed, ruthless, relentless.
“I was surprised how quickly we got off the mark,” said the Cambridge bow Charles Fisher. “From there on it was a case of trusting in our fitness, trusting in our training and just doing what we knew we were capable of doing.” Fisher had won the race in 2016, then missed out on selection in 2017 when Cambridge lost. That decision looked increasingly odd as he and his crew mates powered away from their opponents.
“I think I may have become the crew’s lucky charm,” he admitted.
As they passed Fulham FC’s ground, Cambridge were already a length ahead, viewing the statue of Johnny Haynes, the first £100 a week footballer, a good couple of seconds before their opponents.
“Cambridge did a much better job than us in the first two minutes,” said Bowden, the defeated coach. “It took us a long time to get our rhythm. And by then the race was lost.” This is the thing about the Boat Race: there are rarely late comebacks. What was being witnessed was a procession. As cyclists pedalled frantically on the Surrey towpath to keep up with Cambridge’s power and pace, the lead grew ever more unassailable.
The light blue crew probably had the time to notice a demonstration taking place on Hammersmith Bridge, where several flares were let off, further diminishing visibility. Quite what was being demonstrated about was hard to discern. The banner being flourished gave few clues: “Oxbridge Divest” it read, a characteristically esoteric cause.
By Barnes Bridge the race was a procession. For the poor Oxford eight, all that lay ahead was the certainty of defeat: they were rowing into misery.
After a swift 17 minutes 51 seconds, Cambridge arrived at the Mortlake finish line. They were already celebrating by the time their opponents, three lengths behind, appeared. For Trapmore it was the perfect send-off in his last race as Cambridge coach. He is heading off to help train the Great Britain squad.
“I don’t think I have any secrets,” he said. “Basically this was a squad who worked harder than any other squad I have had.”
As for his personal feelings, he said he had yet to collate his thoughts.
“Ask me tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I feel like then.” Though judging by the raucous party already breaking out among the light blue hordes on the shoreline, if he remembers anything tomorrow he will be lucky.
Chaps in blazers thronged the banks. The boat houses were packed with the heavily refreshed