The art of racing: how to lose to win
Just like golf, yacht racing also involves eccentric clothing and some handicapping
It is only natural, once the average sea plodder has mastered belaying the obliquity of the elliptic (explained last month) and discovered that pulling ropes and wot not has some effect, that he, or possibly she, will have acquired delusions of adequacy, and will aspire to pitting himself or herself against his or possibly her peers, or possibly piers. This is known as racing, and can be done entirely without stress… unless you are the officer of the day.
Like golf, sail boat racing also involves eccentric clothing and handicapping, and very little of it actually takes place in the water – in fact that’s not entirely true of golf. Handicapping consists of a simple series of calculations and measurements against something called a Portsmouth Yard Stick: if you don’t have one handy a broom will do.
Other handicapping systems are available, but all obtain the same result, as any time spent in yacht club bars with racing sailors will attest: namely that the slowest boat sailed the worst always wins on handicap. Sea plodders will find this state of affairs greatly encouraging.
However, even if you’ve bought a boat with four keels and a weedy bottom, that in itself may not be enough to guarantee success. So here is your top tips handy guide to losing to win:
1. Preparation
Memorise The Racing Rules of Sailing, 2017-2020, produced by an organisation called World Sailing. If you’re racing elsewhere, other rules may apply. If you’re unable to memorise all 257 pages, I’d recommend Part 4, Section 53.
2. The race briefing
At the very end, stand up and say: “I would just like to draw to the attention of fellow competitors, the officer of the day and the committee, the letter and spirit of Part 4, Section 53, which, as you all know, states: ‘A boat shall not eject or release a substance, such as a polymer, or have specially textured surfaces that could improve the character of the flow of water inside the boundary layer.’” To which the officer of the day will respond: “I’m sure that’s taken as read, but a good point nonetheless,” and everyone else will think they’ve missed a trick and go away and look it up. Well done, you’ve made an impression.
3. The start
Competitors are usually requested to observe radio silence during the starting sequence beginning with the 10-minute gun. In practice, according to the ‘custom of the sea’ (not cannibalism – that’s another one) this is the signal for the entire fleet to call the Officer of the Day (OOD) and ask: ‘Which course for Class 9?’, ‘Is it too late to enter the race?’, ‘Can I come alongside and pay my entry fee? Do you take debit cards?’, ‘Will you reconsider my handicap? After all we did go to school together’, ‘We’re a bit late, can you wait ‘til we get there?’, ‘Did Liz get the grades she needed for uni?’
4. The finish
This happens some time after the start. Curiously, although you’re not supposed to be over the line at the start you are supposed to be at the finish. Perhaps World Sailing can clarify.
5. The results
Well done, you have won your first race, although the official results may not necessarily reflect this.
6. The protest
This is where the action really begins. Use this form: ‘Dear [OOD], We go back a long way, which is one of the reasons I am rather surprised at the lengths to which you went to contrive a win for the Pedallo 625XX. As you know, there is no Portsmouth Yard Broom for pedallos these days; the RHS only support the JCB [insert any initials you like, such as RYA and NHC for example]. The BLT for the 625XX is 0.302. My Tupperware Mini-Maxi is 0.406, thus a difference of 0.104 x 4.7 ÷ obliquity of elliptic = a gross miscarriage of justice. I would strongly urge you to reconsider the handicapping to accurately reflect that I won everything.’ For added effect cc to a fake law firm.
7. The aftermath
The officer of the day enters a witness protection programme, with an assumed identity, possibly including gender reassignment, in a landlocked country.
‘We’re a bit late, can you wait ‘til we get there?’