Disputing the Ref's Call for the Wrong Reasons?

The Internet is awash this morning with outrage that Mario Ballotelli stomped on the head of Scott Parker as the former was being brought down just inside the penalty area. The decision was to award a penalty kick to Manchester City which Mario converted into the game-winning goal in 81st minute.

I say, not so! I say that clearly Super Mario was just stumbling to recover/regain his footing.

I have to issue a disclaimer and disclose the Mario Ballotelli is on my rotisserie team, Vigilance F.C., and his goal saved the week for me.

But, in these replays, I see something else which troubles me about the Ref's call.

A Public Service Announcement

Mixed Emotions

Two years ago my main Mainsheet Trimmer deserted ranks and purchased his own boat in our club's new one-design fleet.

Last year, he won the new fleet's Fleet Championship. That made him eligible to race for the Club Championship's Centennial Cup event, which he did so today.

In five races, he took 3rd out of seven boats. I am proud of him. That's him, in the photo, #297.

How did my own fleet's Fleet Champion do? Last? I don't feel so good.

Winter Seascapes

Sounds of Winter

In the middle of the night last Monday, Ballou roused me out of bed. At midnight the two of us went out on the front porch and stared into the darkness. There was a nearly continuous roar coming up from the street(s) below. It sounded like some one was dragging chain on the asphalt. Or chains, something like they drag on a dirt infield before game. It dawned on me that this was the surf from an unusually robust residue from a storm off Baja or some place.

I called the harbor master's office to see if anything was breaking loose. I did not want to go down and check. The guy who answered the phone didn't want to be bothered any more than I wanted to go down. "High surf? I've seen worse," was all he said.



If I close my eyes as I play these clips, I hear chains growling as they are dragged across the streets in front of my house.

Trophy Night

Crew & Boat deserve the credit.

I Appreciate Tillerman, But .....

not without a little dose of envy!

As luck would have it, I was on a hopeless quest for finding a specific photographic source for an iconic (for me at least) print I've had hanging on my wall since time immemorial. (Yes, this is something I would only attempt on my first cup of coffee.)

So, I was Googling photographic art related to sailing. And, here's what I found:

Of course, I followed the link, imagining Time on the Water had hit prime time.

But, alas, the link led me to my esteemed Tillerman's Proper Course. This is where this master blogger gave these pages an unexpected honor of being mentioned among other more meritorious sites.

But I caught myself before I lapsed into blog-envy: I am of the shy and retiring type. I don't at all aspire to be among the first hits Google strikes on any subject. That's for much younger and much broader shoulders than mine.

This Would Never Be Tolerated On My Boat

From Sailing Anarchy

Your Dog Can Get You into Trouble

Today I had to check on my Laser-38. Since I hadn't given Doberwoman her morning beach walk (too many hours squandered on the English Premier League), she had to come along as escort, bodyguard and conversation piece. We discovered conditions of super-low tide. The gang plank down to the floating docks was extremely steep. So I let Doberwoman run ahead much of the length of her Retractable Belt Leash as we approached the locked gate to the marina.

There was a well-dressed, 20-ish blonde woman with immaculately coiffed 'big hair'. She was waiting by the gate for the next passer-by with a key to let her through. She was pushing an elaborate baby carriage. The only passenger in this carriage was a highly-coiffed runty little dog, maybe half as big as my 3/1/2 month old, 18 lb granddaughter. This little bratty dog was snarling, growling and barking at my perfectly behaved Ms Ballou. As I was opening and holding the gate for Lady McHair to pass through with her entourage, I heard her speak: "You know there is a law that restricts your leash to 3 1/2 feet." My first and only reaction was this stranger was accusing Ms Ballou of being a loose Doberwoman. In a word my Doberwoman was being called a slut and a whore.

Big Hair was walking behind on the dock so I slowed down so she could hear me as my mouth moved faster than my brain:

What are you? The self-anointed dog police? Der canine Korps? Are you German? Are you a Republican? If I knew you were going to act like such a narc, I wouldn't have let you in the gate without a key. There's probably a law against that. And your little joke of a pampered pooch is ten times more vicious and out of control than my purebred gentle lady.

And with that I completely unchained my Doberwoman and let her lope ahead of me, all the way to the boat. 

If Trophy Wife had been along, she would have been mortified. On second thought, had T.W. been there, Lady McHair would have gone for a swim.

Happy Holidays & Best Wishes for a New Year

Clipper Round-the-World Race: Next Leg

Dear Joe Letter

Dear Joe,

I think it might have been easier watching what we were doing yesterday than doing what you were watching. I actually mentioned to the crew several (at least three) times that I hoped you were not watching! Truth is I felt your eyes on us much of the race. I'm just glad you didn't see the start.

In 2-3 knots of wind, I was forced to use the momentum tactic: pushing the boat forward at five knots and then switching off the diesel with 4+ minutes to go. The problem was that I mentally zoned out and was too far from the line when I hit the switch. Plus there was a huge adverse current. But the real problem is my mind. I just do not have that competitive cutting mental edge any more. Trophy Wife was puzzled. She doesn't understand  my wish to resume civilian (land-lubbering) life. Far from spending time on the water not learning anything more, I am actually unlearning stuff that I know I knew before.

For instance, results in a yacht race are due to the accumulated mistakes made by each boat. For me, one deja vu learning is that racing actually leads me into bad seamanship at times. When I get into trouble, I often resort to improbable, low-percentage, long-shot, risky efforts to recoup losses. For example, you saw how we endeavored to keep the spinnaker up by over-standing K-Mark far enough so we could gybe around it instead of dousing and tacking. From shore, it must have looked like shit. Except it happened so slowly, you probably lost enough interest at several points not to have understood what we were trying to do.

The only thing I can say about the start is to focus on other facts: it wouldn't have made any difference in the long run: ultimately, we weren't able to complete the course because the current was going twice the speed of the wind and we were swept outside the gate. Secondly, we were not the only boat to abandon.

But Thank you for loaning me two crew. Both were good sailors and quality people. K looked like she had grown up lifting spinnaker poles and J was ever ready and capable to take on anything. I hope I haven't embarrassed myself so much on that start, not to be able to get another waiver on these two wonderful people in the future, should my needs arise...

Well, irony of irony. Yesterday was the make-up for the Memorial Day Race, which was cancelled because the wind was 40 knots? Go figure.

No matter. I'm done. Insert fork.