Team New Zealand - America's Cup
Conjecture defeat!
Fear boding
Around table
Modelling all action
One synergy
Capturing every
Facet of focussed
Delivery susceptibility
Long, short
Broad, taut
Feet and fists
Crew enlists
Navigation
Tact, evasion
Tide and tank
Simulation
Weather patterns
Sails and battens
Frigging rigging
Sheets and fastening
Meals and keels
And lots of chatting
Computer holographic
Modelling
Rules and fools
And faithful measuring
Lawyers, boys
And secrets peddling
Sponsors, toys and
Leaching morons
Dolly birds and
Wives a breeding
Freeze and sneeze
A fence post dug in
And fire fighters
Food to tuck in
Awe-inspiring
Challengers arriving
Nipped in bud
At our boat launching
Faithful Dobbyn
Rocks the boat in
And Lady Pippa
Baptises nipper
Father Tom
Heralds birthing
Skipper Dean
And the new black ripper.
Team New Zealand Mantra
(Written September 2002)
I am the winning of the Cup
I am the strength that's in the strut
I am the trim that's in the taut
In the fever of perfection I am caught
I move with cold precision
I am a master of decision
Every action that I take
Is a new one that I make
My reaction with my mates
Has matured of past debates
Our interaction clockwork
Even in the mundane dock work
My wits are like the mainstay
The set a choice of game play
Each configuration critical
And in competition's eyeball
If there's and adulation
It is bred of expectation
The call I answer to
Is what I have to do
There is nothing that I've read
There is nothing that's been said
(Like the keel is full of lead)
I shall surely keep my head.
DOWN WIND RACING
There a fluky shifty eddy rippling skates
Harkened on darkened patch approaching
As drawn in of sixteen wills our
Rigging airily sings welcoming tune
Bow rounding down the surge and
Imparting stir hasten in the wake.
Breathing down our necks
Barely rotating in that
Half circle of pinched wind
Pulling back unseen our
Over shoulder surmise
Snatched and snuffed
Sliding silently diverging
Seemingly beyond the point
Of no returning match.
HEAVIER WEATHER
(Written on eve of first defence 24/2/2000)
Heavier weather
(We know not why)
Whistles through the rigging
Howling, roaring gusts
Attack the mast to bust
Our carbon fibre masterpiece
Would reduce it all to dust
Drowning our singing
With the screeching of the sheets
As we jibe our way to victory
At our surging, surfing, best.
Pitching and rolling
The deck is awash
Slipperier shuffles
As we reel in the sails
Sure footing essential
As we work with the bales
To unleash more horsepower
Numbness of hand - undaunted grip
Of sheets and handles
All full of whip
Struggling to be free
A will of their own
Harnessed they moan.
(Year 2000)
Bang! The Cup has gone.
(Year 2003)