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    2010 Moore 24 Nationals

    Thirty boats at thirty plus years old…just let that sink in for a moment. Now think of all the folks who have sailed them in the past and the folks who sail them presently, and not to mention those who really, really want to sail them if they can find a boat. Outsiders probably think we have contaminated water rotting our brains but this weekend once again proved that is not the case; it’s the people, the racing, and the boat itself.


    Mercedes and Una Mas battle while Crazy Eights bare head’s a sail change

    The 2010 edition of the Moore 24 National Championship started for most on a Thursday night. Ignoring my complete displeasure of a light forecast for the weekend, I set out on Thursday with one mission in mind; the weigh in. You see, our team had been put on a gag order, and not the “Don’t talk” variety. After a week and a half of nothing but salad and water, I was ready for a good meal and a couple of drinks with our out of town friends. We also thought a practice sail might be a good idea, but timing just didn’t turn out to be on our side. So I hit the club and our fearless leader and bow guy report they both came in slightly under their projected weight and it was my turn. And with 200 on the mark with clothes on, we called our middle and said “as long as you are at projected we’re safe…now we’re off to pizza sucker!” So off to Mountain Mike’s we go with a PNW team following and we all simply destroy the food. It’s funny how crap food had never tasted so good and wow, no need for sando runs in the morning! By the time we returned to the club the Mrs. had arrived and a rendezvous was already established for Brady’s. Just some light hearted banter with other teams, a few drinks, and in the sack by 11...ready to start this thing.


    Topper II being chased by the Worm

    Day one dawned as predicted, very light and more nerves from the fleet than I can remember seeing. By the time we hit the course I was in full dread mode and begging friends for any Ritalin they could spare. None could be found (or they just wanted to watch me suffer) and the first race went off, followed by a second with better breeze. The third attempt was abandoned at :45 much to our chagrin as we were on the line with one other boat ready for a match race. Unfortunately the 28 other boats were well below the line and on the other side of what little breeze was there. A long sail back to the dock, clean up the boat, and plan for the evening with a great keg of something in the back of the Mercedes Team Truck and some shore side socializing, but nothing too crazy. While Mexican food had been the day’s topic, we were all talked into Sushi (at which point my team voted me the payee for the night…funny how that works) at the club bar by Team Uff Da and Team Cowbell. Hodge’s blue sprinter pulls up, the door opens and we pile into an already full van for the full on “clown car ride” across town. We were slightly late to arrive and the table was already full with the Bruzer and Paramour teams and the little Japanese ladies didn’t particularly care for our adding of tables to the end, which meant an exile to another room. We took this as a sign of dishonor and 86’d ourselves from their establishment for better pastures “South of the Border”. I won’t get into the details, but the journey back to the Mexican joint from the sushi joint was equally as entertaining as Hodge’s Little Yellow Bus. We arrived five minutes to kitchen closing and helped shut the joint down in the end. The rest is slightly fuzzy…did we go to Brady’s? All I know is my lovely wife got me back in one piece and ready for day two.


    Wildfire ready for the set

    Saturday looked from the onset to be a carbon copy of day one, but in being the first out of the harbor we saw things would in fact be different. Sailing at the mid range of the #1 for the first race, top end of the #1 for the second, and plenty of power in the blade for the third we pulled off some ok scores to place ourselves one point out of fifth. Back to the harbor for the raft up and clean up, followed by a keg sponsored by the Paddy Wagon Team. Out of the blue, I see the Team Uff Da leader walk up to the keg with a halfball bat and we know “It’s on!”. So we define our field of play in the minefield that is the trailer yard (complete with the trailer cone of death). Now Team Uff Da is new to the game, as was Pboy and a few others but they’ve taken to it like I take to high caloric intake beverages. So after allowing his team to take BP for half an hour, in the process pretty much destroying my pitching arm and hip, my team went 3 innings without allowing a hit, his team giving up a triple and two doubles, only to have me choke in the fourth and allow a couple of hits. Not getting any sort of BP myself, I went 0-4 at the plate and I blame it solely on you know who (and I was 4-4 at Whiskeytown so my avg this year is still .500). In the end, we won and headed up to the dinner and photo presentation in a great mood. Dinner smelled good, but as usual our team didn’t ticket up in the beginning and it wasn’t long before we were down the street (conveniently next to Brady’s) at the Betty Burger chowing down and talking about the good, the bad, and the ugly with our day and what we needed to do on the final day. So as we finish dinner, the line most always uttered by me, comes from our team leader “Just one drink!” and through the back parking lot we go to Brady’s. Low and behold, the majority of the fleet is there and things get somewhat out of control pretty easily. Still we managed to walk away at 12:30 or so and head on back.


    Mooretician passes Lighthouse Point

    The final day began like the previous day ended…with a drink in our team leader’s hand. Without going too deep into detail, the breakwater and he had a fight the previous night upon our departure and he was nursing himself back to health. The forecast was for 5 knots and we said prayers to the wind gods as we shoved off. Race one saw us miss a shift, then another, then another and a match for our worst score. Race two was slightly better but still not hitting the shifts in phase. Race three was a carbon copy of two, though we sailed in more our conditions with a #2. In the end the mediocre day dropped us two points behind fifth and tied with two others for sixth, but losing the tie breakers on both. But in this fleet, that’s the way it goes and this Nationals was as much of an all out street brawl as any we’ve sailed. One mistake and you were spit to deep double digits. The A+ fleet were nearly untouchable for the first two days, but Sunday they held no punches and experienced OCS and deep results. Outside of the A+ fleet, the other 26 competitors just continued to punch each other in the nose race after race. The hardest part to imagine is how much better that street fight could have been. With the missing players like Butler, Hackworth, Durant, the players who sailed on others boats like Erkelens and Sorenson, and those who are looking for a boat like McQueen and Rasmussen, it’s impossible not to say the fleet gets better and better with every passing moment. It’s hard not to see why we love these little 30 year olds.


    A view we have already seen too much of…Pegasus transom


    Congratulations to Morgan Larson this year’s National Champion and thanks to the Santa Cruz Yacht Club and Mike Gross for a great event!


    Bruzer wins another start


    Full results: http://www.scyc.org/results/2010_Moo...ls_Results.htm
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