Hired geeks

Sailing is probably Numero Uno among sports here and it's something I have very little -- if any -- knowledge of.

This past weekend was the International Rolex Regatta, similar in scope to the F*cking Catalina Wine Mixer.

Rolex is big news here. Why, you ask, I have no idea. And after spending countless hours in the sun over three days with these half-drunk sailors, I still don't know why.

I'll give them one thing: they sure do know how to party. In my crash-course briefing on how to cover sailing in some conventional way, our staff photographer told me that I can't wait too long to interview the skippers. They get drunk too fast and then they don't want to be bothered by people like me.

A journalist in my current position can't deal with pirate slang. Areeee, matey?

What he didn't tell me is that these bastards drank during the race, too. Which made their post-race interviews something out of a Beavis and Butthead episode -- too much sun and too much booze.


During the race, I had the luxury of riding a power boat with the other sporting press members covering the race. Good people. One jackass (fatty in the white shirt), who thought he was running the show, wouldn't stop talking and treated the boat captain like some sort of second-rate citizen.

Had another guy from New Jersey (shirtless dude) who was freelancing and was just happy to get the ride. He snuck his girlfriend on for good measure and she got seasick. So it goes.

Finally there was Sean (red hat), our staff photographer, who seemed to know everyone ("It's a small island, bro.") and myself, some bearded hack annoyed that he had to spend the day on a boat instead of stuck inside some cramped office.

Well, nine hours on a boat is a long time. I'd say I was fighting off the fearful chunder for about the last three.

When we finally got to shore, I was so happy I kissed the ground. Some old lady sitting there with her disabled husband felt like some random chit-chat and she asked me if I was out racing. I was reading my chicken-scratch notes and hoped she would disembark after I ignored her initial inquiry. She repeated and I looked up. I was still a little ill so I fell back on some trustworthy HST quotes.

"No m'am, I'm with the sporting press. You know ... hired geeks?"

She looked very confused.

She suspected I was mocking her so I simply shrugged my shoulders and put my sunglasses back on. A second later, some drunk sailor dropped his glass bottle on the deck causing a minor commotion. I seized the moment and walked toward the bar.

The Mount Gay Rum sailing team was there and it had just ordered the first round. I pulled out my voice recorder and went to work.