THE AMERICA’S CUP : Nowadays, Side That Finds Loophole Rules the Waves

On the opening day of the 1988 America’s Cup, the Sail America Foundation, our boat people, chose to sail the entire competition in a catamaran, citing a loophole in the Deed of Gift.

For those who do not know a catamaran from a cat litter box, a catamaran is a boat with two parallel hulls, and looks like a combination of Robinson Crusoe’s raft and a vessel that ought to be captained by William Shatner.

For those who do not know a Deed of Gift from a fish called Wanda, it is sort of the contract of the America’s Cup, which has been contested in one way or another since Abe Lincoln was clean-shaven.

In 1857, when the Cup was donated permanently to the New York Yacht Club, it was stipulated in the Deed of Gift that friendly nations should compete for this Cup periodically, as long as they built their own boats and did not go buy one at Yachts R Us.

It used to be that the challengers had to sail their vessels to the site of the competition before actually competing. If Dennis Conner ever tried to sail a catamaran to Australia or New Zealand, he probably would end up a large shark’s brunch. Either that, or he would end up stranded on some deserted isle with the rest of his crew, along with Mary Ann and Ginger.

New Zealand’s challengers were willing to come all the way to San Diego or Long Beach or Hawaii to sail against Sail America for the Cup, and the only thing they wanted was a fair fight. Your boat versus our boat. No biting, no gouging, no grinding. In case of a capsize, please go to a neutral corner of the ocean and wait.

Well, America was not particularly eager to get rid of the America’s Cup so soon after getting it back. After all, the boys in the yacht club down in San Diego were very proud to possess the Cup, and drank champagne from it at wild parties every Friday night, although their wives thought they were bowling.

“Gentlemen, how can we keep the Cup?” asked Sail America president Leeward Luff, at a meeting hastily called after New Zealand issued its challenge.

“Well, let’s look in the Deed of Gift for loopholes,” said one of his associates, Rusty Transom.

And so they did. In going over the contract with a fine-tooth comb, the Sail America officials discovered that they did not have to compete in a 12-meter yacht, as they had at Fremantle the year before. They could use any boat they liked. They could use a houseboat. They could use a lifeboat. They could use a gravy boat.

America’s crew eventually settled on a catamaran, which is absolutely great for ocean racing, even if there is hardly any place to store your cooler of beer.

“That’ll teach those New Zealanders for trying to take our America’s Cup away,” said Sail America official Guy Freeboard. “They aren’t even an America.”

Understandably, this really ticked off the Sail New Zealand president, Kiwi Herman, who swore to get even.

So, on the opening day of the 1990 America’s Cup, New Zealand, citing another loophole in the Deed of Gift, showed up with a luxury cabin cruiser.

“You’re cheating!” cried Conner, captain of Stars & Stripes. “Your boat has an engine!”

“Nothing in the deed of gift about engines,” said Kiwi.

“That’s because they didn’t have engines when they wrote the Deed of Gift,” said Dennis.

“Then who killed Custer?” asked Kiwi.

“You’ll pay for this!” said Dennis. “You’ll hang from the highest yardarm!”

“Oh, go watch a Padre game,” said Kiwi.

Needless to say, New Zealand won the 1990 America’s Cup by a goodly margin. Since New Zealand had an engine and America did not, the goodly margin was this: The whole New Zealand crew was inside the bar having a cold Steinlager before the Americans got around the first buoy.

As you might expect, this made the Americans angry. They went looking for more loopholes. Their attorney, F. Lee Ballast, worked day and night.

And finally, at the 1992 America’s Cup, they showed up in a hydroplane.

For those who do not know a hydroplane from Hydra the many-headed monster, it is a motorboat designed so that the prow and much of the hull lift out of the water and skim the surface at high speeds. Occasionally it flips over and kills somebody, which enables hydroplane racing to get on the 11 o’clock news.

Dennis Conner said that except for the obvious problem of figuring out where to put his crew, the hydroplane was ideal for America’s Cup racing. He smeared some of that white goop on his nose and was ready to go.

New Zealand, naturally, cried foul. Kiwi Herman objected strenuously to America’s use of the hydroplane. He said he was perfectly willing to lose a race to Stars & Stripes, but not to Miss Budweiser.

The race went off anyway, and Conner won it going away. He rubbed it in on the final day by pulling across the finish line six water skiers doing a pyramid.

Well, the New Zealanders threatened to get even in 1994, and, citing a loophole in the contract, they did exactly that, showing up in a nuclear submarine armed with Polaris intermediate-range surface-to-surface ballistic missiles.

A new Deed of Gift was drawn up the following year.