Word: conners
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After two races against the Australian Kookaburra (a bush bird of prey sometimes called a "laughing jackass"), this game stood 2-0 for Conner in the best-of-seven final. Most depressing for the Australians, the lighter breezes they had prayed for all month materialized the first day, but the boat thought to be nimbler was outmaneuvered all the same. Winds that routinely topped 20 knots in the trials eased abruptly to eight or ten. Effectively the yachtsmen were back in Newport, R.I. Breaking neatly in front, Conner never rounded any buoy less than 40 seconds ahead...
Losing three years ago humanized Conner, at least momentarily, and winning again may amplify his legend incredibly, beyond the wharves to the plains. "The real thing that saved my sanity in '83," he says, "was that in my heart I knew I had done everything I could. But the second thing was the people. After I won the Cup in '80, I received about 100 letters. Out of 200 million people, that isn't very many. In 1983 I got thousands, maybe tens of thousands. If you look at the films after that seventh race, you'll see Dennis standing...
...poverty level growing up in San Diego has been exaggerated -- Conner's father was a Convair engineer who dabbled in commercial fishing -- but by yachting standards Dennis qualified as a foundling. Filthy terms like "boat nigger" seem to come easily to these folks' gooey white lips, and Conner uses that phrase to describe his beginnings. The way "some kids hang around pool halls," Conner says he hung around the marinas begging rides. At 44 he still likes to refer to sailing as a "good way to hang out." A junior membership was finally extended by the San Diego Yacht Club...
...instructive to hear Conner speak of his father. "You know how a lot of men say someday they'll go sailing? My father never stopped working. I don't know how much vacation time he had accrued at the end. Then he died of cancer." The son goes sailing all right -- "only about 365 days a year." A San Diego drapery business Conner acquired through one of his several mentors and patrons must run itself. Stories abound in Perth of the fallen bicyclists and smudged newsboys the captain has randomly scooped up and taken for boat rides, but even Conner...
...slaving for $75 a week, have a telling phrase for what they do. They speak of their "commitment to the commitment." During the races few words are ever necessary, and those are gently spoken. But in practice runs the banter is uncommonly happy. "What do you think, campers?" says Conner, who never seems to command, only question. "Will anybody be heartbroken if we change this sail? Shall we put up Dolly?" Perhaps a revolutionary and certainly a ! provocative new spinnaker -- featuring rows of billowing bulges -- is on loan from the N.Y.Y.C. The club had a falling-out with Conner three...