THERE a magic that stirs when like-minded people come together to embrace a common passion—whatever, wherever and whenever that might be. For the disciples of team racing, the wherever is a small suburb of Liverpool, in northwestern England, specifically the West Kirby Sailing Club. The whenever is that meandering time between the first warning signal and the Sunday-night debrief, with nothing to do but talk, sing, dance and laugh until we cry, before doing it again a bit too early the next day. The whatever, of course, is the Wilson Trophy, justly hailed as “the world’s best team-racing event,” which offers refuge for one long and spectacular weekend where sailing is the most important thing in the world.
In conversing, reminiscing, hypothesizing about this sport we love, we fill the space…