Arrivederci Rascals! Mascalzone say goodbye

Carnage reared its ugly head this morning when Mascalzone turned up for work. Armed with Panadol and bottles of water, they faced the dreaded ‘morning after’ at their syndicate base – a littered sea of beer cans, vodka bottles and BBQ leftovers. The rancid stench of old beer and spilled wine permeated everything like garlic out of engorged sweat pores, wafting over the surrounding bases down Halsey Street. An early meander down Syndicate Row this morning treated the nose to a pong that reeked of something between a grinder’s armpits and a brewery.

To describe last night’s party as a ‘wake’ may seem a little morose, but that’s the truth of it. You see, Cup competitors exist in a state of meditated psychosis, balancing on the edge of thrashing ebbs and flows – waiting for fickle Madame Fate to deal her hand. Like waiting for a fortune teller to deal the death card, teams put their best foot forward until they’re ousted. And last night, the finality of that death card was faced – the Rascals submitting to The Great Scheme of Things and bowing out of the Louis Vuitton Cup. They worked hard and played hard but alas, sadly met an untimely death.

However, to celebrate their short-lived life and commiserate on their elimination, the team opened their base to all syndicates last night and sadly said goodbye to Auckland. In true Italian style there was food – lots of it. Pasta, bbq, pasta, biscotti and more pasta. Italian wine and beer and what seemed like Russia’s entire stock of vodka was laid out for the thousands of wellwishers from the neighbouring challengers. It’s become a lot like family down here and competitive spirit aside, the sailors and their families have all become part of the woodwork in Auckland.

MascalzoneŽs lone new boat was designed by Giovanni Ceccarelli

Not that Mascalzone ever had any misconception that they stood a chance of winning. Having only one boat and being rookies, the writing was pretty much on the wall from day one, but still, being the first team ousted is never fun. Until now, they had their dreams but those have been well and truly smashed now by the Bat of Fate on the plate glass of best intentions. So, bring on the rum and drown out the misery…

All syndicates turned up – the base was packed to the gunwales with a collection of t-shirts from Victory, Oracle, le Defi, Alinghi and the rest. Drunk Rascals (particularly notable was the chef) climbed the mast and made a salute to his team’s brave efforts. An impromptu appearance of the team on the deck of the boat as they took their bows was met with applause – a salute to their efforts and a commiseration to their demise.

Arrivederci Rascals. It’s been great having you.