All the brash confidence and try-to-stop-me audacity of taking a cigarette boat to the Americas’ Cup. Sheer horsepower, surrounded by sophistication. As the other teams adjust their flying jibs, you’re revving the engine, a growl full of red plum and cinnamon-cherry defiance. Then you’re off, rocketing through whipping peppery winds, strawberry snow-cone spray over the hull, quartz-boysenberry carbon fiber, anise-spitting engine hatches, tangled-linen clouds, and the knowledge that no matter who wins, you’ll get the headlines.
