Alas, what is to come of the symmetrical spinnaker and all its accoutrements: the pole, pole-cars, twings and guys? The venerable kite, our pennant, our moniker and the centerpiece of sailing’s visual attraction may be poised to go the way of the blooper. Gosh, I hope not. While the blooper was an unwieldy beast, rightly ridiculed into extinction, the spinnaker is an aesthetic, functional and team-creating masterpiece.

 It is 1966, and astronaut Buzz Aldrin is on the Gemini 12 mission into space when the electronics fail. He saves the mission and makes the rendezvous with another spacecraft by using an instrument that mariners have used for centuries.In 1970, Apollo 13 lost all power, calling “Houston, we’ve had a problem.” Commander Jim Lovell used that same instrument to navigate the stricken spacecraft back to Earth. What was it? 
A sextant.

 I'll admit to obsessing about why we sail. What drives us to be cold, wet and often bored, and yet still go sailing? Is it the camaraderie? The challenge? The adventure? The competition? Promoters and advocates will often boil it down to the premise that sailors sail because it is fun, and, by inference, don’t sail when it’s not.

 There is one thing I’ve always loved about sailing, and it’s not the wind or the freedom or the spray or the excitement of racing. It’s that sailing is one of the last truly democratic sports.

 I’m going to tell you how cheap sailing can be. No mixed messages here. If you happen to have the wealth of a monarch (but lack self-control), you could easily spend your net worth on the sport of sailing. A valid counterpoint: Smart, eager and creative paupers also go sailing, and they spend almost nothing for the privilege.

 I am the poster boy for retrofits. While thinking about this issue, I realized that I’ve only owned two new boats in my entire life. 

 Had we heeded the forecaster’s gloomy wind warnings, we would not have started the race, but 20 sailboats slipped over the line at 18:30 and inched up the 21-mile course. An hour—and two tedious miles—later, a red sun set leaving a starless sky. Two hours and barely four miles in, the fog came down like a black velour lining a coffin. Wet. Dark. Deadly.

 I think I take disappointments fairly well. When I found there was no Santa Claus, I managed to pick up the shattered pieces of my life and move on. Same with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. I was going to start this column by shouting, like the crazed newscaster Howard Beale played by Peter Finch in the movie “Network,” that “I’m mad as hell and not going to take this anymore.” But then I had an epiphany. I’m not mad at US Sailing, the U.S. Olympic Committee, the International Sailing Federation, or the International Olympic Committee. I’m just disillusioned. I thought they set a higher standard to protect sailors. I was wrong.

 Ten years ago we had an Excel-jockey crewmember; a numbers whiz-kid so proficient with a spreadsheet that he’s since left sailing for a high-powered banking gig.

For shoreside spectators, it had all the makings of an epic race. The two dinghies were side by side, their masts flexing in unison as dark blue wind lines danced across the water from the tree-lined shore. Both skippers were focused intently on the luff of their sails, neither looking at the other and neither giving an inch. It was clearly a well-established rivalry reminiscent of great races fought during the Olympics or the America’s Cup.

I’ve been diagnosed with OCD, or Outboard Cheapskate Disorder. It’s a malady that owners of sportboats seem predisposed to. The symptoms are clear. 

I’ll tell you right now what this column is about: Don’t do as I did, do as I say. As She Who Must Be Obeyed would happily agree, I’ve been a complete idiot many times in my life and I now realize I’m very lucky to be alive.

Sailing ranks among country churches, Amish barns and potlucks as institutions substantially built and shaped by volunteers. Their work is all around us and it is mighty impressive. 

 As a kid, I had a conversation with my mother almost every weekend after I departed in the morning, not to return until dinner time.  

When steam came to transport, commercial sailing was decimated, and what was left was the recreational kind. I’m hoping the second coming of steam won’t be as bad for sailing. 

Let’s just let Larry keep the America’s Cup. Really, if it means so much to him that he’s willing to buy a yacht club, rewrite the rules to gain a huge advantage and even create a team willing to cheat, well, just let him have it. 

When we reached the man in the water and made eye contact, it was clear to the entire crew that we would only have one chance and a few minutes at rescue. He was still treading water and aware of his

Sailors competing in the 2016 Olympics in Brazil are going to have an excellent chance of not only bringing home lifetime treasures such as gold, silver and bronze medals, bu