BOAT RACE report: long
quar...@vax.oxford.ac.uk
as usual on a Sunday), here is the full report.
To Pablo, yes I think it is a record low on undergraduates, but there have been
near or equal lows before - it has hardly ever been a pure undergraduate sport
this century. Since the international involvement of oarsmen at the older ages
raises their ability, and since the two squads now pursue training regimes
which match those of most international aspirants, the average age is high and
probably increasing. To detractors: I personally don't think that's a
problem, since the graduates play a full part in the life of the university and
are simply doing different courses, often working harder than some
undergraduates, especially those pg's doing doctorates. The only problem is
that culturally there is often heavy pressure on British undergrads to get out
and get a job rather than stay in academia, even if they want to. This is why
graduates are often from overseas. It is almost impossible for a Brit to get a
scholarship to stay on at Oxford or Cambridge, although they can get science
grants more easily, of course. Arts/humanities students don't find funding
easily. Those Brits who do stay at college have as good a chance of getting in
the crews as the overseas graduates, depending on individual ability.
Now, here goes.....
Saturday 1st April: BOAT RACE DAY 1995
Putney, 9:00 am, and a slight breeze ruffling the Union Flags on the
broad-beamed Henley launches, noses pointing to Hammersmith in the outgoing
tide. Scullers paddling to and fro in the usual Putney Hard Saturday morning
routine, the Embankment busy with clubs rigging boats and dragging launches,
and just the police vans lurking around the corner to show that today would be
different. Already the sun was starting to burn off the early morning mist,
the promise of a warm spring day to follow the frost and hail of earlier this
week. Two dredgers made a final pass up the Fulham reach along the course of
the stream, clearing the riverbed and swamping novice fours and club eights in
their wash.
Both Oxford crews had already been for their final preparation paddle,
and Cambridge and Goldie were just landing as I watched, gliding in with blades
raised, and a scrunch of boots on wet gravel; there was a very relaxed
atmosphere in the air. Blazer-and-tied Old Blues and supporters of both camps
were beginning to gather, looking slightly at a loss having reached Putney
early enough to grab a parking space in the crowded residential streets but now
with nothing to do but speculate on the prospects and swap smiling greetings,
until needed by the radio and TV interviewers later in the day when everyone
else would be busy.
The lazy drift of the morning continued until eleven o'clock, hot dog
and t-shirt stalls slowly being erected, promoters wandering casually along the
towpath handing out free samples, the last small jobs being done with the
blades and boats, cameramen practising their focus and zoom, photographers
picking up the classic shots of supporters with blue-painted faces, university
jerseys, Leander ties, pints in hand. Without fuss, the tide ran out and
slowly began to turn, the Henley launches swinging slowly at their buoys as the
river began imperceptibly to fill up again. The boathouses of the four crews
began to organise for the spectacle, barriers to hold the crowd back and keep
the press in. Matt Pinsent, spotted squatting in a quiet corner in the sun,
snatched a little peace before boarding the radio launch to commentate for BBC
Radio 5, seemingly unaware of the giggling groupies hovering to sneak his
picture.
The reserve crews Isis and Goldie arrived and disappeared into their
changing rooms, looking tense and subdued, coaches whisking round to organise
following launches, take one last look at the wind for the choice of station.
Quietly the Oxford coach, Dan Topolski, slipped out with cox Abbie and boatman
Bertie in their new launch, Bosphorus, to steer over the first half of the
course one last time, run over the strategy, settle the final game plan. The
tide was running in slowly, a southwesterly wind blowing the tide away from the
mouth of the Thames estuary, and by estimate was half an hour late, meaning
slow times and no records broken.
Hundreds of spectators now on the Putney Embankment, thousands more
gathering all the way up the 4.25 mile course, crowded around the pubs and
rowing clubs. Mark Davies, the Goldie cox, came out to toss the coin for
Cambridge, with Martin Brown, the Isis six-man, calling. Goldie won, and chose
Surrey, the stroke-side station, taking the disadvantage on the start with a
strong advantage later in the course. Both returned to their crews for the
final psych-up and preparation. The Cambridge Blue Boat arrived, their bus
pushing through the crowds behind a police escort, and disappeared to join
their reserves in the Barclays Bank boathouse, cameras flashing and supporters
craning for a glimpse of their favourite heroes. Then the Oxford bus drove up,
President Jeremiah McLanahan waiting on the steps while the television crews
manoeuvred into place, then stepping down. Rather than heading left into their
NatWest Bank boathouse, the Oxford Blue Boat first strode off to the next-door
club, Lensbury, for a final "good luck" to their reserves.
Isis and Goldie out with their shells, slotting the blades into the
swivels, chucking wellies out , setting off for their warmups, ready to race
over the course half an hour before the top crews. Much less fuss is made over
these 18 rowers, but the pressure is almost the same, with only the relief and
frustration for the losers and winners respectively that their every move will
not be analysed on international television and radio. Cheers from the banks
as they leave, then everyone turns again to watch the toss for the Blue Boats.
Richard Phelps, the Cambridge president, looking drawn and tense, tosses as the
holder of the trophy, Jeremiah McLanahan, the American Oxford president, calls
"Heads!" as the 1829 gold sovereign spins in the air. Tails it is, and Phelps
picks Surrey, but McLanahan claims he would have picked Middlesex anyway.
Oxford had said this early in the week, but the southwesterly cross-head wind
suggests they had changed their minds and would privately have chosen Surrey as
well to get shelter in the crucial 6th-8th minutes where they are not so
strong. More forced smiles for the TV cameras: these guys are not picked for
acting ability, but they learn fast.
Fifteen minutes later, the bank jam-packed, Cambridge carry their
Empacher shell out at shoulders, faces grim and purposeful, then return to pick
up their blades and climb in, one by one, television cameras in close-up,
thoughts hidden behind the mask of composure as they peel off wellies and top
layers of kit. As they push off to a huge cheer, Oxford do the same, the boat
riding in the swell from the umpire's and press launches, the tide not yet even
lapping the concrete slipway, then they paddle away for the warm-up. Then Isis
and Goldie move to the stake-boats, Olympic champion Jonny Searle waiting in
the umpire's launch behind them, the peace of their warm-up left behind now for
the 7 km-long tunnel of pain and effort. They're off, and a swift start for
both crews, high ratings, shooting along the Fulham reach towards the corner
where the Fulham Football Ground stands, today hosting the Varsity Football
Match. Goldie creep ahead towards the end of the wall, then push more strongly
at the Black Buoy as Searle warns Isis not move off-station. As the crowds
yell and scream their support, Goldie take the lead, then move away foot by
foot with their neat, smooth bladework to a record-equalling margin of 14
lengths, time 18:29 to 19:13.
But the Blue Boats, out preparing to go on their stake-boats, won't be
told that result yet. They circle, practise starts in the sunny quiet beyond
Wandsworth Bridge, focus themselves on the task at hand and hardly hear the TV
helicopter buzzing overhead. Final checks of the gates and seats, final words
from the coxes, hearts in their mouths with adrenalin and anticipation. Such a
strange tension, as if it is all happening to someone else, you didn't imagine
it would feel like this, you didn't remember the crowds would be so immense,
the kit you are wearing for the first time, the course stretches away in your
mind, miles of pain ahead. But at the same time it feels so familiar, your
seat in the boat, your blade in your hand, everything for the last seven months
has led up to this, you are as ready as you're going to be. One last start,
hatchets clipping in together, the water speeding past, it feels good, but
you'd hardly know any more, the tension is so great, the spring ready to be
released.
They paddle back through Wandsworth and Putney Bridges to the
stake-boats, set far apart at the command of the umpire Lynton Richmond, which
will encourage the coxes to head straight for the centre of the stream and
probably keep him busy warning them. It is an art getting onto these with the
rushing stream almost dragging the stake-boat man's arms out, the stroke-side
cross-headwind not helping a bit: the coxes are busy nudging the boats
straight as the crew take off splashtops and pass them forward. Hands up,
final adjustments, cameras zooming in on the strokemen and their taut
expressions, blades flat on the water: squared and they'd drag the stake boats
in the strong current, wear out their arm-strength. Coxes glance to the side,
hands come down, the umpire stands up.
"Attention, set, GO!" and the flag drops. The crews lean back in
unison on the "set", taking the strain of the tide. Second stroke, and
hundreds of rate-watches are clicking, getting the statistics, Oxford off to
45, Cambridge fractionally lower, both crews hit a stride but still rate high
in the 30's. Jorn, the Oxford stroke, demands a hard start from the crew,
making the most of their fractional Middlesex advantage, trying to rattle
Cambridge's composure early in the race, and Oxford lead slightly for the first
half-minute. In the strengthening wind, the Putney reach is choppy and
difficult, but both crews hold their nerve. Abbie, the Oxford cox, pushes for
the centre of the stream, hustling Cambridge cox Russell out of the fastest
water as far as she dares. It is a battle of the coxes for the first few
minutes, umpire Richmond warning Cambridge as Abbie plays the old game of
putting the other crew in the wrong by keeping her bows pointed slightly away
from them while still edging them out. But it is not enough to stop Cambridge
coming back as they settle into a solid rhythm, and they move out to a
half-length lead. Oxford, coming off their bend, push back to a quarter-length
down, and the two crews are blade-tip to blade-tip again, just inches
separating them. The tussle continues, the radio commentators squeaking with
excitement, as this is a closer battle than in recent years. For the BBC,
Cambridge Old Blue Chris Ballieu and Oxford Blue and coach Dan Topolski are
trying to keep calm and judge what will happen next. Beyond the boat-mounted
cameras behind each cox's head, the huge flotilla of launches creates a tidal
wave swamping unwary spectators as they go past: it is a strange sight for the
two crews through their ordeal but one they will barely notice in their
efforts.
At the Milepost, one second separates the crews, the coxes still
steering close, Cambridge still just off the stream but beginning to see their
bend ahead which will allow them to push Oxford back out. The water flattens
with the wind-shadow of the bend and Harrods Depository and, almost unnoticed
by the commentators, Cambridge quietly get on with their game plan, make a
decisive push and move back into the stream. Advantages slipping away, Oxford
try to match them, but in the next minute Cambridge rating 34 move away
strongly and smoothly, and shoot Hammersmith Bridge in 6 minutes 44 seconds,
just over a length ahead. Russell can take the Oxford water now, and does so,
forcing them to sit in the Cambridge wash as the water starts to worsen into
the head-wind again. Now the Cambridge eight can see the Oxford boat in full,
heads down and straining hard: it makes their task easier. It is almost
impossible to come back from being more than a length down in the Boat Race.
Oxford move onto the Cambridge station in search of flatter water: the
boatmen for the two universities differ considerably in their assessment of the
stream's position along the Chiswick Eyot. By Barnes Bridge (Cambridge 14:51,
Oxford 15:04) the race is over, Cambridge scent victory and Oxford can only
finish with dignity. They reduce the gap a fraction in the last stretch, and
the two crews pass the University post four lengths apart: Cambridge 18:04,
Oxford 18:16, one crew slumped in pain, the other shouting and waving with joy.
Richard Phelps, commenting afterwards, says that his crew did not have a very
good row. In the end though, they were too good for Oxford, who needed a
measure of luck to add to their commitment and determination. Jeremiah
McLanahan cannot speak with disappointment after his hopes had been so high,
but Topolski pays tribute to his success in rebuilding Oxford this year, and
encourages him to look to a brightening future for the Dark Blues, the same
coaching team in place. With the Cambridge skill and confidence still high
although they lose every Blue except their stroke, next year's Boat Race is
likely to be a close one: the pundits refuse to predict.
Rachel.
Oxford.