Ship of fools

THE BOATS, if these computer-sculpted splinters can be called watercraft at all, are utterly charmless.

They are mostly mast and keel, the carbon-fibre hulls functional only to the extent that they can carry 17 crew members and remain seaworthy. The monstrous bulb below the waterline accounts for 80% of the boat's weight, counterbalancing the acreage of high-performance sails high above. No amount of iridescent epoxy in between can camouflage the ugliness of its desperation: Gotta go fast.

This New Zealand spring, as the boats are towed each morning out into Auckland's Hauraki Gulf, the desperation is reaching an old but still comic level. As it was 151 years ago, when some ex-colonists stormed England with a plan to sandbag its sailors in high-stakes racing, the America's Cup is home to a wealthy rabble of rampant egos who enjoy an attention-grabbing tussle.