The bad news is that Silas and his team lost The Boat Race yesterday. We are sad, though I must say Silas seemed to deal with the loss well. By now he has won and lost quite a few Big Races; maybe he is getting some perspective.
The event itself was fun: hundreds of thousands of young people jammed onto four miles of river bank, the Thames itself full of boats, giant screens showing the action from many locations. Apparently Silas was featured in the pre-race coverage as the rower with "the golden ticket" and the silky-smooth stroke. We watched from a historic boat house in company with other parents and friends. We saw the start, and watched the rest of the action on TV. Cambridge had a chance to win it at about the halfway point, but Oxford was too strong and ran away with the race.
That night we attended a Black Tie dinner for Old Blues, which is what they call former rowers. I have never felt so short. It had a nightmare quality: one hundred or more very tall men in tuxedos, jammed into a room in an ancient and elegant London club, talking at the top of their voices. The new Blues (Silas being one) were wearing their new blue jackets, which are quite ugly light blue blazers piped with light blue satin. If you own one of these, you are quite a feature at certain events. In England it is something to be a Blue. So Silas will ever be.
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