His Finest Hour

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As fellow blogger Baydog so nobly explains in his post today, Tillerman is off across the sea to do battle in the Laser Masters World Slamdown, held this year in crusty olde England.

Tillerman has before him an ordeal of the most grievous kind. He has before him many, many long days of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is his policy? I can say it is to wage war by sea, with all his might and with all the strength that god can give him; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of Laser sailing. That is his policy.

You ask, what is his aim? I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no gloating. Let that be realized; no gloating for Tillerman, no survival for all that Tillerman has stood for, no survival for the urge and impulse of the ages, that his blog will move forward towards its goal of world domination.

Tillerman has trained long and hard in preparation for this moment. He has practiced in his little boat, in his little bay, till his abs ache from hiking. He has sailed in local regattas and met the competition with vigor and resolve. He has run the streets and hills and beaches and hedgerows of Tiverton till his tennies are torn and tattered.

And this is not the end of his ordeal. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

He takes up his task with buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that his cause will not be suffered to fail among men, though he has nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweaty hiking pants.

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