This is where things got interesting. Queen's were big. Queen's had a good start. We panicked a bit. R37.5 off the start coming down to r36 half way down the course was one panicked and rushed way to do this. Off the bridge we managed to get it to a more sensible r33 and they made a huge push. At this point we were a length down, and by the corner we were maybe one seat down and gaining rapidly. Then Queen's steered into us, I held my line, they kept coming in and clashed blades. When they steered away they hit the bank and we crossed the line a canvass before they did.
(Zara Bek)I was convinced we had lost that race until the umpire told us we'd won. After starting off at an absurdly high rate of something like 37, we utterly failed to stay in time and saw the Queens' boat steadily pull ahead. By the railway bridge, which in my mind was almost the end of the course, we were a length behind and more tired than in any of the other races. Zara's optimistic cries of "you're gaining on them" and "row long, row loose" were all that kept us going, along with the desperate commitment to at least have done our best. But she wasn't lying. My unprofessional glances to the right confirmed that we were indeed getting closer. Too little, too late, I thought. Surely the finish line would be any second now. But when I heard our blades clashing, I thought we might have a chance. Supremely confident in Zara's coxing ability, I was certain that Queens' must have left their racing line. But wasn't the race already over? Apparently not. What seemed like a couple seconds after the blade knocks, we heard Zara's call to wind it down, and I heard her ask the marshal what on earth was going on, and his reply "No, you won." Disbelief and ecstasy mingled. Apparently, not only were the other boat disqualified for impeding us, they also then overcorrected and hit the bank without crossing the line.
At the prize-giving, a crewmate compared this to a win on penalties. But after much animated discussion, we decided the best football analogy was winning with a last-second shot which the goalie stops, slips, hits his head on the goalpost, gets concussed, and we score off the rebound. Or perhaps the goalkeeper fouls the striker and then scores an own goal.
All in all, our worst race in terms of rowing quality, but the most entertaining to watch for sure. Yeah FaT!
(Nick Nelson)From the beginning, I could tell that this race would be our hardest test yet because we were not able to pull any gap despite our best efforts and an uncharacteristically high stroke rate (courtesy of our stroke Vlad who had previously, when asked by coaches in training, said that he was unable to go at rate 36 - it turns out that this was a lie). Furthermore, looking at the crews lining up before the race, they looked big and strong and we looked like our coaches refused to feed us unless we win Clare Novices.
Once we arrived at railway bridge, I could see in the corner of my eye that we were a length down. At this point we were running on fumes but I started to put down all the power that I had left in the tank because I was determined not to lose. My rational brain was telling me that this deficit was insurmountable and that it was all but over; I was waiting for the finish line but it seemed to never come until (after some egregious impeding from Queen's) we crossed first by what seemed like inches - the only lead we had the entire race and it came at the perfect time.
I'm convinced that someone in our bank party covertly moved the finish line so that we would have time to overtake, because I don't remember the course being that long.
(Robert Crossen)