Dear Sir,

I hate it when my team loses. I get over-involved, take it personally and, what’s worse, is that this year I have spent nearly the solid month of June dressed like I was right out of a marine catalogue.

I was almost thrilled one day when I had to take along my yellow slicker — yup, there’s a phrase you probably haven’t used since the Seventies — because it looked like it might rain. It didn’t and I got a sunburn instead.

In the spirit of the America’s Cup I have worn stripes, horizontal no less, to show my support for all things AC35. It takes a lot of effort to wake up every day and say to one’s self: “Which blue and white or red and white or multi-stripe boat neck should I don today?” The stripes were going the wrong way and I’m afraid my team, Oracle Team USA, didn’t get there, either.

I cajoled, I pleaded and made a pact with the Devil, only to reverse myself and pray to the heavens above that I would do anything, anything if we could just win the America’s Cup again. During the last couple of weeks, I did all that I could to ensure an Oracle victory. I yelled from a nifty boat I was on, I screamed at the television and, today, I had to face the inevitable crushing blow.

My Jimmy Spithill and his wonderful team-mates lost to Emirates Team New Zealand, helmed by young Peter Burling, a 26-year-old who looked like he was out on a Sunday drive. I must say, I was at least pleased to see that before every race, he was careful to use sunscreen. But does this young man ever sweat? Ah, youth — he’ll find out.

Bitter? I guess so. I would be totally bereft over Oracle’s loss, except I have never been prouder of how our beautiful Bermuda handled a world-class event on the world’s stage. We just absolutely sparkled. From every camera angle and drone advantage, Bermuda looked magical.

There will always be naysayers who will tell you that the America’s Cup benefited only certain Bermudians and businesses. It’s true. Not every business or vendor would have realised an uptick this June, but didn’t we just prove to the world, perhaps ourselves, that instead of just saying that we could do something, we did something? We deserve all of our bragging rights because we did it right and for that we should all be proud.

Admit it, weren’t there just a few of us who wondered how we were going to move masses of people to a newly created landfill village? And who was the person who started the rumour that we should all buy plenty of toilet paper and paper towels because, you know, we might run out? Seriously? People, we’re fine for toilet paper.

Some of us can’t help ourselves; we’re constantly looking for the holes in every opportunity. What about the America’s Cup cars, what will happen with the Village, no-siree-bob will those superyachts ever come back to Bermuda, and my personal favourite “I have no interest in the America’s Cup — doesn’t do anything for me!”

To those folks, I say, stop. Use your imagination, create something, anything.

In a few days we’ll return to an island-wide stony silence. The void will be palpable and you’ll wonder where the vibrancy and buoyancy went. I bet you’ll feel just more than a little bit wistful when you pull right into a parking space in Hamilton. I mean, where’s the challenge in that?

Tonight, I’m going to drown my sorrow in a pint of double chocolate chip ice cream with hot fudge sauce and maybe a little melted marshmallow.

I have the rest of the summer to work off what I’m calling my own personal AC35, right in my midsection! It might feel like the loser’s dinner, but I’ve got dreams and I’m betting on Bermuda. I know that there’s a bright young Bermudian, a lot of bright Bermudians, who will come up with something and it will be big.

ELAINE C. MURRAY

Smith’s