Passengers travelling on Air Canada will get a chance to read about Bermuda in their latest Magazine titled - The Bermuda Sports Triangle - Good things come in threes - cricket, golf and sailing - on the island of Bermuda, by Andrew Braithwaite.
Braithwaite writes, “Spend any time in Bermuda, a fish hook-shaped cluster of 181 low-lying islands flung 1,000 kilometres due east of North Carolina, and you quickly grow aware of sport’s vital importance to its 65,000 sun-loving inhabitants. In other words, it’s no mere destination for laid-back honeymooners and beach bums.
The annual Cup Match between St. George’s and Somerset cricket clubs – a century-old rivalry played out over a two-day public holiday in August – whips all of Bermuda into a raucous, gambling, flag-waving frenzy. “We get 10,000 people out to watch the actual match,” says Neil Speight, executive director of the Bermuda Cricket Board, over a lunch of local rockfish. He points out that this represents nearly one-sixth of the nation’s population: “Imagine 6 million Canadians crammed into one hockey rink.”
David Sabir, the general secretary of the Bermuda Football Association, drives home the point the next day as we chat in his air-conditioned office in the capital city of Hamilton. “Look, we live in a competitive place,” he says. I can’t help but notice that we’re surrounded by shields and trophies that record the feats of generation upon generation of winners. “Space is limited here. Resources are limited,” he says. “Sport teaches us good lessons about competing in life while still adhering to the Laws of the Game.”
The Great Sound is perhaps the finest sail-racing spot in the world,” says race officer Pete Ramsdale, a sinewy man in a white long-sleeved tech shirt who founded Wednesday Night Racing 16 years ago and has grown it into Bermuda’s most popular local regatta. “Very little current or tide, consistent ocean breeze, warm all year long – it’s perfect.” Hard to argue, as the late afternoon light reflects off the white limestone roofs that line the hillsides just ashore.
It was the season finale doubles as fancy-dress night, but as Ramsdale weaves our little motorboat among 35 larger skiffs crewed by pirates, zombies and Crayola crayons, I give up trying to keep my hair from being mussed by the breeze. We watch a crew of minions from Despicable Me hike out to manoeuvre sailboat number BER73367 around the third mark. At the finish line, a boat called Thrash, captained by Peter Bromby (who’s only a four-time Olympian), secures the overall series title.
“The most important rule is to have fun,” says Andrew Trott-Francis, the dreadlocked caddy master at Port Royal Golf Course, as I follow in the footsteps of Ernie Els and Rory McIlroy by teeing off at the Grand Slam’s current venue. Hogwash, I think. By now, it’s clear that I’ve caught Bermuda’s sporting fever. With the blue waters of the Atlantic framing a picture-postcard (and not much larger) green, my nerve-wracking tee shot on Port Royal’s par-3 16th hole yields a near miss for Birdie.
The next day, I press my luck at the Mid Ocean Club, a 1921 design that hosted the Grand Slam from 2007 to 2008 before the tournament shifted over to Port Royal. The club’s starter, Dennis Joell, peers out from under his straw hat as I take practice swings that brush over the perfectly manicured Cynodon dactylon, more popularly known as Bermuda grass. “They say the worst round of golf is better than the best day at the office,” says Joell after my drive disappears against the backdrop of a single white stack of Cumulus congestus far on the horizon. “But they didn’t mean an office like I’ve got here.”