KEY POINTS:
Whoopee! We've won. Well, we haven't won everything. Not by a long shot. But we have won one of the things we need to win if we're going to win the thing we really want to win.
Which we haven't won yet.
But we have won the Flash Luggage Cup. It isn't called the Flash Luggage Cup, of course. That would be far too vulgar. And there's nothing vulgar about a Louis Vuitton suitcase. Or handbag. Good heavens no.
Basically, when you buy anything avec le nom Vuitton upon it, what you get is good taste with a handle - or a handle on good taste, whichever you prefer. Either way, striding through the airport with your Louis on a leash instantly tells the world you've arrived - even if you haven't left yet.
Which would be a source of great satisfaction, if we were the kind of people who considered it essential not just to keep up with the Joneses but overtake them on the baggage carousel of life.
But we don't. New Zealanders prefer to build their humble homes on Egalitarian Avenue. Jack's always been as good as his master here, so flashing a suitcase that costs about as much as a year's supply of Mercury energy simply isn't our style.
"What's wrong with a fertiliser sack?" is the question your average utilitarian Kiwi asks when they see Mr Tosser trundling through the terminal, Vuitton in tow.
Mind you, when Louis puts his name on a Cup that only winners can grasp, we're delighted to revel in the status it bestows. There's no egalitarian embarrassment about strutting our stuff or asserting our superiority when it comes to winning.
It matters neither jot nor gybe that this particular contest has been, how shall we say, seadestrian, with both yachts creaking ponderously around the course like square-wheeled chariots or V8s in an Auckland street race, each propelled by less wind than you'd find at a pickled onion party.
"Light and shifty" (much like a politician's personality) is the phrase used to describe conditions off Valencia that have rendered the challenge less a battle of the hares and more a tussle of the multimillion-dollar tortoises.
Nevertheless, those of us able to stay awake have been left breathless (much like the yachts) by the uncanny ability of (Foreign Airline) Team New Zealand's weathermen to predict where the next Zephyr will come from, thus filling NZL 92's Edsel during those crucial moments when the black boat's been bow down up the beat on the lay line looking for some extra VMG in the dial up.
But wave, there's more! While the huffing and luffing and heeling on the lee bow has offered a visual feast matched only by the spectacle of watching scrums collapse, putting microphones on the boats has also added a totally unexpected aural pleasure.
It's allowed us to hear these boats and appreciate what savage creatures they really are. Indeed, if you closed your eyes at any point in any race it would be easy to imagine you were eavesdropping on a luff-in at Jurassic Park.
Because the noises the yachts make are primal - and carnal. Their elemental groans, moans and rumbles sound like nothing so much as dinsosaurs mating.
You wouldn't be at all surprised to hear the inimitable voice of David Attenborough providing a vivid description of the whole gargantuan ritual: "Now, aroused by the presence of the waiting female, the male Brontosaurus gingerly rises on his hind legs and completes the complicated task of bringing 10 tonnes of reptilian passion to fulfilment."
Yeah, alright, there's no such thing as a Brontosaurus, it's just an Apatosaurus in drag and the whole fantasy is a tad kinky but, hey, be fair, what do you expect at 3 o'clock in the morning?
Make of it what you will and call the psychiatrists if you must but it's the sounds - and the images they conjure - that have been the highlight of this contest.
Plus the win, of course. It may not really be our Team any more - not unless the gummint's just become the majority shareholder in Emirates, too - but only the most un-Kiwi Kiwi will be indifferent to the news that we've whupped the guys who whupped the guys on BMW Orrible.
And got the trophy to prove it! We may be egalitarian about suitcases and stuff but we're unabashed elitists when it comes to winning. We love shoving a burnt stick up the big guys' noses. And gloasting about it!
So now it's the luff and death struggle with Alinghi, which has apparently got a swinging keel, although the Swiss have never been renowned for their swinging.
Which gives us egalitarian elitists a glimmer of hope. It raises the tantalising prospect that the Flash Luggage Cup will soon be joined by ... don't say it too loudly ... the Auld Mug! And that would be a status symbol to flaunt (assuming Dr Bollard lets us keep it).
Oh, yes! We'd put that prized piece of Royal Dalton where the whole world could see it, right in the middle of the national mantelpiece - just to prove we don't bow down to anyone!!
