Dear Dean. When we saw your face as you stood alone at the helm after losing that last race, we just wanted to hold you, to wipe away your tears, and say "Thanks, mate - you did your best. We can't ask any more of you than that."
Certainly others are standing off to the side sharpening their claws; the losing tears of a passionate man being too powerful an aphrodisiac for the weak to resist.
Teddy Roosevelt had you in mind more than 100 years ago when he wrote: "It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
"The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
Rudyard Kipling had to have been right there with you pounding a grinder or trimming the "code zero" on San Francisco Bay because he knew you as well. He said: "If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too ..."