It was the first time I'd filled out a protest form in a long time and, oddly, it felt kind of good. I hate protests as much as the next guy, and I'd rather not complicate Wednesday-night beer-can racing with a trip to the protest room. And it's not like we have anything personal against the boat we're protesting. Who knows? Maybe the skipper wasn't flaunting Rule 10; maybe he honestly thinks he made a clean crossing; maybe we'll end up losing the protest when the hearing takes place next week. However it pans out, following through with the protest felt like the right thing to do, even if it did cut into my beer-drinking time, even if it does make us look like a bunch of goodie-goodies. The way I look at it, this is our sport, and enforcing the rules is part of the contract we agree to each time we line up for a start. Furthermore—assuming we're not total hypocrites—filing yesterday's protest ought to keep us honest in the future. The next time we foul someone, rather than ignore them, or ask them to give us a break, or hope they don't follow through with the protest, we'll fess up, do our turns, and get on with the race.