Wind

Joe:
Well, don't worry about it. I mean, what could happen? Of course, my design could have a few flaws. And after a few weeks, Will and I discover we hate each other. Abigail proves to be the flake of the century; she can't raise a dime. A giant sandstorm comes along, knocks this place over, we go broke, the IRS throws us in jail. The State Department wants to throw me out of the country. But I fool them: in jail, I catch pneumonia and die.

Will:
We're going to need as much waterline as we can get.

Joe:
I've factored in the average weather in that part of Australia over the last 20 years. We've got to play the percentages.

Will:
You mean compromise?

Joe:
Yeah, of course. You always get to a point where you have to stop torturing yourself and play the percentages. You're afraid of committing yourself, you have the desire for perfection.

Will:
What's wrong with perfection?

Joe:
Nothing, if you're God, and you're prepared to wait 500 million years for it to evole. But we have to start building this boat next week.

Will:
We're out in the desert, so bring some beer!

Will:
You expecting anybody?

Joe:
Well, it might be the IRS.

Will:
Maybe its the Australians coming to spy on us!

Morgan:
Gentlemen, you are all in a line of elite men, great men, who have defended the world's most enduring sporting record. It's an honor to know you, it's an honor to sail with you. Tradition has it that the first American skipper to ever loose the Cup will replace it with his own head in the trophy case. Gentlemen, my head is in your hands. Please be careful, I've become attached to it. I would propose a toast. The Cup.

Morgan:
Everyone wants it easy today Will. And the reason we don't have the Cup, is that we don't deserve to have the Cup.