Ivo Redolfi-Tezzat | Venice: I am not making this up

Chasing the elusive crown

August 5, 2018 No Comments

D’Este and Tezzat in the red gondolino nose to nose with the Vignottos on the brown boat. A culminating moment from one year and then 38 minutes of rowing. This is what the fans live for. But where’s that pesky crown?

Over the past 15 years or so, attention in the world of Venetian rowing races has been focused, like the sun through a lens, on two pairs of rivals: Rudi and Igor Vignotto, gondoliers and cousins from Sant’ Erasmo who have been rowing together since they were nine and ten years old, and Giampaolo D’Este and Ivo Redolfi Tezzat, both of them also gondoliers, rowing together a modest 14 years until their last outing in 2015.

No need to say that the rivalry has been intense, which is what everybody wants in sports, and it created an equally intense partisanship among fans who pursued unwinnable arguments about why their idols are the best and what the hell is wrong with the other guys.

At the regata of Murano in 2009, Igor Vignotto took the lead from D’Este and never looked back.

These four men faced off in almost every race each year, but the race that matters most is the Regata Storica, a roughly 40-minute struggle in the Grand Canal on the racing gondolas called gondolinos.

Winning the Regata Storica is a wonderful thing, but what each pair really wanted was to win it five years in a row, a feat which is almost impossible. If you manage it you have earned the title “re del remo” (king of the oar), which sounds a little lame but which, in fact, is a very big deal. Nobody has accomplished this since 1985.

The Vignotto cousins have won the Regata Storica a record 15 times, but never five years consecutively. D’Este and Tezzat have won 7 times, also never consecutively. It’s maddening for everybody, but what can you expect in a race that depends on skill, strategy, and sheer luck? 2009 was the fifth year in a row for D’Este and Tezzat — THE FIFTH YEAR — and 7 minutes into the race they capsized and nobody was even near them. There they were, floating by their boat as everybody else rowed past them. How embarrassing is that?

D’Este and Tezzat stayed together for a few more seasons, but being disqualified during the next year’s Storica (2010) and again in 2015 — and maybe other factors also — appeared to expunge whatever desire they still had to earn the crown. They both retired and concentrated on work, or backgammon, or their kids.

Since then the racing world has been pretty lackluster, as the Vignottos just kept on winning, practically whiling away the time on the course by checking their messages on their phones and discussing where to go on vacation. I know they love all those red pennants, but racking them up without breaking a visible sweat isn’t much fun after a while. I’ve heard it said.

But this year — new drama! A possible fourth consecutive win was on the horizon for the Vignottos when the required annual physical examination revealed that Igor’s career is over. Something to do with his heart, and cardiac situations are not to be taken lightly, or even permitted when it comes to getting your health certificate for the racing season.

This is Igor Vignotto (2009) who clearly feels that the real beauty of winning is that the other guy lost. There won’t be any more of these moments for him.

And then Igor’s heart took a punch no apparatus could measure: His cousin Rudi called their lifelong rival, Giampaolo D’Este, to propose that they team up together. And D’Este said yes.

Rudi Vignotto astern. He’s just moving the boat out of the way, but this image from two years ago has suddenly become somewhat poignant. Nobody imagined ever seeing anybody in the bow position with him except Igor, to say nothing of imagining D’Este there.

I don’t presume to know their reasoning, but seeing that each of them could sink a small cruiser with the weight of the pennants they’ve won, it might not be the need for more pennants. And seeing that the prize money is less than a working gondolier might earn in a week, it probably isn’t the money either.

It can only be the kingdom, the kingdom of the oar at long last, that could tempt them, even though 2018 will be the start of the five-year clock all over again.

Is this exciting? Maybe. And maybe not. Of course they have already been dubbed the “SuperCoppia” (super duo), because that’s obvious. But while it will be reasonably exciting to see this Voltron racing, it doesn’t necessarily promise to inspire the wild, thrilling, throat-lacerating excitement from fans and enemies alike that was the norm when these titans were rowing against each other.

Setting aside the prognostications for a few young fast-rising competitors, it’s very possible that the new duo will also win while checking their emails. Not made up: Their first race, today at Pellestrina on pupparinos, had them so far ahead that they throttled back to a stroll just to keep the distance between them and everybody else to something kind of reasonable and not, say, two kilometers.

One commentator remarked that this new match has been made “in the name of sport,” but it doesn’t seem very sporting to me. At least one person who was talking about it made a very interesting observation. “Well of course they’re going to win,” he said. “What fun is that? Me, I think each of them should have picked some younger partner — then we could really have seen some competition.”

That’s undoubtedly true, and a very original way of thinking. But if they’d done that, they might never get those crowns.

The blessing of the gondolinos a few days before the Regata Storica (2017). Everybody acts friendly, more or less.

For anyone curious to see the seesawing of these champions from year to year, check this out; you can see how hard it has been to even get close to a fifth year in a row:

(V is Rudi and Igor Vignotto, D’E is D’Este with Tezzat):

2002 V first, D’E second (this is the first year D’Este rowed with Tezzat)

2003 D’E first, V second

2004 V first, D’E second

2005 D’E first, V second

2006 D’E first V second

2007 D’E first V second

2008 D’E first V (Rudi with Leone Mao, Igor undergoing a year of suspension) third

2009 V first D’E withdrawn, capsizing

2010 V first D’E disqualified

2011 D’E first V second

2012 V first D’E second

2013 V first D’E second

2014 D’E first V second

2015 V first D’E disqualified

2016 V first no D’E

2017 V first no D’E

2018 Voltron?

Venetian-ness

Farewell Bruno

October 7, 2014 5 Comments

The gondola bearing the casket from the church of San Zaccaria to the Lido was rowed by Vittorio Orio -- known for his dedication to the New York firemen -- and Franco Dei Rossi "Strigheta," son of the deceased's lifelong friend "Gigio." The other rowers are undoubtedly important racers, probably d'Este and Tezzat. The picture would have been better if I hadn't snapped it from a moving vaporetto. The daily traffic stops for no man. — The gondola bearing the casket from the church of San Zaccaria to the Lido was rowed by retired gondolier Vittorio Orio — known for his dedication to the New York firemen — and Franco Dei Rossi “Strigheta,” son of the deceased’s lifelong friend “Gigio, as well as Giampaolo d’Este and Ivo Redolfi Tezzat. The boat to the right is a 10-oar gondola belonging to the Francescana rowing club. The picture would have been better if I hadn’t snapped it from a moving vaporetto. The daily traffic stops for no man.

I’ve been noticing all sorts of interesting things around the city over the past few days, and while I regret to imply that a funeral qualifies as “interesting,” I will state that often the deceased is extremely interesting and makes me sorry I never knew him or her, and often never even heard of them until the dread news was published.

A case in point is Bruno Fusato Signoretti.

The “interesting thing” was his funeral cortege this morning, which didn’t completely surprise me when I saw it from the #1 vaporetto. I had only heard of him two days ago, when his obituary in the Gazzettino alerted me to the human behind a name with which I was familiar in exactly one way: Glass. That is, I knew that the name Signoretti was an important one on Murano, and that this company, or person, had begun (like many commercial ventures here) to sponsor some of the racers of the major Venetian regatas.

But there was much more to say about him, which I have learned now that he’s gone.

I have mashed up a few biographies, one written by Tullio Cardona in the Gazzettino, and the other by Maurizio Crovato on the website veneziaeventi.com. Here goes:

Gondoliers and Murano are in mourning. On October 5, Bruno Fusato “Signoretti” passed away in his house on the Lido. He was 74 years old, and had been fighting a difficult disease since last March.

Fusato began working as a gondolier, son of a centuries-long tradition; his family was noted among gondoliers since 1600. In more recent times, his grandfather Vincenzo, nicknamed “Cencio,” was chosen by Prince August Wilhelm of Prussia for his excursions in the lagoon in 1907, and when Cencio got married, the Prince sent him a silver coffee service and 1000 lire. (The new gondola he was able to order cost 300 lire, to give some idea of the magnitude of this gift.)

Bruno’s father Luigi was the gondolier of Princess Margaret and Queen Elizabeth II.

When young Bruno began his career as a gondolier, he was known for being able to make six “murane” a day (roundtrips in his gondola from San Zaccaria to Murano). He became the substitute gondolier for Albino Dei Rossi, the legendary Venetian-rowing champion known as “Gigio Strigheta,” filling in while Gigio was training for the races. “Thanks to this young man,” Strigheta quipped, “when I’m not working, I make twice as much.”

What with his love for the gondola, and for the regatas, and for his city, Bruno began to diversify. He retired from gondoliering and began to organize tourist traffic to Murano. Then he opened stores in London, and finally, in 1986, he acquired an abandoned glass furnace on Murano and established an important center for glassmakers and designers.

He also lived a kind of parallel career of philanthropy and benefaction. As Crovato states, he always kept the “old gondolier” in him. There was not one racer, not one aged gondolier, alone and forgotten, who didn’t receive help from him in moments of need.

In 1991 he dusted off the abandoned tradition of the “disnar” (dinner) of the competitors before the Regata Storica. He sponsored difficult art restorations, and when La Fenice opera house went up in flames in 1996, he was a founding member of the reconstruction fund-raising initiative, and its first private contributor.

After September 11, 2001, he created the idea of the “Baptism of Venetian-ness” (battesimo di venezianita’). I can’t tell you how it worked, but it raised funds for the firemen of New York.

His last joy, as they put it, was the victory of Giampaolo d’Este and Ivo Redolfi Tezzat of the Regata Storica 2014, a team which he had sponsored.

In remembering him, Tezzat gave Signoretti the baptism of gold, at least in Venetian terms:

“What he said, he did.”

In a city where words outnumber deeds by an impressive margin, this is a statement whose brevity conceals a universe of meaning.

Racers are now permitted to wear a sponsor's badge, and Signoretti's name was on several champions' backs -- here, Franco "Strigheta" Dei Rossi, at the regata of Redentore 2014. Notice the addition of the link with the firemen of New York -- "per non dimenticare" -- to not forget. — Racers are now permitted to wear a sponsor’s badge, and Signoretti’s name was on several champions’ backs — here, Ivo Redolfi Tezzat at the regata of Redentore 2014. Notice the addition of the link with the firemen of New York — “per non dimenticare” — to not forget.

Last glimpse of the two gondolas rowing toward the Lido, and his final resting place. The air didn't look so misty in front of San Zaccaria, but gazing eastward, it's a different atmosphere. — Last glimpse of the two gondolas rowing toward the Lido, and his final resting place.

Boatworld, Venetian Events

A truly Historic Regata

September 3, 2013 4 Comments

This is the "Serenissima," the crowning glory of the boat procession preceding the races -- the icon of the Regata Storica, center stage. — This is the “Serenissima,” the crowning glory of the boat procession preceding the races — the image of the Regata Storica in everyone’s mind, not to mention on a million postcards.

I have no doubt that calendars around the world were marked REGATA STORICA (“historic regatta”) two days ago. It’s been held on the first Sunday in September for the past 500 years or so (since 1489, to be exact). Calendars by now ought to be able to mark themselves.

There were several aspects of this year’s edition which made it notable — even “historic,” if you will, though I suppose everything that happens qualifies as historic in one way or another merely by the fact of its having occurred.

Historic Point 1: Our rowing club had three boats in the races, and each came home with a pennant: first, second, and third place. More on that below.

Historic Point 2, with gold stars applied by me: There were no fights. No hurled epithets, no banshee curses howled at judges or fellow racers, no demerits for breaking any rules. I know. I must have been hallucinating. But it’s still true.

Let me elaborate on these points:

Our club had two pupparinos in the young men’s race; the pair on the orange boat won the race, coming home with the red pennant. The pair on the brown boat finished second, earning a white pennant. We also had the red gondolino, rowed by Roberto Busetto and his brother Renato, who finished third (green pennant). This is not only wonderful, but exceptional, considering that Roberto hasn’t finished in the top four in the Grand Canal for the past eight years.

A glimpse backstage: The three boats at our club on Sunday morning.

The final touch is buffing the wax that you applied yesterday. Unfortunately, the wax isn't the only factor that helps you go faster, as the boys on this boat discovered. — The final touch is buffing the wax that you applied yesterday. Unfortunately, the wax isn’t necessarily the determining factor of your speed, as the boys on this boat discovered.

As for the harmony between the two giga-competitors of the past two eternal decades — Giampaolo d’Este and Ivo Redolfi Tezzat, and the Vignotto cousins (the “Vignottini”) — I don’t know what to attribute it to. But one does recall that after d’Este unburdened himself at the Regata of Murano of every opinion he ever had about the judges, he was penalized by having to sit out the next race. That might have had a slight sobering effect, not that I think that race was so important to him.

Or maybe the lack of conflict is an early sign of the approaching Millennium.

Or maybe they’re just getting tired.

Or maybe it was the unexpected exchange of views at the eliminations a few weeks ago. When the qualified nine teams were brought together to draw the color of their boats, d’Este announced, “I’d like to make a proposal. We eliminate the judges.”

To which one judge replied, “I’d like to make a counter-proposal. We eliminate you (meaning him and his partner), and the Vignottos. Because the only time there are ever any problems, fights, and general grief, it’s when you all are in the race.”

No more proposals were entertained and the meeting was adjourned.

But there had to be some sort of flaw in the ointment, as a friend of mine used to say. Everyone wasn’t humming like happy little tuning forks, as we discovered when the blood blister of rage broke in the mind of Davide Peditto, one of the boys on the brown pupparino. I say “boy,” but he’s 18 years old; not exactly a child.

He was so angry at not winning — horrors! finishing second!! has the world gone mad?? — that he wrapped himself in a cloak of fury so thick and black that no communication could reach him, and very little could come out. This is evidently an aspect of his personality already known to people who are closer to him than I am.

His only release was to take his white pennant and throw it onto the dock at our club and leave it there. “Carta da culo,” he snarled bitterly; toilet paper (literally, ass-paper).

This is not only an insult to Venice, to every racer who has preceded him, to every racer who competed with him (12 of whom would have loved to have had that very pennant, ten of whom would have loved to have had ANY pennant), but a real insult to his long-suffering partner, onto whose pleasure in this accomplishment he had just poured gasoline, so to speak, and then thrown a match.

One would like to help this splenetic young man re-think his ideas about winning and losing — or if not his ideas, at least his behavior. I’d suggest sending him the bits of the newspaper reporting the comments which were made by another racer who came in second on Sunday: Giampaolo d’Este, who had spent virtually the entire race head-t0-head with the Vignottos. When they crossed the finish line 95/100ths of a second ahead of him, he probably wasn’t any happier with the outcome than the young brat at our club — especially because he has enough red pennants by now to entitle him to think he might deserve another one.

They were like this for almost the entire race. The screaming of the crowd was deafening.

But he did not compare his white pennant to anything else. Here’s what he said:

“Well, that’s the way it went. Either we or the Vignottos could have won, and they won. No recriminations — it was a beautiful race and it’s always beautiful to be its protagonists.”

He might have meant it, which would be excellent. But he said it anyway, and that’s about 95/100ths even more excellent. But if it’s too hard, in the glaring heat of the moment, for a youngster to say something that mature, I’d suggest that the next-best option would be silence.

And I don’t mean that thick black silence, either. I mean the silence in which the image, the shape, and the hope for next year’s race would already be forming in his mind, spirit, and gizzard. As far as I can tell, that’s the only way that true athletes, or humans of any stripe, manage to get those bitter pills down and keep going.

The indefatigable Dino Righetto on the stern of our six-oar balotina. The "bissone," or fancy boats, are coming up behind us to start the procession. — The indefatigable Dino Righetto on the stern of our six-oar balotina. The “bissone,” or fancy boats, are coming up behind us to start the procession.

These are racing gondolas belonging to the city, which are decorated to evoke the boats and passengers of the original regata in 1489, — These are racing gondolas belonging to the city, which are decorated to evoke the boats and passengers of the original regata in 1489.

The procession is moving slowly upstream, with the current, toward the "volta de Canal" — The procession is moving slowly upstream, with the current, toward the “volta de Canal,” or “turn of the canal,” where the finish line has always been for races here.

The procession is slowing working its way up the Grand Canal; here we are approaching the nerve center of the event: the "volta de Canal," or turn of the canal, where the finish line has always been for races here. On the left is the colossal platform on which the RAI 2 national television company is ready to broadcast live. The "Machina," or reviewing stand, is just behind it on the left. — On the left is the colossal platform from which the RAI 2 national television company is ready to broadcast live. The “Machina,” or reviewing stand, is just behind it on the left. Not only does it accommodate notables of every shape and sort, it is where the prizes will be awarded.

I know nothing about this very curious boat but it certainly was worth a look. The model of the Rialto Bridge isn't the only odd feature; the stern has been re-made in a strange way; the prow has been altered in an even stranger way, and while there used to be a tradition of decorating some of the boats with fruits and vegetables, this is the only one I noticed this year. If this assemblage is intended as a tribute to the late Joachim Vogel, it's unusual to use eggplants and chili peppers along with the wildflowers from the barene. But hey. — I know nothing about this very curious boat but it certainly was worth a look. The model of the Rialto Bridge isn’t the only odd feature; the stern has been re-made in a strange way; the prow has been altered in an even stranger way, and the forcola isn’t the typical design for use on a gondola; it’s been dragooned from either a pupparino or gondolino. And although there used to be a tradition of decorating some of the boats with fruits and vegetables, this is the only one I noticed this year. If this assemblage is intended as a tribute to the late Joachim Vogel, it’s unusual to use eggplants and chili peppers along with the wildflowers from the barene. But hey.

After the boat procession, we get down to the party. We park the boat and pull out the food and drink, and wait for the races to start. Beer foam presents no problem.

The winning mascareta in the women'a competition; Giorgia Ragazzi (bow) and Luisella Schiavon leave the rest in the dust, so to speak, and win their fifth consecutive Storica. They are only the second pair of women ever to attain thereby the status of "regina del remo." — The winning mascareta in the women’a competition; Giorgia Ragazzi (bow) and Luisella Schiavon leave the rest in the dust, so to speak (actually the next boat is about five boat-lengths behind them), and win their fifth consecutive Storica. They are only the second pair of women ever to attain thereby the status of “regina del remo.”

And here come the Vignottos and d'Este-Tezzat, speeding down the home stretch. Here's something peculiar: In both the boys' and men's races, the first two boats were orange and brown, but the order of finish was inverted. I wonder what it all means. — And here come the Vignottos and d’Este-Tezzat, speeding down the home stretch. Here’s something peculiar: In both the boys’ and men’s races, the first two boats were orange and brown, but the order of finish was inverted. I wonder what it all means.

And let me not slight Renato and Roberto Busetto, speeding toward a fabulous third place -- not the absence of other boats nearby. They were definitely in the groove. — And let me not slight Renato and Roberto Busetto, flying toward a fabulous third place — note the absence of other boats nearby. They were definitely in the groove. However, sharp-eyed readers will notice that there is a gentle swell of waves beneath their boat, left by the passing jury boat. The wave issue is something that seems impossible to resolve. Not because nobody knows how, but because of some other reason I can’t come up with.

As soon as the gondolinos cross the finish line, all the boats start to rev up to leave. It's about as convenient as everybody trying to leave a movie theatre within five minutes after the end of the film. Plus lots of sickening motor exhaust fumes. Yes, hundreds of rowing fans go home in boats drawn by 40 or 90 horses, or more. — As soon as the gondolinos cross the finish line, all the spectators’ boats try to leave at once. It’s about as convenient as everybody trying to get out of a movie theatre within five minutes after the end of the film. With the added element of lots of choking motor exhaust fumes. Yes, hundreds of rowing fans go home in boats powered by engines. But then again, so do fans of horse-racing. So I’m not sure what my point is. All I can say is that there’s a big clump of traffic for a while.

Boatworld, Venetian Events

Enough craziness to give everybody a second helping

September 11, 2012 5 Comments

There’s a saying here — perhaps in all of Italy, perhaps in the whole world — that the mother of the ignorant is always pregnant. I’d expand that to include the mentally infirm, the ethically deficient, and a smattering of Venetian rowing racers, the race judges, the spectators, and anybody else who is evidently suffering from hormone overload in any situation more emotional than drinking coffee.

I pause to note that, once again, this post has no photographs due to multiple crises inside my computer, which is being taken to the hospital today for a major operation. So there will be a lapse in communication while it — and I — recuperate.

Back to racers and judges and spectators.

The Regata Storica of a week ago (September 2, 2012) will be remembered more for the catastrophe which I am about to describe than for the fact that the Vignottini won and their lifelong rivals (D’Este and Tezzat) finished — not second — but THIRD. You hear the sound of a page being turned in the annals of Venetian rowing, because even if D’Este and company were to win the next five races in a row, the chink in the armor is now too obvious to ignore. He also looked extremely and uncharacteristically blown apart by the race.

But as I say, that isn’t what everybody is babbling about. They’re babbling about the way the judge’s motorboat ran into the yellow gondolino, which was third, thereby knocking it out of the race. Because Fate sometimes shows a dangerously unruly sense of humor, it couldn’t have happened somewhere up in the distant reaches of the Grand Canal where only three cats are around to notice the race, if they’re awake. Of course not. This hideous, and, I think, unprecedented, little crash occurred right in front of the reviewing stand at the finish line, where assorted race officials and scores of invited guests and lots of the salt of the earth in their own boats could see it PERFECTLY. Also the national television station whose cameras were broadcasting the event live.

Like most systems, the way the judges’ boats are choreographed is perfect, but only if the plan is executed. In this case, one judge’s boat follows the peloton up to a certain point in the Grand Canal (the “volta de canal,” at the curve of Ca’ Foscari where the bleachers and judges and finish line are all together). At that point, in order that the judge’s motorboat doesn’t have to cross the canal and thereby potentially get in the way of the boats as they are racing upstream, the first judge’s motorboat stops, and a second one, waiting on the other side of the canal out of harm’s way, picks up the task of following the herd.

But this time the first boat didn’t pull over to the side and stop, to hand off the race to the next boat. It paused, and then, without looking (or thinking, or something), the judge aboard told the driver to do something which clearly involved gunning the motor. I was in a boat right where this happened, so I am a certified eyewitness.

Whether the judge wanted to follow the race, or reposition the boat in some way, isn’t clear. But doing anything at that moment, in that location, was not only wrong, it was crazy. Because the yellow (“canarin”) gondolino, steaming ahead at full speed in an excellent third position, was right behind the propellers when they spun. In two nano-seconds, the left hind hip of the motorboat swerved left, hit the ferro of the prow of the gondolino, threw the very narrow and moving-very-fast boat off balance, and sent it hurtling off-course into the scrum of boats tied up to the pilings.

You might think that the only crazy person in this scenario would be the judge on the boat who told the driver to move instead of standing perfectly still. And you’d be right.

Except that almost immediately, other crazy people began to wail and vociferate. Wild ideas began to be thrown around in bars and in the newspaper (and even, I think, among the judges), almost all of which came down to suggesting that the crew on canarin be awarded the third-place pennant in a tie with the pair that actually did finish third.

The Vignottini even offered to pay the prize money to the unfortunate ex-third-place boat.

The issue still doesn’t seem to be settled, but here is how I see it:

First, I don’t understand why anyone thinks it makes sense to give a prize to someone who didn’t win it. A consolation prize would be nice, of course (a house in the mountains, maybe, or a six-month cruise to Polynesia), but a prize for racing pretty much requires that you race. If the crash had occurred three yards before the finish line, you might be able to make a case for their deserving some sort of pennant and/or money. But there was still plenty of race ahead. Who’s to say that they would have finished third? They might have come in first. Or even last.

Second, a racer with any degree of self-respect (possibly a very small category, true) wouldn’t want either a pennant or money that he hadn’t won himself. Why degrade them with stupid offers that are only moderately able to make the onlookers feel slightly better? Not to mention make the guilty judge feel slightly less bad.

Third, I’m glad I mentioned the judge. Because while the rowing world is in the throes of what seems to be a hormonal solar flare, no one so far has turned from the victims to the perpetrator.

Why, I ask myself, and am now asking the world at large, is everyone so fixated on making the victims feel better without pausing to suggest, much less demand, that the judge deserves a serious punishment? Can you think of a sport in which a referee or a judge who directly and visibly damages an athlete in the midst of the game doesn’t receive even the tiniest murmured reproof?

It gets crazier. Because last year, at the race at Burano, there was a crash between the first two boats at the buoy where the racecourse turns back, knocking both of them out of commission. The judge overseeing that crucial part of the race was so rattled that he stopped the race right there. The prizes were awarded according to the positions of the boats at the buoy, even though there was at least half again as much race still to go.

Yes: That was the same judge.

I began this post with a saying, so in closing I invoke a special Venetian aphorism: “Un’ xe bon, ma do xe coglion.” (OON zeh bone, ma doh zeh cole-YONE.) The literal translation makes no sense, but here’s what it means: Screw up once, you can be excused; screw up twice, and you’re an asshole.

If anyone but me manages to reach this conclusion, I’ll let you know. But it’s not looking very likely.

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