From this vantage, the crew can see two Farr 40s, Phish Food and Conspiracy, approach each other in a close but seemingly manageable maneuver. That is, until they collide, ripping a five-figure hole in one of the yachts and injuring a member of the crew on the other.

Berman and Dinhofer sail an exemplary race; the boat turns out to be a fast one, and they cross the finish line in first place. True to his word about avoiding protests, however, Berman advises choosing penalty points to avoid being disqualified for a near collision. Better to be tied for second place than to fall to last place. It turns out to be the right choice, as Brown-eyed Girl wins the second race and finishes third in the final race of the first day. After three races, they're in first place. "We should have had two bullets," Dinhofer says ruefully of the first-place finish that was downgraded by the I-flag. "But I can live with that."

With racing yachts at this level starting at several hundred thousand dollars and going up into the millions to build or buy, it's the ideal pastime for men who want to show that they've made it. "The people who spend a lot of money on this sport," says Seigel, who got into sailing when he reached an age that made fox hunting too dangerous, "they're going to spend a lot of money on something."

To equip a boat with crew and sails, a competitive racing program will burn $60,000 to $100,000 a year. A new mainsail made with this year's fabric of choice and cut in some computer-tested revolutionary design will cost $17,000. And no self-respecting program goes out without a full quiver of headsails, which maximize speed and the boat's ability to sail close to the wind, each cut and sized for minor differences in wind condition. They run $6,000 a pop. Top boats will carry ten of these, not necessarily because they need each sail but because it is so hard to resist anything that might give them an edge.

Sailing is a world with its own language. On the first day of racing, after running through unself-conscious references to cunninghams, barber-haulers, check stays, and runners, Dinhofer's crew will debate the merits of and then decide to rig "twings," a system of block and tackle that keeps the spinnaker's lines in place.

Perhaps more striking to the outsider than the nomenclature is the prevalence of computing power combined with the satellite global-positioning systems that have rendered the classic skills of navigation obsolete. "The Bermuda race was the big race then," Edward du Moulin says of the years he raced on Long Island Sound, from right after World War II through managing several America's Cup syndicates during the seventies and eighties. "You didn't have the sophisticated technology then. You had to use a sextant."

Today, no racing sailboat carries a sextant. "The navigator is still called a navigator," says Charlie Ulmer of UK Sailmakers, "but he doesn't do much more than go below and turn on a computer."

The result of all this intensive R&D -- and the competition from two-career families and other diversions -- is to create a circuit of day races around the country. One of the season's most important events, held every Labor Day, is the Larchmont Yacht Club Vineyard race, where boats race 240 miles to Martha's Vineyard and back over one long weekend. "In the old days, the Vineyard race was a two-to-three-day trip," Ulmer reflects. "Now you're back in 36 hours no matter what boat you're on. There are boats finishing in less than 24 hours."

No one recognizes the bluntly competitive nature of these events more than Jim Bishop, the Gold Digger owner, who is tied for second place after the first day. To make sure there is a suitable occasion to bring the owners and crews together, he throws a party the first night at his waterfront home just across the bay from Newport.

"As a skipper, you've got to provide a platform for having fun," Bishop says, "because if all you do is go out and scream at people all day -- which some people do -- they tend to not come back.

"I sailed in the distance races where you'd race against people for ten or fifteen years," he adds. "And you would see a red boat, you'd wave at them, and that's all you'd ever know about them. If they were beating you, they'd always just be some sons of bitches."

Dinhofer's crew joins the hive of conversation on Bishop's back deck as the teams line up for a crack at the buffet of barbecued ribs, beans, and corn. Ally and Benna meet some of the other owners and their families and enjoy the meal at tables set up on the lawn between the house and the dock. Berman sits in the darkness with the two far more experienced members of the crew who work in the sailing industry: Tom Manco, whose job it is to care for the boat, a free spirit whose wraparound sunglasses appear to have permanently etched white rings around his eyes, and Spencer Ogden, a straw-haired man-child who got a job through Dinhofer working for a sail-maker during his summers off from college.

"These guys have really put in a lot of time together," Berman says, summing up the day's successes and frustrations.

"I've been out with them a bunch of times," Ogden says. "And it's pretty much the same crew. They're dedicated."

"Yeah, but there's not much talent there," Berman says offhandedly.

Manco and Ogden nod in sympathy.

Several of the owners suggest that part of the problem with keeping people involved in the sport is the prevalence of professionals. "If you spend a lot of money and you come in last," Doyle Sails' Mark Ploch remarks, "you're gonna get some help, or you're gonna quit."

"A lot of veterans of America's Cups are making a living," Du Moulin says of the pros who have taken over the sport. "It's really broken through to be a world-class sport. It's not tennis, but . . . "

Many of the boats have sail-makers with them. Some because they enjoy the racing; others are there almost under duress. "Sail-making is more than handing a customer a bag with his sails and saying 'Have a good time,' " Ploch says. "They expect you to get out there and help 'em win."

"Sailing is the only sport I know where you can participate right alongside pros," says Tony Reaper. "You can own a racehorse, but you can't ride it in the race."

"Look at Philippe Kahn," Reaper says of the former Borland Software CEO who employs world-class professionals on his several boats. "He's 300 pounds!"

First thing on the second morning, Berman wakes up and logs on to his laptop to check the day's stats. There are race results on the yacht club's Website, and weather reports to consult. In addition, Berman calls his private weather forecasters, Commanders' Weather, who will fax him a micro-forecast focusing on the few miles of water just off Naragansett Bay that will attempt to pinpoint where the wind will be at what time of the day.

The opening race has Brown-eyed Girl across the finish line first again, but there is another protest. Sticking to his strategy, Berman bitterly unfurls the I-flag to acknowledge the penalty points. Worse, Bishop has regained his form and takes an easy second place that has now been converted to a first.

By the fifth race of the series, the pressure has begun to get to everyone. As they set the spinnaker on the downwind leg, the choreography begins to falter. Though his responsibility is only to steer the boat along the fastest possible course, Dinhofer, like any owner, cannot resist the urge to comment: "Tom, you've got to get the sail around faster on the jibe." But Berman loses his patience. "Scott, you've got six tacticians onboard," he bellows in exasperation. "Shut up and drive!"

As the mistakes mount, Bishop improves his boat-handling, winning the fifth race with Brown-eyed Girl just behind in second. But in the sixth race, tempers really fray -- with the seasoned sailors finding it hard to conceal their exasperation. "C'mon! C'mon! You're not sailing this boat!" Berman bellows. "Let's get back in this race."

But they don't. Not only do they finish the race in third place, but there is a final run-in with boats at the finish line. Once again, the I-flag comes out, dropping the boat to fifth place.

The second evening, Bishop hosts a party on his 70-foot antique trawler, The Coastal Queen, which follows Gold Digger up and down the East Coast with a full-time cook and enough berths to house the rest of his crew. Tonight it has been festooned with flags from bow to stern, obstructing the boat's tiny but functional helicopter pad, and the built-in sound system is cranked up. At the end of two days, six races, and three penalties, Brown-eyed Girl is still tied for first place with Gold Digger. It will all come down to a single race held on the last day.