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Is Surfline too sexually provocative?

Chas Smith

by Chas Smith

Also, could Jack Robinson be better, someday, than John John?

Surfline has maybe a weird sexual thing going on. They recently attempted to prostitute their own photographers (here) and are now suggesting untoward things about what John John Florence and Jack Robinson are doing whilst playing in the ocean. “DANGER!” The advert to the post reads “JOHN JOHN AND JACK TAG-TEAM WEST OZ.” and then, once clicked upon, “JOHN JOHN AND JACK ROBINSON’S TAG-TEAM REALITY SHOW AT THE BOX.” There is so much hot innuendo that I sweat merely re-typing the words.

Does Surfline not know what “tag-team” usually means in Australia? Or “box” everywhere? Maybe not. But, then again, probably. Such a sexually libertine group of men pretending to be simple ocean prognosticators!

In any case, and more importantly, is it possible that Jack Robinson might someday be better than JJF? I have had some very, very, very long talks with Mr. Robinson, Jack’s dad, on the rocks at North Point and he told me that the magnetic qualities of the very rocks we were standing on are special and have helped make Jack the surfer he is. I laughed (inside) at the time but watching the boy grow I think, “That old Mr. Robinson might be on to something…Look at that nerve! Look at that style!” What do you think? Is it possible?

Surfer and Vissla made this dreamy little video of him last year and, aside from the pan flute intro, it is really good. In Surfline’s hands I don’t doubt there would have been some heavy bondage insinuation. Such an erotic assemblage pretending to tell you that the waves are 2-3+!

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Noa Deane Does Proust!

Derek Rielly

by Derek Rielly

Noa Deane, yes, he, the bewitching Australian, does the Marcel Proust questionnaire as popularised by Vanity Fair magazine.

Noa Deane is the hottest surfer in Australia. He makes more than your daddy, sugar or biological (high six figures), his own daddy master shapes, his former gal cuckolded an uppity VJ, he says guns are sexy, beer is sexier and tweaked-out airs are the sexiest thing of all!

Let’s see how he responds to the Proust Questionnaire…

Your favourite virtue: Honesty.

Your favourite qualities in a man: Trustwothy.

Your favourite qualities in a woman: Friendship, the ability to love.

Your chief characteristic: Judging people without meeting them.

What you appreciate the most in your friends: Everything.

Your main fault: Letting things take hold of my emotions and not trusting other people.

Your favourite occupation: A terrible rapper.

Your idea of happiness: Playing guitar with my friends.

Your idea of misery: Being told what to do.

If not yourself, who would you be: A poser.

Where would you like to live: Yamba (in Northern NSW).

Your favourite real-life heroes: All my friends, but (filmmaker) Toby Cregan and Creed McTaggart, especially.

Your favourite musicians: Kurt Cobain and Daniel Johns.

Your favourite food and drink: Japanese food and regular beer.

What you hate the most: People who are stand-off-ish.

World history characters you hate the most: Gaddaffi. Man, he was bad.

The natural talent you’d most like to be gifted with: Craftsmanship.

How you wish to die: To slip away painlessly.

What is your present state of mine: Relaxed.

Your favourite motto: Weed before beer you’re in the clear, beer before grass you’re on your ass.

Just in: Taj Burrow’s Gonna Be A Daddy!

Derek Rielly

by Derek Rielly

Thirty-seven year childhood to end for Australian surfing champion!

There comes a time in every man’s life, at least in those with a lil game, when another late night, another round of drinks, another exploratory tongue bath by some provocative teen does kinda nothing.

It ain’t the disappearance of magic, more the realisation that there’s gotta be more to your existence than willing enthusiasm into a prong that, seriously, is over this shit. Like, brother, haven’t we been through this a thousand times before? Don’t you realise there’s something more profound than… friction? 

Anyway, Taj Burrow found love last year in the form of the Bondi model Rebecca Jobson (she calls him “soul meat”). Old pals, first, lovers, second. Isn’t that just the recipe for long term joy?

As Britain’s The Daily Mail reported, “He’s suffered plenty of heartbreak in the past, but it seems Taj Burrow may have finally caught a break in the love department. The steady relationship must come as a welcome relief for Burrow, who dated The Face host Cheyenne Tozzi for several years. The relationship famously came to an end when pictures surfaced of Tozzi with oil heir Brandon Davis canoodling on a beach in the US. Burrow was heartbroken at the time, telling Stab surfing magazine that he couldn’t get the images out of his head.”

(Click here for the story, written by BeachGrit’s Chas Smith) 

Anyway, a few hours ago, Taj’s gal Rebecca announced the pregnancy on IG. “Swallowed a watermelon seed 15 weeks ago and were (sic) pretty excited about it @tajamos.”

Couldn’t happen to a prettier, more love drunk couple.

Taj Burrow Rebecca Jobson

 

And to wrap a little bow on it all, Taj is going to win the Margarets contest (he’ll beat Nat Young in the final). Who can stop a man who’ll soon be hypnotised by the music of a cooing baby and the tinkling of a toy bell in a tiny fist? And who, soon, will come to appreciate the staggeringly beautiful sight of a woman feeding her child, a breast proffered and taken, the teat so full and so perfect with the juice of humankind and yet so inaccessible! Those seams, ready to burst! Even the biggest bubby needs dinner!

Who knew they were so practical?

Dawn Patrols Suck!

Beau Andrews

by Beau Andrews

The most over-hyped ritual in surfing… 

I opted to sleep-in today instead of hunting waves at dawn. I feel it was justified… I was on airport duty this morning and even if the airport is right next to the beach, it was a good enough excuse. When I did get to the airport to pick-up my lady, it was knee-high and full of SUP-pilots.

My decision was based on yesterday. I was also on airport duty yesterday morning. I decided to pack my boards and go for a dawnie once I dropped my lady off for her six am flight. The surf was one-foot, onshore.

Pissed-off and sleep deprived, I woke-up my mate who lives above the bay. I got him to make me a cuppa and then got him excited about a surf with promises of an increase in swell. Checking the conditions again, it was still one foot. At that point I fucked off home, leaving him to try his luck and curse my name for waking him up.

After some coffee and WSL action, I went back in the arvo and got fun three-foot lefts with only five of us out. I was no longer tired and I felt pretty loose… I had a good surf.

The point is, dawnies suck.

You cut your sleep short to wake up to cold air temperatures. Your body is stiff, even after 15 minutes of stretching and a litre of black coffee. You paddle out in the dark and it’s already crowded. You instantly become more likely to be bitten by a curious great white. You get cold and surf shit because you’re tired and still stiff. You then come in angry and smelling of piss with strong overtones of coffee because of the 12 coffee and cold induced wetty-warmers you did…

Fuck the dawnie!

I’d much rather sleep a little longer, wake up and spend an hour reading BBC news while drinking a litre of black coffee. I’ll make a nice breakfast for the missus, enjoy the benefits of that act of attentiveness and then saunter down to the beach feeling awake and loose. Subsequently, I’ll have a much better surf.

It can be small, onshore and crowded. However, in the afternoon, I’ll still have a better surf than if I had got up at five am on the best day of the year and went straight to the beach.

If I’m loose and awake, I’ll get any wave I like. I’ll out paddle the crowd and use Machiavellian means to cause confusion among the mals and SUPs. When I’m awake, I can be cunt without looking like a cunt. In the mornings, I just look ham-fisted.

In the afternoons, I am able to feel my boards out better and generate more speed, which makes small onshore days much more fun. In the morning, I feel like an uncoordinated dead weight.

If I’m loose and awake, everything in my day is better.

Dawnies are sometimes a necessity, I admit that, and I’ll still occasionally go for one.

But for the most part it’s an over-hyped ritual which others can keep. Maybe, I’m becoming what I fear… a rarefied, middleclass urbanite.

But I’d forgo the early starts, active sharks and crowds for sex, sleep, coffee and a limber body any day.

Exclusive: 108 ft wave forgotten by panel?

Chas Smith

by Chas Smith

Hurts worse than mulit-wave hold down.

The nominees for all categories in this year’s WSL Big Wave Awards are in and the standard bearers are well represented. Shane Dorian, Twiggy Baker, Jamie Mitchell, Ross Clarke-Jones. Some surprising but welcome new additions too. Damien Hobgood, Dingo Morrison. But there is one glaring omission. The biggest wave (maybe) ever ridden.

Benjamin Sanchis, handsome Frenchman with a chipped-tooth smile, towed into a Nazare monster one windy December 11th day and skittered down what many believe to be a 108 ft wave. He fell off somewhere ¾ of the way through but wow. Big. But not included in either the Biggest Wave or Ride of the Year category. Bill Sharp and the powers that be would be forgiven if they had simply deemed the wave uncompleted, and to be fair, Mr. Sharp did go on record to the Inertia, surf website for geriatric shut-ins, in January saying, “The rider must complete the meaningful portion of the wave and Sanchis fell on his…It would idiotic to encourage someone who is a total kook to try to go on a 200-foot closeout he has no chance of surviving and will get a posthumous award.”

But! BeachGrit’s exclusive insider tells us that when it was time to actually choose which waves go accepted and where they went, Sanchis’ wave was not deemed uncompleted. It was not deemed anything because the committee totally forgot about it! Like, literally forgot it happened and when they were eventually reminded, it was slotted in as the last in the Wipeout of the Year category. Maybe it deserves to be there but to be forgotten about? At (maybe) 108 ft? That must hurt worse than 200,000 tons of water on the head.