Happy belated birthday to JJF!

Our boy wonder turned into a man yesterday. Come revel!

Here is a present! The first 1/3 of the award-winning Surfer’s Journal story Look at John John! It won many awards and was great. And huge. It was the most award winning story ever published. Rigged. SAD.

Look at John John! Look at John fucking John! Look at him roll all loose into that wave sucking and ledging and scary! Look at him pump without any effort and his face all bored and look at that speed! Like a racecar! Like a rocket ship! Look at him hit the section and soar like a kite up up up and look at him land! Can you believe he landed? Look at that too-cool-for-school lack of emotion. Look at the lack of claim, the narcoleptic yawn. Where did he learn to surf like that? So totally cool. His mom? His brothers? While we’re at it, look at his mom and brothers and a house right on Pipeline’s sand and childhood with that long bleachy hair and Monchichi face. Look at him get barreled at Pipeline as an eight-year-old. Look at him get barreled today, dragging is bulbous bottom into the wall and disappear for…..ever. He’s gone. He’s not coming out. There’s the spit. And there’s John John! Look at him! John fucking John.

And when was the last time anyone ever looked at you for anything at all but specifically for something you did physically? When you were one and started eating by yourself? Four and tied your own shoes? Six and made a three-pointer from the college three point line? For me it was four and tying my own shoes. Those bunny ears, bunny ears were playing by a tree before crisscrossing it, trying to catch me.
Those bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole,
popped out the other side beautiful and bold. And that was it. I have proceeded to wade through the rest of my existence corporeally insipid. I don’t fall. I don’t fly. I am like you. Are we jealous? Do we despise John John for his extraordinary skill? Do we look at him defy the laws of human locomotion and cheer, roar, praise because mankind needs John Johns or do we look at him with eyes tinted green, wanting to take what he has for ourselves?

Oh, I am a sick man. I am a spiteful man. I am not a physically gifted man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and don’t know for certain what ails me though it might be jealousy. I don’t consult a doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite. My liver is bad, well–let it get worse. And John John, yes, somehow John John is getting better with each and every passing month.

Look at him! Just look at him! John fucking John. Look at him on tour, as part of the World Surf League. What? You don’t watch the World Surf League? Oh, sure, maybe not when it’s Nat Young vs. Caio Ibelli or Jack Freestone vs. Joel Parkinson but when it’s John John? You can’t help it because even if you don’t catch it live someone will inevitably pull out a phone at a party or work or dinner and say, “Look at this! Look at John John!” And there you will stand, squinting into a 4.7 inch screen looking at him take off under the lip, free-falling to the trough, barreled, barreled, barreled. He’s gone. He’s not coming out. There’s the spit and there’s John John! And would be impossible to believe if you hadn’t seen it with your own green tinted eyes.

Buy the rest here!


#TourNotes: Wilko + Sir Glenneth Paltrow!

Discover the the squads, the teams, the mini-federations that surround your favourite pros!

I don’t want to wrap you up in too much expectation for this episode of Peter King’s #TourNotes. It ain’t Taxi Driver. It ain’t A Dog Day Afternoon. It ain’t even on the same scale as King’s earlier beats. Emblematic, perhaps, of a general drift among filmmakers to throw anything live.

But, a contest swings around and you want to know what’s happening on the ground. As King says, “I’ve been around the tour, I know it. I was on tour for three-and-a-half years, back when girls wanted to hang with Shaun Tomson and Rabbit Bartholomew and were 35 years old and wore high-waisted bikinis, do cocaine and all those things I didn’t know about. And what do I remember about my time on the tour? It isn’t the heats. I wanna show the fun. I want to show the silly little conversations.”

This episode, mercifully, is saved by Matt Wilkinson, the former world number one, and his suave virtuosity in front of the camera.

Watch here!


Sunny Garcia Death and Taxes

BeachGrit TV: The Sunny Garcia Movie!

A revealing documentary made by the creator of vampire porn!

Surfing is often a beige tableau. Not very anti-depressive but true! Personality gets squeezed from the littlest fruits. Lack of opinion carries the day. Etc.

And then there is Sunny Garcia and then there is Michael Oblowitz.

Sunny you know, or at least think you know. His fire, his surfing, his drive, his life. He is the rarest of exceptions.

Michael Oblowitz you may not know but should. The South African filmmaker most notable for vampire pornos is a gift to the surf world and one we don’t deserve. He is unafraid. He is brash. He is bold.

(He also made the never-released drugs-in-surfing movie Sea of Darkness.)

So much like Sunny!

He started this film very many years ago, he calls it the “Boyhood of surfing” referencing the famous Linklater film that took 11 years to make. He references incidents in Sunny’s life, like showing up late for his Pipeline heat in 2009. All he had to do is paddle out and he would have won the Triple Crown. But he didn’t show.

I happened to be on the beach that day too and watched Sunny fight over his singlet with Randy Rarick and smiled. Not at Sunny’s bummer but at his rage. There was enough spark to light surfing for a decade and that is what we need more than anything else.

We need Sunny Garcia!

The film will be released soon and obviously much watch but in the meantime come and listen to its director. Come bathe in a sea of personality.

Oh, and count how many dead people appear in the film!


Update: Still waiting by mailbox!

I haven't heard if WSL CEO Paul Speaker has accepted my resume. Can you give me some encouragement?

Soooooooo I sent my resume to Paul Speaker…

PAUL MOTHERFUCKING SPEAKER!

To be his executive assistant and I still haven’t heard back.

I told him my jobs (BeachGrit, travel, Disneyland submarine driver).

I told him my skillz but also my weaknesses (I love too much).

I told him that I would gently massage his neck.

And nothing. Or at least not yet.

Why do you think?

Do you think I haven’t heard back because he is busy watching Kelly Slater’s Portuguese 9?

Or……..

Maybe………

Busy with………..

I DON’T KNOW and am feeling SO MUCH STRESS!

There’s no way I’m not getting this job right?

RIGHT?

Sorry to put this on you. I just need a little encouragement. Tell me that WSL CEO Paul Speaker is going to choose me. Tell me that I’ll be his number one forever.

#executiveassistantlyphe

Please?


Italo
Italo Ferreira's 8.67 in the final heat of the day. It's a real pet peeve of mine, when the judges reward a guy for pumping past a bunch of sections before boosting at the end. It was a magnificent air, to be sure, but I can't help but feel there was more than 1.33 between what Italo did and actually surfing the wave to perfection. | Photo: WSL

Day 1, Portugal: “Elves Can’t Ride Star Ships!”

Rory Parker's searching analysis from day one of the Moe Rip Curl Pro…

Day one, round one, Peniche Pro, Portugal is in the history books. Theoretically. Not much went down that could actually end up in one.

Good surf. Not great, but still damn rippable. Plenty of punchy air sections, the occasional solid little drainer. I know I’m spoiled living in Hawaii. Doesn’t really look all that inviting to me. But it’d be all time for most of you poor fuckers.

My alcohol-fueled dreams are typically pretty strange. Last night was no exception. Elves can’t ride on star ships, apparently. My subconscious mind was very concerned by that. Had to evacuate the planet. But we couldn’t bring the elves. There was more to it, but I’ve only been up for a few minutes and already the details are slipping away…

Peniche time is eleven hours ahead of Kauai time, so the heats ran while I was locked into a drunken slumber. My alcohol-fueled dreams are typically pretty strange. Last night was no exception. Elves can’t ride on star ships, apparently. My subconscious mind was very concerned by that. Had to evacuate the planet. But we couldn’t bring the elves. There was more to it, but I’ve only been up for a few minutes and already the details are slipping away…

My mild hangover doesn’t mesh well with wading through the entire day. That’s a lot of surfing. Twelve damn heats. So I’ll just cherry pick some highlights. In no particular order.

First off, the two men battling for the title both took a round one loss. Terrible for a campaign that’s coming down to the wire.

Medina got spanked by a wildcard. Grabbed two solid scores to start the heat and grab the lead, but wasn’t able to improve on either wave. He tried, heaved his carcass off the lip of a few solid sections. But just couldn’t land it.

Huge result for Frederico Morais. Not good for Gabby. He faces Callinan in round two, which should be a walk-through for the Brazilian. But you never really know. Everyone on tour rips, and winning often requires a little luck.

John John didn’t do much better. Rosy says he could possibly win the title at this event. I’ll take her word for it. Anything that spills from those honeyed lips must be true.

The tow-head kid from Hawaii surfed like shit. By his standards. One of those sessions where you just…forget how to ride a wave. Stance slightly off, out of rhythm, falling on standard turns.

I mean, I’d killed someone, literally, to surf as well as JJ on an off day. But it still landed him in third place, with Jadson Andre and the events second wild card, Miguel Blanco, standing on his head.

John John meets Blanco again in round two. Like with Medina/Callinan, it should be an easy win for the current tour leader. But wild cards are scary draws. Love to play spoilers. Crush dreams.

Wilko continued his slow slide to the bottom. Abysmal showing against Callinan and Pupo.

Wilko’s up against Flores in round two. If he surfs the way he did in round one it’ll be an easy victory for the Frenchman. And Flores desperately needs a good result. Without one, maybe two, he’ll be gone next year. I think. As I’ve stated many times, math is hard when you don’t want to bother with it.

Is it even possible for Flores to re-qualify? Can someone tell me?

Slater easily dispatched Stu Kennedy and Banting with a sick forehand full roter to flats stomp. Followed it up with a gorgeous backside pig-dog drainer. Came out with the mini ‘poof’ spit. Kelly’s still got the gift, even if it doesn’t show up as often as it used to.

Speaking of gifts, the wife’s birthday is just around the corner. Always a stressful time for me, because I can’t learn a lesson. Each year she tells me what she wants, but I insist on wasting hours poring over the million options I can surprise her with. Without fail she says, “But I wanted x.

This year will be different. She’s getting exactly what she asked for. A three day stay-cation at one of the cabins in Kokee, plus one other thing. I’m also toying with the idea of picking up one of the make-your-own-dildo kits off Amazon. I get a real kick out of the idea of a black replica of my dong. But if I’m being totally honest I’m one hundred percent positive that the thing will eventually end up in my ass. I’m more than comfortable enough with my own sexuality to handle that, but I’m also dead certain that she’d eventually get wasted at a dinner party and tell everyone that she fucks me with my own cock. Which would be awkward, I think.

One neat moment was Alejo Muniz’s kerrupt flip, a poorly named maneuver if there ever was one, against none other than Kerrzy himself.

I get a real kick out of the idea of a black replica of my dong. But if I’m being totally honest I’m one hundred percent positive that the thing will eventually end up in my ass. I’m more than comfortable enough with my own sexuality to handle that, but I’m also dead certain that she’d eventually get wasted at a dinner party and tell everyone that she fucks me with my own cock.

It may have been the heat of the day. While Ace Buchan struggled to find a score, Kerr and Muniz went back and forth with some very good surfing. Kerr ended up with an 8.33 for a safety grab frontside 360 aerial and a 7.57 for a fairly deep, but fairly quick, backhand tube.

Muniz came at him with the aforementioned kerrupt, which he linked into a snap, for a 7.83. Then a frontside blow-tail frontside grab rev for 7.93.

Very close heat. Kerr snagged the ‘w’ by .14. Personally, I’d’ve gone the other way. I really like it when a guy lands a decent air and keeps surfing, rather than banging off the end section. I think that should add a bit to the score. Not a huge amount, but enough that Muniz would’ve skipped round two.

My opinion may be colored by the fact that I can’t even fathom throwing an alley-oop while grabbing kerrupt. My joints scream just thinking about it. But there was once a time when I could throw frontside revs until the cows came home. Hardly ever actually landed them, but I can envision doing so.

One last moment worth mentioning, Italo Ferreira’s 8.67 in the final heat of the day. It’s a real pet peeve of mine, when the judges reward a guy for pumping past a bunch of sections before boosting at the end. It was a magnificent air, to be sure, but I can’t help but feel there was more than 1.33 between what Italo did and actually surfing the wave to perfection. Italo’s on my fantasy team, though, so I’m not too bothered.

All in all, a decent day of surfing. Swell forecast shows a little bump on the way. Hopefully tomorrow, or twelve hours from now, really, it’ll be even better.