Mikey Wright gets tortured by Ross Williams (John John)!
We’re back! Can you believe it? Can you believe it has been almost three months since we last watched professional surfing (at the highest level)? Almost three months! If the Geneva Convention had been written more recently this would be considered torture and totally outlawed.
But are you watching John John Florence shame Mikey Wright on the Gold Coast right now? Shame! An even worse torture!
I never really considered the plight of the wildcard before because usually, when I consider him, he is on Hawaii and mocking his masters but every where else in this world he is getting publicly shamed in the worst way ever.
Mikey Wright!
vs.
John John Florence!
Shame on you for watching, sicko.
But look at Mick Fanning’s haircut! What the motherfucking hell is that?
Don't think a job at the Ranch is gonna gift you waves…
The private ownership of beaches is a helluva vexed issue. You know how your beach looks. There’s a road, a carpark, a cafe or maybe five, houses, crowds. Every major coastal town in the west, from San Clemente to Hossegor to Narrabeen is filled to the gills.
And then you have the Hollister Ranch in Santa Babs County. Fourteen-and-a-half thousand acres of unmolested Californian coastline. It’s hard not to drop your jaw at secluded beaches where whales roam in the sparkling Pacific, the grassy hills, the sage scrub, mountains, valleys.
It’s gorgeous!
And there are waves too! Real good waves, in summer and winter swells.
Of course, the downside is unless you own a piece of land (The Ranch has been cut into 136 “parcels” of 100 acres each) or y’got a boat (the state constitution grants “the public the right to use the beach up to the mean high tide line”) you ain’t getting a piece of its surf.
And don’t think doing a little labouring at a farm’s going to open the door.
Go for a surf and your master will be slugged $250.
Ride your moto down to the beach faster than fifteen miles an hour, forget to slow down to five miles an hour for a pet dog crossing the road, got for a surf, and it’s seven-fifty.
In other words, own a farm and you’re welcome. If you don’t, you’re not.
But it works, right? The Ranch is a rare hunk where the environment reigns supreme. Where man and dirt live in harmony. It’s everything the Supa Bank ain’t.
Which do you prefer?
This?
Getting real close to your surf brothers on the GC!
How Kalani Robb, Dane Reynolds and Filipe Toledo redefined space…
The big full-spin huck. Who did it first? Who did it consistently?
Who has it so perfected he can turn four-point waves into instant tens?
Last week, we released part one of our Girl Goes Into Orbit series.
The premise is simple, if ambitious. BeachGrit takes the Santa Babs tour surfer Lakey Peterson into Mexico and, with coaching by Filipe Toledo and Brett Simpson, attempts to coax her into a full-rotation air.
Yeah, ambitious.
“I fell trying ’em for two years before I landed one,” says John John Florence in a video message to Lakey. “But I’m sure you’ll get it first try.”
Before we land in Mex, howevs, allow us a little side detour into the history of the manoeuvre called, variously, the full-roter (a coin termed by the filmmaker Kai Neville) or, by skate and snow jocks, the 540.
Me? If you want to forget the skate and snow influence for a moment (and remember, these are both surf-derivative sports), how about we call it what it really is, a 450. Since the lip is hit parallel it’s 90 plus 360, which equals 450.
Sexy? Not so much.
In this episode, which is anchored by the American Chris Coté who edited Transworld Surf back when it owned surfing above the air, Julian Wilson, Kolohe Andino and Kai Neville talk you through a history, a brief history, of the full-rotation air.
The rumor first broken on Surf Splendor, surfing’s best podcast (not about Cori Schumacher), a few days ago is now official. Ross Williams is leaving the booth for an exciting new career as John John Florence’s coach!
He spoke in length about his decision on the World Surf League morning show. Ronnie wore sensible black jeans and a black button-up. Peter Mel threw sartorial caution to the wind by pairing black shorts with black shoes/socks. And Ross? He looked the “coach” part with a breathable polo.
But oooo-ee… I do not envy the man. If John John is unable to snag his second title all eyez will be on Ross. Don’t you think? Angry abuse raining down from the peanut gallery.
Or maybe is there no pressure? Is John John so far ahead of the field that title no. 2 is a fait accompli?
Ross makes it sound like there is no pressure. Just two neighbors, traveling the world, learning, having some fun. But oooo-ee… coaching a professional surfer would be a nerve racking game. Nerve wracking too.
Do you think every surfer on tour will soon have a coach? Is it a necessity now?
More importantly, do you think Peter Mel will continue to wear black shorts with black shoes/socks or will he, at some point, transition to black shorts with sport sandals/white socks?
I just finished a multi-part series about the seven incoming rookies and how a majority of them will thrive. This is of course highly unlikely but what is BeachGrit if not a bastion of optimism?
Conner Coffin’s rookie season began with this exact type of positivity. Two solid results at Snapper and Bells placed him at second in the world. A dream run for the Cali kid.
Then horror struck. Five bad results in a row, leading to a downward spiral of negative emotions and existential questions.
Do I even want to compete, or should I just be a soul/free/still paid surfer?
Maybe if I add an extra fin on the toeside rail…
Are these chia seeds even working?
But like any working-class hero Conner picked himself by the bootstraps and rebounded, making the final in Portugal and earning himself a spot on the 2017 Championship Tour. Just like that his year went from heartbreak and disillusion to WSL fuck yeah!
The thing that stuck out in this movie, besides Conner’s very handy railwork, is surfers’ desire to determine objective reasoning behind their good and bad results. Instead of realizing that competitive surfing is inherently random, considering the biggest piece of the puzzle is the ever-dynamic ocean, surfers attempt to boil results down to petty minutiae like “bad vibes” or a lucky pair of boardshorts.
No.
Good results happen, bad results happen. There can be external forces like your skill set at a certain venue or that elusive serpent called “confidence”, but the only objective way to explain ten consecutive losses is that you surfed worse than your competitors in every half-hour bout. Kelly and Mick win more often because they are better surfers, better competitors than the majority of their opponents.
Meanwhile “streaks” can be one of two things: either a statistical anomaly, or a psychological invention to help humans further categorize, and thus understand, the world around them.
Once this knowledge is accepted, the idea of a losing streak should have no effect on the mind of a professional athlete. A winning streak can help, but only in the sense that the surfer is made to feel like he won’t fall off his board, not that he’ll necessarily win the match.
Got it, Conner Coffin /Julian Wilson / Kolohe / Gab / John / everyonefuckingelse? None of this extra shit plays a role, really. So less thinky, more surfy!
