What if Julian Wilson really does fail to re-qualify? Is it the end of hope, of optimism?
“A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.” – Charles Bukowski.
The path of the romantic often ends in catastrophe. We’re always getting screwed. Mark Anthony skewered himself and died in the Cleopatra’s arms, Romeo Montague drank the poison and cooked his insides and, as we head to the Pipeline, Julian Wilson seems next in line to sacrifice himself on the altar of romance.
There’s something decidedly Shakespearian about Mr Wilson, as if the wonderfully queer sonnets were written just for him. But something’s afoot; our very own Sir Galahad isn’t at the top where he so obviously belongs.
Could it be… love?
Julian’s Instagram is a shrine to his girlfriend. Whimsy models and surfing success don’t necessarily go hand in hand. Ask Kelly. Could it be that with every crooning post. “One last amazing dinner before we said our goodbyes for a couple weeks. Sad times but already can’t wait to see you. XxxX” – Julian’s rivals smell blood. Medina ain’t loving out on the gram, he’s taking moody selfies, giving nothing away. They say charity starts at home, well, so does bloodthirsty competitiveness. Living in Bondi Beach and hanging with the bub does not a world champion make.
Julian needs to win Pipe to take control of his destiny and ensure his place on the 2015 dream tour; if not he leaves his fate in the hands of the gods. On paper Julian Wilson is an easy guy to dislike. He’s unfathomably handsome, gets paid a million dollars-plus a year to go surfing, has a nice car/house/girlfriend.
So, why is it that the thought of Julian falling off tour pains me so? It is this dear reader: If Julian Wilson can’t succeed in this game of life, can’t have everything his heart desires, then what hope is there for the rest of us?
My own special relationship with Julian Wilson began with Young Guns 3. The nostalgic wave that washed over me while re-watching it on YouTube was almost too much to bear. It was the popping of a myriad of personal cherries: Keramas, INXS, alley oops – and all punctuated by this beautiful Aryan boy.
“If only,” I thought. “Don’t change for you, don’t change a thing for me.”
But things have changed dear Jules. You’re not the same sparkly eyed, carefree boy you once were, and neither are the rest of the Young Guns for that matter.
Such hope, such promise among the Guns but alas, Reynolds is disinterested, Julian is about to get booted off tour, Flores is also getting booted off tour, poor old Gaz Parks is washing windows in Byron (but still ripping), Marzo’s sponsored by Carve eyewear – the horror! – and sensei Slater has headed off into the Outer Known.
Like my optimism, the Young Guns got bloated and died. If that isn’t a metaphor for the shattered dreams of adolescence then I don’t know what is. If Julian falls, we all fall. It is the end of hope.
Julian had a moment with Rosy Hodge in Portugal where he came clean about how upset he was with his current predicament. He said that he needs to “man up” and make some heats at the Pipeline. What a wonderfully succinct phrase.
One thing that’s for sure is that Julian’s surfing is a current as ever. His latest edit from Lakey Peak (Dusty is that you? Welcome home!) really hammers home the radical functionality of his surfing. His technique and flow and speed through transitions are really something to take note of.
As we head to Hawaii the game is clear. To be a true champ means you must be a single-minded prick. It is all consuming and will cost you friendships and relationships.
But I’m not going anywhere Julian.
If you can’t do it for yourself, or your Juliet, or your 242,711 Instagram followers, then do it for me.
We need this.