Now the punters want unmade airs scored?
How fluttery and depressing the response to Kelly Slater’s unmade air yesterday. The snarling, the bared teeth, the traumatised sphincters!
“Zero credibility”
“Ridiculously ripped off!!”
“You guys suck”
“So Stupid”
“You chicken-hearted motherfuckers! All you bastards are cunts!”
“How was that not a 10!!”
And, from Millar Moaz on the WSL website, “The [sic] Judgs kiled the contast… shame on you!!”
What the judges did do, was avoid emotion. Rulebook in-hand they stuck to the criteria, dropping scores from 3.8 to 5.
No argument, no hesitation. The computer kicked out the high and the low, averaged the rest and… a 4.17.
Judges don’t give a score based on best intentions or how loud the crowd screams. Just cold hard truths.
Then again I would agree. I am a Judge.
Which means I’m just another paid cog in the wheel of the Jewish bankers’ Trojan horse, built to hold surfing back in the dark ages of three to the beach and keeping contests in big-city locations. Dutifully trained to change my scores whenever the head-judge nods his head up or down.
The Judges, the judging, I’ve heard it all. Big-ticket calls like this just fuel the fire of discontent at ground zero.
Another reason for eight-year-old Taj or Jack’s mum to accost me pre-surf in the car park two weeks after the comp, video evidence in hand.
“Everyone on the beach thought he got the score”
Another reason for the normally meek but now belligerently drunk fourth placing finalist shouting in my ear at the surf-comp after party.
“You guys don’t want me to win, ay.”
Another reason to send a text highlighting my inability to see how that window-washer turn was in fact a fins-free tail waft.
“That cost me the title”
How about we give the judges a break? It ain’t all roses.
The indignity of having muffins thrown at you by short-fused Hawaiians.
All day in the harsh sun, the only relief a sneaky behind the sunglasses cat-nap mid-heat
Pretending not to be hungover? That shit takes years of practice.
I can’t even imagine the leggy distractions walking past on the beach at some of these WSL events. I struggle with keeping an eye on the job when a seagull flies past.
People don’t realise and appreciate how hard it is to write a score down while juggling coffee and your lunch.
So lets just sweep this little noisy mess under the carpet and keep in mind it’s not always weeks spent in the best surf locations in the world for our judging panel…
… sometimes they have to go home to sweat out the coke.
