Now meet a skater who's gifted his life to the
joint!
I’ve never understood the appeal of Venice
Beach. Filthy dirty beach hemorrhoid packed with freaks
and junkies. Great place to buy a bargain price bong. Head down
once a year and goggle at the lunatics running the asylum.
If you’re willing to pay the price it takes to live near the
beach why choose the worst one in the South Bay? Littered with
needles, garbage surf 360 days of the year. Tons of poor white
people, which is the worst type of poor. If you think it’s hip to
live where the struggle is real you should find a Mexican
neighborhood.
When the gentrification began I was flummoxed. If you’re willing
to pay the price it takes to live near the beach why choose the
worst one in the South Bay? Littered with needles, garbage surf 360
days of the year. Tons of poor white people, which is the worst
type of poor. If you think it’s hip to live where the struggle is
real you should find a Mexican neighborhood. Safer, cleaner, make
friends with scary looking tattooed dudes who are insanely friendly
once they get to know you and their moms will cook you up
heaven.
“Tienes hambre, mijo?”
“Por supuesto!”
Can’t deny the influence the coastal suburb had on
skateboarding. Children run wild in the streets is a recipe for
progression. Couple of old dudes looking to earn a buck from them
exposes the scene to the masses. Stacey Peralta scams his way into
history.
Here’s a great little video about Jesse Martinez. Skateboarding
legend, Venice devotee. About the creation of the Venice skatepark,
his efforts to keep it clean. Altruism’s reward in a me-first
society.
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Revolution: Let’s dump the judges!
By Chas Smith
Not because they're bad people but because they're
just bad!
Is there any way? Any chance that our beloved
surfing could get rid of judges and award victories based on
something other than a ten point scale decided upon by faceless
men in an ivory tower? (just kidding! They’re not faceless but
beautiful!)
Nothing against the judges, of course. They have a herculean
task and there is no way for them to please everyone, to get the
score right 100% of the time. More importantly, though, judged
sports are like totally UGH. They are little bastards. Dumb. Figure
skating, gymnastics, synchronized swimming.
Is there any judged sport that rises to the heights like
football, basketball, baseball, tennis, golf etc.? Each of those
have thick rule books, sometimes referees, but points. A man or
woman beats another man or woman by scoring more, or less,
points.
Judged sports will always be arbitrary.
So how can surfing be judged? Could there be a system of speed,
torque, amount of time in the air, number of spins in the air,
amount of time in the barrel? Some way that would guarantee not
only a good show but a true, undeniable winner?
Let’s be part of the revolution!
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Movie: Mason Ho Chases Hurricanes!
By Derek Rielly
Episode six of the series License to Chill!
Hawaiian Hurricanes!
Maybe we’re overdoing the Mason Ho thing on
BeachGrit. Do you think?
In our defence, or at least mine, the chief impression I get is
that Mason occupies a role as surfing’s poet laureate. We need him
to protect us, and in some cases free us, from the seriousness that
swells our game.
And this series, made by Lost Surfboards, a sponsor of
BeachGrit, and whom we adore and did so even before they
agreed to pay us a small stipend, is the best surf web series I’ve
ever become acquainted with.
Sure, some episodes are stronger than others, but as a momentary
respite from work, the jerkiness of love and relationships,
whatever it is that grinding you down, it is without equal. Better
than Coke, Acapulco or Fleetword Mac, as the slogan goes.
This episode, number six of eight, was filmed a little under two
years ago when Hurricane Iselle belted Hawaii’s Big Island.
Strongest tropical cyclone ever to make landfall there. Two-hundred
k’s an hour wind. Flooding. A hell of a thing.
For Mason Ho, and pals, on Oahu’s North Shore, however, it
stirred up dormant reefs that wedge and double-up and perform all
sorts of calisthenics.
Should women compete alongside men in big-wave
events? Big-wave gals say no!
I watched, and wrote about, the entirety of
this weekend’s 24 Hours of Le Mans endurance race.
It was an odd job. I know absolutely fuck all about racing.
Don’t know shit about cars in general. I can change my oil, swap
out a flat. That’s about it.
But I’m not in the habit of turning down paid work. Especially
when it pays well. Which this did. The auto industry has deep
pockets. Not some penny ante shit show like surf. Audi spent $242,000,000 on their prototype program
in 2014, the year they won Le Mans.
And that doesn’t come close to the amount companies dump into their F1
programs. Nearly US$3 billion dollars spent among
ten teams. Mercedes alone dumps nearly half-a-billion bucks into
their racing team.
While I’m not running out to buy a new home with the paycheck
I’ve certainly done a hell of a lot more for a hell of a lot less.
And I was given total control to write whatever I want. Which I
warned them was a terrible idea, but in the end worked out
okay.
Le Mans puts on a stunning show. Rather than deal with the
hassle of finding a pirate stream I shelled out ten bucks for the
official site. And it was worth every penny. Constant updates on
placement, running stream on the sidebar regarding which team was
pitting, struggling with malfunctions, being handed penalties for
various infractions. And the commentary! Oh my god!
Two man talking teams doing six hours shifts over a twenty-four
hour period. You’d think they’d run out of shit to yammer about.
But the guys did their research. Constant delivery of analysis of
tactics, explanations of equipment, interesting stories regarding
drivers and teams and the history of the sport. During the
overnight slow moments they answered questions from viewers,
explained the more confusing aspects of the competition.
Managed to keep me engaged nearly the entire race, even though
I’m definitely not a real fan of the sport. Even towards the end
when I was running on three hours of sleep over 48 I kept watching.
Kept listening to what they had to say. Things I’d’ve found
mind-numbingly boring sans context held my interest because they
told me why it should.
They made the surf guys look like chumps. Like half-ass talking
heads. Shameful, shameful, in a sport that’s purportedly looking to
pull in a non-surfing audience.
Two women in the race. Christina Nielsen and Inès Taittinger,
both of whom are smoking hot. Neither came close to winning, but
merely finishing Le Mans is a victory in itself. Simply trying is a
triumph.
Check out an onboard video of a single lap. Keep in mind the
drivers do this for up to four hours straight while dodging cars
from slower divisions the entire time.
I mention women in racing because it came up in a failing email
exchange I’ve been trying to do with Paige Alms over the past
month. She hasn’t responded in ten days, I’m giving it up for
dead.
Our back and forth has been going poorly. Largely due to Paige’s
refusal to answer questions with anything other than vague fluff
responses and my somewhat combative approach. I’m not into the idea
of promoting someone who won’t actually engage me.
Paige challenged me to name a single sport where both sexes
compete side by side.
Sailing, auto racing, and equestrian events came to mind. Which
she thinks don’t count. “Ya but those are all sports that rely
on a vehicle, boat, horse. Surfing strictly relies on you, your
ocean knowledge, wave selection, board, and Mother
Nature.”
That logic falls far short of truth. A surfboard is a vehicle.
Sailing and auto racing both depend on dialing in equipment,
knowledge of and reaction to shifting conditions. I don’t know shit
about horses, other than that I don’t care for the stupid
animals.
Her stance also possesses a fatal flaw. If she doesn’t want to
compete with men, then she really doesn’t want to compete at all.
WSL is only running a single BWT event for ladies, and their
sanctioning policy will bar invitees from giving it a shot
elsewhere.
A truly shitty arrangement. One I’d never find acceptable, if it
were applied to me.
By the end of the race I was ruined. Twenty-four hours awake,
the entire time spend trying to make sense of what was going
on.
But the final moments were magic. After leading nearly the
entire race, a full day spent hammer down balls to the wall, Toyota
had it sewn up. Win was in the bag. Second Japanese team to claim
victory, first was Mazda in 1991. Three minutes left in the race,
on the home stretch.
Then failure. The leading Toyota broke down, couldn’t finish the
lap. Porsche blew by, took the win. Toyota pit crew went from joy
to despair. Porsche went from second place happy to first place
joy. It was an amazing moment, one that reached into my exhausted
and by that point kind of disinterested mind.
I don’t know if I’ve turned into a racing fan. Probably not. Got
some appreciation for it now, but I’ve put too much into this surf
gig. Don’t relish the idea of relearning a new sport. The arcane
details of prototype racing are better suited to an engineer than
weirdo creative type.
But I’ll probably pay attention next year. Watch some parts, if
not the whole thing. And if someone offers me money to write about
races again I’ll happily jump at the chance. It’s a grind, sure,
but way fucking better than a square job.
I passed out around four am Sunday morning. Eyes burning from
staring at various computer screens for twenty four hours straight.
Fingers sore from typing out the long rambling screeds I produce
when given free rein. Got a phone call from a dear friend two hours
later.
Dearest Ryan, I live in a different time zone. If you ever
forget that again I’m gonna fly to LA and fucking murder you in
your bed.
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KS: “I hate Wiggolly’s paddling
style!”
By Chas Smith
Kelly Slater lashes out at Brazilian for "utilizing
tactics over talent!"
When you think of great surfing tacticians who
comes to your mind? Tom Curren? Andy Irons? Lisa Andersen? Kelly
Slater?
Yes. Kelly Slater. He has spent his 43 years in a contest
singlet out-witting, out-maneuvering, out-planning, out-thinking,
out-foxing, out-distancing, out-suckering, out-vibing,
out-wiggling, out-tacticianing the competition. No one plays the
game from start to finish like our Great One. He loves to get into
other surfers’ heads. He loves to make them think he is going to
paddle for this wave or that. He loves to look off frothy ones but
then spin and somehow find blue caverns growing magically on the
inside reef.
Kelly Slater is a tactical surfer and one of, if not the most,
talented ever.
So it was with mild amusement that I looked upon Kelly’s
Instagram feed this morning and found him criticizing Wiggolly
Dantas for “utilizing tactics over talent.”
“Honestly it was probably a little cocky on my part…” he said,
responding to one of his followers about an small incident between
Wiggoly and Conner Coffin (I think. Or maybe there was another that
I missed.) “…I got caught up in the moment and although I
really like Wiggoly as a friend and a person I dislike his approach
to surfing heats, utilizing tactics over talent which he has plenty
of. It’s rare to see two interferences in as may events and
unprecedented to see a guy do it twice in one event. Poor
sportsmanship but my comments were probably slightly irrational
also. But also kinda funny :)”
And hmmmmmm. This smells like a tactic to me! Wiggolly is
currently 13th in the world and Kelly is 26th. I wonder what his
plan is? To take down Wig, emotionally, by calling him out while
misspelling his name then Caio (referring to him as Ciao) then
Italo? To carve out Brazil’s heart before lopping off its head (Gab
Medina)? There’s got to be a play here. But what? What could it
possibly be?