A New Zealand psychologist seeks to discover cure for surf rage. Come be surprised by his (wrong) analysis!
Do you get surf raged? When you are out in the lineup and about to take off of a beaut but there is someone there, taking off too and in front of you but not looking back? Do you ride up behind him and scream…
In to his ear? And shoot your board at the back of his head? Or do you let it go because there is always another?
If you are the former then a New Zealand PhD is going to solve your problems! Let’s read about him?
An academic study into surf rage will likely find it’s motivated by water safety than bad blood, one of New Zealand’s top surfers says.
Raglan resident and former national champ Daniel Kereopa said fist fights weren’t a big problem here and most local surfers were out to inform rather than fight.
“Seventy per cent of the surfers out there don’t really know how to surf that well and they’re actually putting themselves in danger. They surf waves beyond their ability or get themselves into bad positions,” he said.
“The locals are the ones who surf here most often so they understand the dangers, so what it boils down to in the end is water safety.
And do you agree that the cause of surf rage is likely water safety? I am no PhD but think that the cause is that surfers are buttheads. And selfishness. And too many people too few waves. Etc.
Oh I’ve never been more thrilled at the possibility of a new job. Never! EVER! EVER! I am so thrilled that is is even hard for me to breathe right now. I’ve got a paper bag in my hand and I am STILL hyper-ventilating. Whhhooooo… Whhheeeee… Whhhhooooo… Whhhhheeeee…
Ok. Are you ready? Promise me you won’t slot your application in first? Promise you’ll just be happy for me and not get all hatey? Promise?
Ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok………….
The World Surf League is hiring…
The executive assistant to the CEO.
Paul Speaker! PAUL MOTHERFUCKING SPEAKER!
Do you want to see my job description?
I can manage your needs, Paul Speaker baby. I can support you full time. I’m tech savvy and am totally avails on weekends. I can manage off-site meetings. I… I… I… can make your heavy travel itinerary seem like a fun li’l dance. And if you’re ever tired after a long day of….. ummmm… dealing with Samsung or whatever I can give you a neck rub. Just rubbing your neck with my hands and some WSL branded coconut oil (let’s totally brand some coconut oil!) and relaxing you…..
My mad dash means my picks may be even worse than usual this event. If that’s possible. My coffee maker broke this morning because I’m a tightwad and bought the cheapest one Walmart had on the shelf. I need my morning java to get my brain going. Tried boiling some up on the stovetop. It’s terrible. But I’m choking it down nonetheless because I’m addicted to caffeine.
John John Florence: Double John’s on his way to the title. He’s dialed in the time and place for various approaches- Surf’s safe and makes heats, goes hard and pushes limits when he needs to.
Gabriel Medina: Gabi wants another title soooooo bad. He’ll do whatever it takes to win. I, honestly, won’t be surprised if Charlie goes full Tonya Harding on John John.
Regardless, he always finds scores, makes heats. Solid, smart pick that you just can’t ignore. You can gamble on a shocker, choose someone other than him and JJ, but that’s a recipe for lost points.
Ace Buchan: If the surf sucks he’ll be out in round three. If Peniche delivers some solid tubes, and it could, he’s a top notch choice. Ace is a tube hound non-pariel.
Adriano de Souza: Post-title slump aside, ADS is always an intelligent addition. If the surf doesn’t cooperate he’ll be a nightmare draw. If it turns on he’ll still surf safe and smart and make heats.
Joel Parkinson: I really really really wanted to pick Keanu. I did! But I just don’t think he’ll be able to repeat France. It’s a dick thing to say, and I desperately hope I’m wrong, but he wouldn’t be the first guy to find one huge result and never back it up again. Parko gets the nod for no real reason at all, other than the fact that he’s demonstrated an ability to find consistent results over the course of his fifteen, or so, year long career.
Kai Otton: A solid quarter-final result at France gives me hope for Kai. He’s hanging around below the cutoff, this will probably be his last year on tour, and I’m hoping that’s a recipe for a big ol’ successful cup of I-don’t-give-a-fuck confidence.
Jeremy Flores: I’m an idiot who can’t learn a lesson. Flores either does very well, or very poorly. I’m hoping for the former. Expecting the latter. Maybe I’ll get lucky and make up some points from my abysmal early season string of failures.
You'll need: opiates, self-loathing, suicidal thoughts and the alienation of your family…
It’s been a rough year. I destroyed my shoulder bodysurfing Pipe last December, got it rebuilt using a dead man’s ligaments and assorted screws. Fought through physical therapy long enough to break my collar bone spearfishing. Sat out two months of life waiting for it to heal and then copped a bone infection that put me put for two more. I’ve got this recovery thing down.
Here’s what you need to survive a surf injury.
Opiates, weed, and booze are your friends. Pop a few Percocet, hit the bong and drown your sorrows. You won’t heal any faster, but life will pass in a blissful stupor. One day you’ll wake up hung over and dope sick because your asshole doctor cut you off from the gravy train and you don’t know any teenagers to score dope from, but that’s a worry for tomorrow. Today you’re riding high in the sky rambling on to your wife about the ASP judging criteria and how they’re obviously inflating scores to create more tension during heats.
Spend hours in front of a mirror, watch your waistline expand and your upper body shrivel. Gaze in awe as your cock shrinks in increments, as your shorts cut deeper and deeper into that sagging pile of shit your call a stomach. You disgusting pile of shit, you should be ashamed of yourself.
This one dovetails nicely with the preceding. Spend hours in front of a mirror, watch your waistline expand and your upper body shrivel. Gaze in awe as your cock shrinks in increments, as your shorts cut deeper and deeper into that sagging pile of shit your call a stomach. You disgusting pile of shit, you should be ashamed of yourself.
Don’t do it. Offing yourself is for fucking losers and pussies. But think about how you’d do it, should you ever turn into such a sad sack piece of shit that you can’t think of any better option than flipping the off switch and joining the void. Would you don black face and drive around running stop signs in LA? Swallow the balance of that bottle of benzos and chase it with half a bottle of gin? Go old school and kick out a chair while wearing an extension cord necktie? So many choices, but how to choose?
Alienate your loved ones
Fuck ’em anyway. What do they know about what you’re going through. You’re the only person who’s ever suffered this much in the history of humanity. Your wife’s a selfish bitch. Who cares what she cooks for dinner? Why can’t she just leave you the fuck alone. Throw a chair at her, call her fat, tell her she’s the biggest mistake you ever made. If you’ve gotta feel this bad, make everyone around you share the pain.
Nah, fuck that. Play video games. Go online and write racist messages on youtube. Wallow in your own despair until it fills your gut and spills out every orifice you have. Call an old lady a faggot. Fuck this world and everyone in it.