Based on how much I'd like to share a tent in the
wilderness with each man…
John John’s king of 2016, Pipe don’t matter this
year. It’s both good and bad. Great to see
double-John snag the crown he so deserves, so early in his ‘CT
career. But it’s always great to see the title race come down
the wire. Gotta make that heat in heavy left hand barrels! Nail
biter finish, everything on the line. A year’s worth of effort
undone at the last minute.
So power rankings are kind of pointless.
No one else can win, a minor shuffle on the leaderboard affects
some seeds next year, but that’s it. Shit’s still important for the
guys on the bottom. Poor Callinan is sitting behind Fiorvanti, a
three-event only wildcard. But I can’t wrap my head around
the whole ‘QS-points-while-on-the-‘CT qualifier deal. I deal in
words. Numbers are cold and sterile and I do not like them very
much.
Derek tossed out the idea of doing a one-word power ranking
thing. Which seemed like a fun challenge. I’ll do it without the
use of a thesaurus!
Except…shit… that’s way harder than I expected. Instead, here’s
my Top 10 Power Rankings based on how much I’d like to spend an icy
winter three-day weekend sharing a tent far into the wilderness
with each fella.
John John Florence: John’s from Hawaii,
and that should make him relatively comfortable outdoors. But
camping isn’t much of a thing on Oahu. Sure, you can drive down to
Kahana Bay and pitch a tent next to your car, but campfires aren’t
allowed and you’re a stone’s throw from Kam highway. Hardly the
great outdoors.
But it doesn’t really matter. I’d promptly build him a throne
from gathered twigs, fashion a crown from bits of bark, and spend
my days fulfilling his every whim. Not in a sexual way. At least,
not unless he was really into it. In that case, who am I to refuse
our young emperor?
Adriano de Souza: Hard-working,
blue-collar Brazilian man, ADS would be chopping down trees for
shelter and trapping varmints for dinner. Conversations would be
lacking, but the meaningful glances across the crackling fire would
more than make up for the deficit.
Joel Parkinson: Very mature, like camping
with your dad. He’d set up shop, immediately put the site in order,
crack a beer the moment that was done. Not sober up until the end
of the trip, but fill our days with boozy wisdom I’d take to my
grave.
Matt Wilkinson: New-fangled, hard-working
Wilko would be a drag at first. Quiet and serious. Doing pull-ups
from low hanging branches and jogging down the trail each morning.
But once the sun sets and the temp drops I’d pull out a bottle of
peach schnapps, coax him into a sniff or three, and watch the good
times come rolling out.
Julian Wilson: More or less useless
while the sun is shining. But that’s okay. Once we’re in the tent,
sleeping bags zipped together, running my fingers through his curly
blonde locks, I’d be in for a snuggle buddy heaven the likes of
which I’ve only dreamt.
Eventually me and Jordy would be caught in a quiet moment,
his facade would crack, and everything would come tumbling out.
Crying, oversharing, setting free demons best left unsaid. We’d
either end up loving each other, or never speak again. Maybe some
sick combination of the two.
Gabriel Medina: I’m not sure
whether Gabe would be good company or bad. But I do know that it’d
get really uncomfortable the first time I catch Charlie peering at
us from the bushes.
Jordy Smith: Not really sure about
this one. He’d be useful, no doubt. Put his big frame to work
chopping wood, help scare off any bears looking to steal your
picnic baskets. But eventually we’d be caught in a quiet moment,
his facade would crack, and everything would come tumbling out.
Crying, oversharing, setting free demons best left unsaid. We’d
either end up loving each other, or never speak again. Maybe some
sick combination of the two.
Filipe Toledo: Filipe would get
homesick his first night, spend hours in tears because he misses
his wife and child. But he next morning it’d be out of his
system and he’d spend the day cavorting in the wilderness. Climbing
trees, poking stuff with a stick. It might get tiresome keeping an
eye on him. “No, Filipe! I told you not to eat those berries!”
Kelly Slater: Late-night scary stories
about chemtrails and other government conspiracies. Make you shiver
with fear and delight. But when you wake in terror, startled and
crying out, he’d wrap those arms around you, put that bald dome
next to yours, and lull you back into a peaceful slumber.
Kolohe Andino: Three days of utter
hell. Bitching about insects, waving his phone in the air and
crying there’s no reception. Tempers would flare, he stalk off into
the woods. I’d feel bad for yelling, whip up a batch of hot cocoa,
try to build a chance to do some solid bonding.
