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Beach Grit

Introducing: Stab’s lonely boy!

Chas Smith

by Chas Smith

Ladies and gentlemen... Stab's Morgan Williamson!

There are very few surf extravaganzas left on the face of this earth. The Australian and U.S. Opens of Surfing, the Hurley Pro at Trestles in San Clemente, Oahu’s North Shore during the month of December and Agenda in both Long Beach and Las Vegas.

Agenda, for the less than completely tuned in, is the few times a yearly trade-show that features old favorites and fresh upstarts alike. Salty Crew, Billabong, Nixon, Quiksilver (?) Papercuts and Stab.

Wait, Stab?

Yes, Stab!

I was as surprised as you! I saw their booth, a totally blue thing with Stab in the Dark surfboards mounted to the wall, on my first lap. A lone boy sat crosslegged in the middle of the floor and lent a sense of… depression to the affair.

After a quick handshake lap I returned to photo this lonely boy and fun make Stab right here but he was no longer there. Instead the great Morgan Williamson stood tall and almost proud.

Wait, Morgan Williamson?

Yes, Morgan Williamson!

I stormed up, he stuck out a hand and I demanded a hug. A full-bodied, deep, passionate hug. I could feel him pulling away. I could feel him wanting to be angry, wanting to not reward my slings and arrows, but I couldn’t let go. He was soft in the best way possible.

Morgan Williamson and I spent the better part of ten minutes talking before he was called away on business (?) but then he came back and I demanded a drink. A full-bodied, rich, vodka drink. He demurred at first put was pressured into it. As we sauntered to the back patio he told me all they served was beer. Bummer. But good enough for me and Morgan!

And it was over this beer that I grilled Morgan Williamson, surfing’s poet laureate, Stab‘s U.S. online editor. I wanted to know what made the man tick.

The Good!

So much! Unlike Zach Weisberg from The Inertia, Morgan was visibly wary of me as he should have been. There was no game. No trying to defuse tension by gleefully playing along. No passive-aggression. Morgan Williamson wore his heart on his sleeve and do you want to know why? Because he is an honest to goodness poet! For reals! I have started calling him the poet laureate of surfing, lately, but he really truly is, possessing a degree in poetry from a prestigious San Francisco university. This is a wonderful turn in the Morgan saga and can’t believe he doesn’t advertise it. His words really do dance, nonsensically. He is clearly not parroting others with his voice and that’s because he is an honest to goodness poet! I wish I was a poet instead of a linguist.

Morgan is also dynamically handsome. He doesn’t grow beard hair properly and so looks a little AIDsy but doesn’t care. His head hair is also between lengths, neither long nor short, but he should totally go long. He has the je ne sais quois to pull it off.

The Bad!

Morgan is a damned millennial. Passive about his future. Going along by getting along. Well-educated but still waiting for the right thing to come along. Hmmmmm yeah it’s cool but… etc. Society has conditioned the mid-20-year-old into believing he is still young. He is not. He is almost past his prime. Morgan is classically this. Sitting back on his heels, not really knowing if surf writing is his bag, not really wanting to leave. He should seize the day for pity’s sake! Those damned younger but not really young men and their infernal wishy-washiness.

Am I right?

The Ugly!

Me, I guess. It hurts to be a professional receding hairline.

And my take away? I still want to box Morgan (for charity of course) but he doesn’t want to box. So what? What feat of physical strength can me and Morgan engage in (for charity of course)? Should we run a marathon? Eat hot dogs? Shoot BBs? Have a tattoo-off? Have a handsome-off?


It will be the greatest BeachGrit x Stab collab ever.