The possibility of a Pipeline-free 2018 world tour
a quiet reality!
And oooo-ee things really are on a collision
course on beloved Oahu between the World Surf League and Honolulu’s
city council. David Lee Scales informed me of the kerfuffle during
yesterday’s podcast recording, even using the word “kerfuffle” to
describe (listen here!)
but at the time I was slightly underwhelmed. It seemed like trivial
posturing that would inevitably work out. Today, though, the sky is
ominous and could the WSL actually get booted from Pipeline?
By way of recap and according to Hawaii’s ABC affiliate, the
League was late turning in permit paperwork and hoping to shift the
window to late January, where Volcom holds its Pipeline Pro contest
now. It seems like the sort of thing that gets worked out quickly
and with a few greased palms but after a night of long knives the
troubles seem more intractable.
Honolulu’s mayor said, “The Department of Parks and Recreation
must remain fair to those who followed the rules. However, WSL
believes the city should grant their request without hesitation,
outside of the established rules, because of their economic impact
to the community.”
Fred Hemmings, father of modern professional surfing, parried,
“I find it ludicrous that civic leaders can’t see the wisdom in
highlighting the Triple Crown as an asset to Hawaii. And giving it
the permits needed to continue this tradition.”
To which the WSL responded it is, “reluctantly exploring
alternative solutions.”
Volcom/RedBull, who have the now coveted January spot, have not
released a statement but Da Hui, which runs the Backdoor Shootout,
released the following, “By eliminating another event (the Pipeline
Pro) that gives them (Hawaiian surfers) opportunities that will be
detrimental to them. Although the WSL caters to worldwide surfers,
here in the Hawaii we’re family — we’re concern about our own
kanaka maoli surfers.”
It is impossible to imagine the World Surf League not somehow
working this out but if it has, indeed, lost its permit will the
lack of Pipeline on the calendar taint the eventual 2018 champ?
Furthermore, can professional surfing at the highest level work
without Pipeline? I argued yesterday, on the podcast, that it
cannot. Pipeline is the most iconic wave in the world and the only
one that is an absolute necessity. Teahupoo could go away, J-Bay
could go away, Snapper, Bells, Supertubos could all go away and it
would be sad but not devastating. Losing Pipeline would be
devastating.
I met with David Lee Scales this morning, host
of the fantastic Surf Splendor
network, and it surprised me. Oh I’ve known David professionally
for a few years now but brought down a world of hurt when, three
weeks ago, I decided to jump across a reclaimed wood and steel
coffee table at Stab editor Ashton
Goggans.
The reaction was fierce.
Surf podcast enthusiasts took to David’s website demanding
retirement of the show, insisting that it was low garbage and not
worthy of sharing airspace with the likes of Jamie Brisick and Matt
Warshaw.
Of course they were right but David must have a healthy appetite
for the tawdry and so here we are again. I don’t know if this
episode is good but it felt good chatting about surf again and, if
you choose to listen, there are some valuable nuggets inside. Like,
to whom the Adjunct
Professor‘s computer actually belongs. Have you been
wondering? Has it been keeping you up at night? And that the World
Surf League forgot to fill out the proper paperwork in Oahu and may
lose their window on the North Shore.
Can you imagine a tour without Pipeline? But can you really?
We also talk Yo-Yo Ma, herbal infusions, the power of positive
thinking and masturbation.
Just kidding (except we do talk about masturbation).
State of emergency declared in sweet little island
nation…
If you like soft, pretty waves, you’ve probably
thrown yourself into a trip to the Maldives. You know it as a
peaceful sorta joint, brimful of honeymooners in their
over-the-water bungalows, and surf tourists, jamming wide boards
over the turquoise waves.
Yesterday, the country’s president Abdulla Yameen declared
a 15-day state of emergency after claiming a Supreme Court ruling
that overturned terrorism convictions against nine of his opponents
was illegal.
According to
Al-Jazerra, “Soldiers and police in riot gear set up
barricades and cordoned off the streets leading to the court
building, according to witnesses, as police used pepper spray to
disperse protesters outside the court.”
Security forces then swooped on two Supreme Court judges and an
opposition leader
“President Yameen, who critics accuse of corruption, misrule and
rights abuses, has also suspended the
country’s parliament, where the opposition have a majority.
“Mohamed Nasheed, the country’s exiled former president, called
the state of emergency ‘tantamount to a declaration of martial law
in the Maldives’.”
Of course, if you’re like me, correction, like Chas, you might
dig a little fireworks on your annual vacay. Better than sitting in
that cube pecking at keys, no?
Who the fuck watches a QS event? No one and
nobody unless it’s at Pipeline in February.
And wut?! RedBull TV webcast? Wut!? Aren’t RedBull and the WSL
at war and have been for ever over webcast rights, product
placement etc etc? Volcom, Wassel, Cote, Vaughan Blakey, Kaipo in
the booth, four-man heats at perfect Pipe: when you see how it can
be done, how it should be done, it doesn’t seem too hard a
brew to get right, too difficult a concept to wrap your head
around.
As an antidote to Sophie’s Vision, the WaveTub and Facebook it
had more impact than a missile launch over the Pacific.
They did it good, they did it right. More raw, more loose. And
in glacial blue Pipeline tubes brushed clean by a light Kona breeze
local boy Josh Moniz stole it from under the nose of Jamie O’Brien
who bagged a perfect 10 in the final. Epic sport.
As pro surfing readies to embrace an artificial future the words
of Albert Camus call across the ages: “On the day when crime puts
on the apparel of innocence, through a curious reversal peculiar to
our age, it is innocence that is called on to justify itself.”
Was Sophie watching? The Final Day of the Volcom Pipe Pro was
burning oil poured from the turrets all over the new WSL strategy,
crafted, as it were, by non-surfers, non True Believers, suits
without a scintilla of comprehension about the Pro Surfing Project
and what it could and should stand for. The gooey burnt stinking
mess leftover should be picked up and fed to pigs.
Except it was Pipeline and “ocean surfing” that was called upon
to justify itself.
As a template for a tour beginning it justified itself. As an
ending to the Tour it needs no justification. But was Sophie
watching? The Final Day of the Volcom Pipe Pro was burning oil
poured from the turrets all over the new WSL strategy, crafted, as
it were, by non-surfers, non True Believers, suits without a
scintilla of comprehension about the Pro Surfing Project and what
it could and should stand for. The gooey burnt stinking mess
leftover should be picked up and fed to pigs.
But it won’t be.
First heat I watched was stacked. Mason Ho, Jacky Robinson, Evan
Valiere. Clean ultra-nugs were there for the taking on First Reef.
It looked shallow, it looked super heavy. Focus and compression.
Mason skitzed out on a bottom turn and took a lip to the back of
the head. Pops Ho was on the beach with a longer backup board but
Mason was lost for rhythm and got knocked. Jacky Robinson,
Australian surfing’s Great White Hope stuck in the mire of the
eternal trench warfare of the QS, looked super. Delicate line
adjustments in the heaviest pits. Very calm. His post heat presser
showed him to be fruity and composed, a laconic Mason Ho with a
bowl cut.
I don’t call Noa Deane a punk princess lightly. I greatly fear
his Dad Wayne slapping me in the head next time I surf Kirra and I
have nothing but warm heartedness towards his Mum Colleen. Before a
trip to Hawaii, she gave me a twenty-spot greenback and I have
never forgotten the gesture.
The world’s favourite cherubic punk princess followed, along
with Soli Bailey, another talent sucked into the vortex of the QS
with no end in sight. I don’t call Noa Deane a punk princess
lightly. I greatly fear his Dad Wayne slapping me in the head next
time I surf Kirra and I have nothing but warm heartedness towards
his Mum Colleen. Before a trip to Hawaii, she gave me a twenty-spot
greenback and I have never forgotten the gesture. In fact I still
have the twenty spot. At the time, the little tow-headed kid in
nappies was surfing a palm frond down the steep incline in the back
yard. He’s gunna be a good surfer, this kid, said Wayne. That was
Noa.
Soli was also in nappies. Used to bounce him on my knee. And
hang foul with his old man Andy “Sweaty Boy” Bailey. Deadset
diamond of a man. Sweaty Boy got himself kicked out of his digs,
that slum in Backyards, after leaving a turkey in the oven until a
burnt crisp, cutting power to the slum and shutting down
Thanksgiving for most of Sunset Beach. Noa, Soli, Jacky Robinson,
JOB, Mitch Parkinson, Josh Moniz prove the truism that the best
surfing lineages are dynastic, handed down through family lines and
not bureaucratic, which is the hole Australia finds itself pouring
money into. Soli got unlucky in a 25-minute heat that roared past.
He can win at Pipe, he can win at Teahupoo, he could win at
J-Bay.
But he can’t get out of the QS.
If you do nothing else go look at Finn McGill on the heat
analyser. I have no idea how old he is, except he must be young
because he just won the Junior World Championships at Kiama and in
so doing kicked Australian surfing in the nuts so hard it might be
singing falsetto for a generation. No grab-backside steez
under heavy lips, Backdoor bombs. Before he can legally buy a
Michelob Ultra in America he could win any CT heat at Pipe, right
now.
The results page is gone and my notes are a mess. At some point
I ordered Elements of Style
off Amazon. The 1918 first Edition by William Strunk
Jnr. Not because I wanted to learn how to write, but
because Chas told some guy to shove it up his ass on Facebook, in
defence of Matt Warshaw, I think. It can only be a matter of time
until some prick tells me to read the Elements of Style
and when he or she does I will now be ready to rumble.
Someone who had an abundance of the elements of style was Cam
Richards. Heard of him? Yeah, me neither. Some stud from South
Carolina with a square jaw, a thousand-yard stare and a penchant
for whipping it under the lip on ten foot bombs at Pipe. If you
missed the coverage check the late swing on a bomb in quarter-final
numbering. Nutz.
Joan Duru shot like a human torpedo from the bowels of one of
the best tuberides of the day for a non make. He was great. He was
better than great, he was original. Jack Robinson, broke one
then two boards in quarter-final two to end his campaign. Dad Trev
was there with the back-ups. He looked sober as a judge but if he
had a few Michelobs on SuperBowl Sunday, who am I to judge? How can
you say to your brother ‘Brother, let
me take the speck out of your eye,’ when
you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye? You
hypocrite, first take the plank out of
your eye, and then you will see clearly
to remove the speck from your
brother’s eye.
Sophie were you watching?
Maybe if the WSL goes too far out on the limb chasing Middle
American UFC audiences and ends up turning Pro Surfing into the
equivalent of an abandoned fairground then Redbull could be
there to pick up the pieces and start afresh. It wouldn’t be the
strangest piece of speculation.
Between Facebook and Redbull I’d say Redbull is clearly the
lesser of two evils but more than that, their coverage of Pro
Surfing just seems…..right. Sure, they ham it up and lay
it on thick but at least the cheese is raw, Wassel is a genius and
the coverage is top notch.
Maybe if the WSL goes too far out on the limb chasing Middle
American UFC audiences and ends up turning Pro Surfing into the
equivalent of an abandoned fairground then Redbull could be
there to pick up the pieces and start afresh. It wouldn’t be the
strangest piece of speculation.
Meanwhile the finals ran in perfect Pipe. Jamie O’Brien got a
couple of note perfect but for him low difficulty rides while Cam
Richards and Wes Dantas, who had been surfing with an incredibly
unorthodox approach, took donuts and languished. Josh Moniz got on
the board with a delectable peach that a skilled rec surfer could
almost imagine spiking. Minutes ticked down with Jamie in the lead,
a set stood up perfectly deep on first reef and he took it to the
canvas for a 10-point ride. It looked done and dusted until Josh
got spat from a highly compressed chamber with minutes to go. Not
quite as dramatic as JJF’s last-second Backdoor wave to beat Jamie
in 2011, but not far off.
Game over. Epic spectacle.
Did you watch Sophie? Did you comprehend?
It would have been a nice moment to show your face, maybe hand
over the trophy and bask in the ohana of the Moniz family. You lose
the goodwill of the North Shore and you’ve lost everything.
(Watch Jamie O’s ten at the three-hour-nineteenish minute mark,
Josh Moniz’s game-winning touchdown five minute later…)
(And here’s Peter King’s #TourNote take on the event.)
Yesterday morning you read the earth-shattering story, pulled
from the pages of Hollywood’s leading trade publication, detailing
the myriad changes coming to professional surfing. As recap, the
World Surf League’s $30 million dollar deal with Facebook means the
WSL app, that you reluctantly downloaded just over a year ago, is
now obsolete. Also, the League is building a tank in Tokyo that
will be ready for the 2020 Summer Games and that professional
surfing under the floodlights is a brave new reality.
While we will be digesting all of this over the coming months,
the $30 million dollar figure stuck out to me immediately. It seems
like a lot of money. Not too much money but a lot of
money, right? Like, what would you do with $30 million dollars?
Would you make wise investments? Squander it foolishly? Buy a home
in the hills? Give it all away and move to an ashram?
What about $3500 dollars? Would you replace your brakes? Take
the wife out to Outback Steakhouse and order the Bloomin’ Onion AND
the Kookaburra Wings?
Well, unbuckle your belt, boy, and tell the wife to wear her
stretchy pants because dreams do come true!
Florida Today is reporting:
Pro-level surfers ages 18 to 40 for men and women are needed
for a Coca-Cola commercial. Pay compensation is $3,500 per person,
according to a release by Bonnie King, film commissioner for the
Space Coast Film and Television Office. Submit a head shot and one
full-length picture to casting director Pearl Rojo at
[email protected].
Boom. Like that. And while your initial response may be, “But
I’m not a pro surfer…” remember. We’re all pro
surfers.
If you are not quite in the mood to be rich (and possibly
famous) feel free to sent Pearl Rojo someone else here’s
headshot/full-length length picture.
