I'm tired, boss. Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other…
I ain’t Freud. But it don’t take much to see that the two-time, and reigning, world champion John John Florence is wrapped in an intolerable existential crisis.
Last at Snapper to Mikey Wright. Second-last to the fanatically intense Zeke Lau at Bells. A long dick in the guts at Lemoore. Second-last to Jesse Mendes, Bali. Twenty-first in the world.
This morning’s official withdrawal from the Margaret River Reboot had the undercurrent of a drowning man who’d do anything to find a little air, to breathe.
The explanation had all the verve of a wise-ass kid telling his teacher the dog ate up his homework.
“I was holding my breath the minute he paddled out. I knew he was feeling jumpy. At one point I looked at him from the beach and gestured to take it easy!”
“Unfortunately I hurt my knee during a freesurf here in Bali, and I have to pull out of the next event to get back and heal up as quickly as possible. I was trying bottom turns in the yard last night to see if there is any way for me to possibly surf this event, but nothing about it felt right. Haha! I think it’s best I heal 100% before I get back in the water. When I was a little kid I watched my favorite surfers winning events and trying big airs and big maneuvers and dreamed of doing those things. I will never lose that. I’m excited for everything to come. I hope to come out of this injury smarter and more excited than I have ever been.”
His coach, Ross Williams, behaved in the manner of the loyal sidekick, punching this supporting explanation into his cell phone.
“I was holding my breath the minute he paddled out. I knew he was feeling jumpy. At one point I looked at him from the beach and gestured to take it easy! Haha. In my position it’s sketchy watching him surf like that cause I want him to be ready for the next comp, but you can’t tell someone like John to just surf safe.”
Gesturing on the beach to “take it easy”? Oh if this was a movie it would be too fantastic to believe.
Three weeks ago, I asked the question, What if: John John Florence quits the tour?
Is the kick from a contest win, a title, enough to keep Florence on the chain gang? To keep him in pressurised aluminium cylinders from Australia to Honolulu to Lemoore and now Rio, just so he can be pecked at and paddled ragged?
Two world titles, a house at Log Cabins big enough for whomever wants floor space, the boat that’s rattling at its anchor chain, dying for a Pacific crossing, a sponsor that might be persuaded that a series of John John Florence films might be a better return on their multi-million dollar investment than a series of forgettable WCT results offers a velvet-lined escape hatch.
Who needs who more? The WSL with John John or John John with the WSL?
In the meantime, let’s enjoy the wrenching moment where John John appears half-dead on a table (MRI?) while his coach taps plaintively on the glass, whispering, “John? John?”
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