Two Brazilian male surfers are going to Tokyo in
2020. Who's gonna get cut?
So the Olympics, eh? I suppose I’ll pay
attention.
I predict it will be mostly shit to really shit, and that Kanoa
Igarashi will be an Olympic Gold Medalist but never a world
champion.
I do like the Olympics.
It reminds me of a simpler time, when TV was the evening hub of
warm family life. When we would gather round the telly after Sunday
lunch and listen to Dad’s casual racism (“By God these darkies can
run”) and watch Linford Christie’s full-cock-and-balls
whipping wildly under lycra as he ran.
And, I’ll never forget Ben Johnson, in 1988’s 100m
final, who couldn’t have made it look more like he was
on drugs if he was gurning his face off and stripping off to roll
around and rub grit into his tits.
It’s about looking at the swimmers and feeling superior because,
despite their spectacular v-lines and liberal attitudes to lying
about getting mugged in petrol stations, at the end of the day they
spend most of their lives staring at the bottom of swimming pools.
It’s about watching the javelin and thinking, fair enough, guy, if
the civilised world crumbles tomorrow then you and your big
shoulders and your spear might be validated. But, as of right now,
you look like a bit of a knob.
However, the Olympics is about far more than just drugs and
racism.
It’s about looking at the swimmers and feeling superior because,
despite their spectacular v-lines and liberal attitudes to lying
about getting mugged in petrol stations, at the end of the day they
spend most of their lives staring at the bottom of swimming pools.
It’s about watching the javelin and thinking, fair enough, guy, if
the civilised world crumbles tomorrow then you and your big
shoulders and your spear might be validated. But, as of right now,
you look like a bit of a knob.
And it’s about watching the equestrian events and thinking how
wonderfully inclusive it all is.
What a multicultural socioeconomic melting pot! What a victory
for the common man!
When I sat down to write this I had intended to pen something
semi-serious about the different manifestations of Olympic
qualifying and how the countries with multiple athletes might game
the system blah blah… I’ll maybe do that another time. I’m feeling
a little too loose right now. Like Chas at ten am after a few
Babycham & lemonades to wash down his Eggs Florentine.
But I do want to mention Brazil. I love the Brazilian Storm. I
love their fire and their chanting and their flag waving and their
cosmetic surgery addiction. Don’t they make the Tour more colourful
in an entirely non accidentally-racist-like-my-dad sort of way?
However, there’s a problem. The Brazilian Storm is so named
because there’s lots of them, right? But not at the Olympics. At
the Olympics there can only be two. And that means the Brazilian
Olympic people are going to face some tough selection choices.
Do they take the one whose dad’s the best whistler? (Filipe) Do
they take the one who’s the cutest? (Italo) Do they take the one
who’s dad’s the pushiest? (Gabriel) Or do they take one whose dad
we don’t know anything about and maybe he just sits and home and
doesn’t care about the WSL or maybe he’s dead? (Adriano).
Or do they, just to fuck with everyone and take Jadson?
Who’s to say! But it’s exciting.
What I suggest is a kind of Hunger Games type thing. The entire
Brazilian Storm are dumped on an island. They’re allowed to take
two items of their choice. Final two alive qualify for the
Olympics.
Who’s qualifying in that scenario?
I think Italo’s out. I think he’d forget entirely about food and
shelter and survival. He’d take two Timmy Paterson’s, a 5’9” and a
5’10”, and be picked off getting out of the water within a day.
Adriano’s gone, too. He took two sentimental items, the nose of
a $7 surfboard and a soiled handkerchief, and just sat under a tree
and cried and cried and cried.
My bet, I think, would be on Willian Cardoso. I think his chosen
items would be some salt and some pepper. And I think it entirely
possible that he would have eaten everyone in the space of a few
hours. Gabriel, of course, would be second. Not because he’d be
especially difficult to kill or catch, but just because he’d taste
the best. Right? Smooth like silk. If he’s lucky the game will end
and they’ll be rescued before Willian has digested Italo and gets
hungry again.
If you had to, absolutely doublefuckingdareyou HAD to…which
current CTer would you eat?
But surfing at the Olympics! What about surfing?
Will it fly like a spirited little bird? Will it soar across
countries, across continents, and spread the joy of surfing to
little boys and girls in all corners of the globe?
Or will people look at Julian Wilson, with dubious (but lustful)
eyes, as he wiggles back and forth in two-foot beach break slop,
and think: This.This is Surfing?