Kelly Slater’s buzzer-beater tummy ride to thrill-kill snap at Hawaiian Pro: “The power of Dane at Haleiwa mixed with the precision of the JJF-at-Margies hammer!”

Ultimate difficulty. Pure mastery.

I do love the Hawaiian leg.

For me it denotes season’s end, Xmas shut down, life’s stresses receding for just a month or so. Plus the competition plays out at an entirely watchable time of day for east coast Oz.

And for me, a busted knee meant working from home for the week, which means binge watching the Hawaiian Pro at Haleiwa.

Consistent lines of eight-foot (Australian) juice under light cross-shore trades. Haleiwa is a legit arena, and in this reviewer’s eyes delivers more value than half of the stops on tour.

Why shouldn’t Hawaii have two CT events? Did I miss the memo? Politics?Permits? Tell me.

(Note from author: This article is being crafted in iPhone notes as my wife drives us north for surfads family holiday take two, so in the interests of brevity I’ll focus on Kelly’s heat. On that turn.)

Round 4. Kelly v Luel Felipe V Wilcox v Ibelli.

Most surfers are riding step ups in the raw, unruly conditions. but Slater, in savant mode, is on his 5’3″ Cymatic quad with snub trailer fin. A five-finner!

The conditions are consistent, but not perfect. Wave selection and rhythm is key. Getting caught in the wrong part of the set rotation results in waves not hitting the bowl right. Some offer flat faces, some ribs and cross chop, some just shut down. Generally, only the second and third waves of the set are flashing that famous Haleiwa bowl.

Luel Felipe, who I’d never heard of before despite the fact he looks about forty, has the rhythm. He delivers solid, no-nonsense surfing, on the best available waves, and does everything he needs to lead the heat throughout.

Slater opens with a four and a six, the latter being well surfed, but the lack of board is hurting him. He looks skittish in his set up and though his turns are critical he seems to be pulling them early, focusing on transition and flow instead of just fucken jamming it.

Wilcox is earning second spot. Precise, powerful surfing on his backhand, emulating the checked aggression of Ryan Callinan, and still a few years from maturity for the young sandgroper. Big things await.

Slater opens with a four and a six, the latter being well surfed, but the lack of board is hurting him. He looks skittish in his set up and though his turns are critical he seems to be pulling them early, focusing on his next move instead of just fucken jamming it

He sits in third place mid-way thru the heat. holds priority but blows it on a carving 360 that Ross Williams says he would make ninety percent of the time.

Maybe ten years ago, Ross.

Now it’s obvious his equipment choice is wrong, the muscle memory is fading, the magic quickly disappearing in the rear view mirror.

Cote is generous in his praise regardless, astounded the most winningest surfer ever has found himself in a non-winning position. It’s the same narrative we hear every time Slater surfs, the commentators seemingly omitting the last eight years of misfires and disappointment from memory.

For the rest of us, the more familiar story is playing out.

Slater is beating himself.

A minute to go and he’s is still in third, sitting in second priority to Felipe. He needs a mid-six to leap frog Wilcox, and based on all current data it ain’t looking likely.

A well-angled set arrives. Felipe throws his earlier strategy out the window by taking the first wave. The door is left ever so slightly ajar.

Kelly gets his chances on wave two, one of the biggest of the day. It caps and breaks on his head, sending him flying down the face still prone.

For a second he appears to have blown it.

But there’s still some spark left in the old goat yet.

He engineers a mid-face take off that would leave any mortal and ninety percent of pros face planting in the abyss from the sheer momentum behind him. It calls to mind Owen Wright on a Cloudbreak roll-in from his 2014 perfect heat.

He pops to his feet almost mid bottom turn. The way his thighs and calves engage to set the line on that tiny disc is so immediate, so perfect that somewhere in the world Brad Domke involuntarily orgasms.

Ultimate difficulty. Pure mastery.

He pops to his feet almost mid bottom turn. The way his thighs and calves engage to set the line on that tiny disc is so immediate, so perfect that somewhere in the world Brad Domke involuntarily orgasms.

But that’s only the half of it.

He lays the Cymatic over with extreme prejudice, lifting up and under the enveloping lip. all five-fins strain at 130%, 150%.

Then, finally, just as it looks like he will skit out again, he fucken jams it.

The line he lays down has the power of Dane at Haleiwa five years previous mixed with the precision of the JJF Bells/Margies hammer.

And on a five-fucken-three.

All of a sudden that pulled-turn technique makes absolute sense. This is the section he was waiting for. This is the moment he was waiting for. His positioning and timing is measured down to the millimetre, to the millisecond. Advanced trigonometry is explained with a flick of the wrist.

He flies out of it on the buzzer, nonchalant, forever the king of theatrics.

Cote and Ross lose their shit as the judges deliberate.

“Can you believe that was on a stock board too?” asks Ross.

“Yep! You can go and buy one right off the shelf,” Cote responds.

All that’s missing is the “buy here now!” pop-up ad in the corner of the screen.

The judges give it a 6.9 and somewhere in the world Mikey Wright involuntarily orgasms.

If you can’t rock’n’roll, don’t fucken come.

Kelly progresses to second and to the quarter-finals.

And we are reminded why he will forever be the greatest of all time. Even his biggest detractors can’t argue that they’ve just seen a miracle.

This is why he does it. This is why we love him. This is why we love surfing.