We don't get paid a hundred grand for losing all
year. We slug it out for peanuts for our own personal satisfaction
and to give the People a free buzz without being slathered in
bullshit.
Since Cote and Patty O dropped the 2020 tour schedule
last week that initial feeling of disappointment has been morphing
into a conflagration of quiet fury within me.
It feels like I swallowed a whole blue agave plant and it’s
fermenting inside me.
But what could I do? I can’t bake cakes like Chas, can’t
register my anger via posting on their Facebook page because it’s all
fulled up with disgruntled fans.
One thing I can do is boycott Surf Ranch.
Like you, like Chas, I thought I wouldn’t have too. High-level
informants involved in the production team were told the tub was
being scrapped from next year’s Tour. Damned with faint praise by
Kolohe Andino, openly mocked by Jeremy Flores, universally panned
as a doomed experiment by surf fans the Tub should have retreated
back to its by now natural niche: as a novelty venue for things
like Founders Cup and a high-priced corpo retreat.
It ain’t a championship Tour stop. Especially one now stretched
out over six days. That’s cruel and unusual punishment and I refuse
to cover it.
Will that make a difference to WSL. No. Should it? Probably
not.
But no-one on this planet has devoted more time to watching and
writing about pro surfing in the last twenty-four months than
me.
Every heat. Every location. Over a hundred thousand words.
Thats a four-hundred page novel in twelve-point font.
Four times as long as Camus’
L’Etranger.
A guy who does it for a living, who gets paid to watch it, who
needs the money, is saying no mas. That’s where your sport
is at, from the perspective of those who analyse it in forensic
detail and attempt to shape the narrative. Not from the point of
view of trying to make the organisation look good but placing it
into context, real and imagined.
You hear me Elo? Soph? Patty O?
A guy who does it for a living, who gets paid to watch it, who
needs the money, is saying no mas. That’s where your sport
is at, from the perspective of those who analyse it in forensic
detail and attempt to shape the narrative. Not from the point of
view of trying to make the organisation look good but placing it
into context, real and imagined.
We don’t get paid a hundred grand for losing all year. We slug
it out for peanuts for our own personal satisfaction and to give
the People a free buzz without being slathered in bullshit.
You could have thrown us a bone. Yeah sure, we got G-Land, but
you took away Keramas. That’s robbing Peter to pay Paul. Ulu’s
would have been better, anyhow. Keep the jungle jungle. Take the
Tub away and bring back Trestles, or better yet, Trestles and
Cloudbreak.
For a tour with bottomless money backing it to not have
Cloudbreak on Tour is a bad look. Especially after your
Golden boy backed it for a three-year deal that was mysteriously
reneged on after a single year.
Pro surfing breaks down into a pretty simple tripartite formula.
There’s the waves, the surfers and the format.
All three need reform.
There’ll never be more than five on-fire surfers in a given
year. Surrounding them with an extra thirty is just too much
deadwood.
The format is being tinkered with every year. Some progress has
been made, to be fair. Overlapping heats has been a huge
innovation. The front end, rounds one and two, is a dud.
As for the waves, even the most superficial look at history
should educate non-surfing management as to what works, what is
worth investing in and what should be dumped.
Pro surfing still stands diminished from it’s capitulation at
Cloudbreak in June 2012. It still requires its day of redemption
and reckoning in fifteen-foot glacial blue cylinders.
Who in the current roster would go? We know John John would.
We assume Medina would.
That should be the first order of business laid down on Dirk’s
desk.
Whatever it costs, whatever it takes.
I can’t watch, even for money, the dreadful predictability of
pros safety surfing Surf Ranch because they could not get enough
practice waves in. Can’t watch ’em squat down for that tube. I’d
rather watch a VAL tube-dodging. I really would. That would be more
entertaining.
I don’t know what I’ll do next September.
Maybe Derek Hynd, who has formulated a small Rebel Tour called
the RAT Tour, might have something worth covering.
All’s I know is what I won’t be doing. Watching that fucking
pool.
Listening to that weird industrial silence in the moments before
the train leaves the station.
Will you join me in speaking truth to power and boycott the
tub?
Cry is free, so is boycott.