"Get mama another Yeungling."
"Get mama another Yeungling."

Watch: 10ft Great White gets swatted away by 17ft Great White as easily as small child by abusive “Florida-sized” parent!

Extremely scary.

Those tracking our current Great White apocalypse are certainly aware of Guadalupe Island floating off the coast of Mexico,  very near many Baja surf breaks. The military-controlled island looms scary, all the more because of the monstrous beasts that feed on large fish and plan the coming invasion of the United States where they will feast on the bones of male surfers.

The sharks grow to incredible sizes, 10 feet, 12 feet, 17 feet but these numbers are clinical. Cold. To truly understand what a 17-foot long Great White looks like we must see one directly compared to a 10-foot long Great White.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B79wL8MhOxZ/

And witness how easily the ten-footer is dispatched. A simple flick of a rotund tail. I’ve only seen such easy work in Florida where parents grow to the size of double-wide trailers and barely have to move their arms in order to send their comparatively small children flying across Golden Corral parking lots.

Oh we California surfers are in for a good lickin’, as they say, and should stay out of the water “if we know what’s good for us” or at least ’til Big Mama has vacated the region.

Extremely scary.


Breaking: Man found dead near famous Arizona wave pool; “surf rage” not ruled out as motive!

"Suspicious by nature."

Big Surf, in Tempe, Arizona, is where most surfers aged twenty and up got that very first taste of our thoroughly dystopian present. For it was at Big Surf that Rick Kane wiggled and jived his way to a surf competition victory, winning a belt buckle and enough money to change his destiny forever.

Surf competitions in a pool. Who could imagine such things? But there it was before our eyes. Today, of course, we have Surf Ranch, Wavegarden, BSR Cable Park, URBNSRF and possibly still Surf Lakes though no one has seen or heard from the Yeppoon facility in some time.

A very long time, now that I think about it, and someone should go do a welfare check to make sure Mark Occhilupo and Barton Lynch’s love child is still breathing.

Speaking of welfare checks, police in Tempe, Arizona just carried one out very near Big Surf and found a dead man inside an apartment. Per the local news:

Officers were called to the scene just after 4 a.m. when somebody who was concerned because they had not seen or heard from a friend in some time requested a welfare check.

According to Detective Greg Bacon of the Tempe Police Department, the address officers were given is a rented office space, and the door was open when they got there. They found the dead man inside.

Police have not officially identified the man, nor have they said how he died. Bacon said investigators are looking at surveillance cameras in the area, as well as talking to people who were in the area when officers arrived.

Bacon said the man’s death in “suspicious by nature.”

And I’ll solve this crime right now.

Surf rage.

Oh we were promised such a bright, brilliant future with these pools. Waves on demand. Waves conjured via button but if Surf Ranch has taught us anything it is that Kelly Slater has an evil master plan to descend humanity into madness. Never before have I seen such hungry eyes, such lust-filled eyes, as I did at surf journalist day in Lemoore, California.

An infinite resource made finite. Doled out like precious gems. Not enough. Never enough.

I’m not suggesting that Kelly pulled the trigger, or plunged the knife, there in Tempe but neither did Charles Manson there in Benedict Canyon.

Speaking of “plunged” though, Surf Lakes. Any news? Any updates?

More as the story develops.


Contest: Lip-read insult on Backward Fins video and win perfumed head-to-tail BeachGrit pack!

Mea culpa yields dividends for clever readers…

It’s been three weeks since we released our bombshell mea culpa, that Backward Fins Beth had it right all along, that it don’t matter which way you stick the fins in.

We celebrated our mistake by creating a small clothing range, a capsule for want of a better word which you can shop here, and a movie with the Paul Naude-owned company Vissla.

Now, in the movie, you’ll notice when the guy in the fin factory is on the phone to Chas, his retort to Chas calling him a “short, depressed fin merchant” is beeped out.

Why?

Long story.

I think Vissla worried about possible offence caused to the star mentioned, a friend of Chas as it happens, whereas I was worried it wasn’t offensive enough and therefore was pleased when the line was removed.

Today’s contest.

Correctly lip read what he says, put your answer in the comment pane, and you’ll win four BeachGrit t-shirts, each a different print or colour, a couple of air fresheners (a formulation that is both sweet and sickly) and four tail-pads in a striking design that calls to mind the super graphics of Barbara “Bobbie” Stauffacher Solomon.

Want a hint?

Bill Murray movie, released 1979.

Vissla Made For Beach Grit from Vissla on Vimeo.


Happy ending: Taj Burrow signs harvest-year deal with Globe!

Wily move from former world number two.

Who don’t love a happy ending?

For those among us fretting that Taj Burrow, the forty-one-year-old former world number two whose face still glows and sparkles every bit as much as when he was twelve, was doomed to a niggardly retirement because of the screwy surf industry, rest easy.

Just one hour ago, Globe, the skate label started in Melbourne in 1985 by Pete, Matt and Stevie Hill, and which pivoted to surf in the early two-thousands with its Wes Anderson-pastiche surf movies by Joe G and a loaded surf team that included Occy, the Hobgoods, Dion Agius, Creed McTags etc, has appointed free-agent Taj to wear its pink slacks and rust coloured blouses.

Taj, of course, has been wearing Globe shoes for twenty years or thereabouts and there was a time, I don’t know a dozen years ago, say, when Globe tried to outbid Billabong for Taj while he was still on tour.

I imagine the price, in 2020, is slightly reduced.

Congratulations to all parties.

 


"Nick Carroll got my hopes up but thankfully Chas Smith is here to make me hang my head in sorrow again."
"Nick Carroll got my hopes up but thankfully Chas Smith is here to make me hang my head in sorrow again."

Counterpoint: Nick Carroll malignantly wrong about John John Florence, the Olympics and surfing’s future!

For shame.

Nick Carroll is a gift to surf journalism, our rank’s preeminent voice, and the rest of us all, from Derek Rielly to Sam George to myself are merely giants standing on the shoulders of a midget. When he finally leaves this gorgeous world life sized statues will be erected in his honor and carried around in elementary school children’s pockets, his face carved into granite cliff sides all jaw and more jaw, but even the mightiest can make altogether misguided and just plain wrong assertions.

For in a recent Surfline piece, Carroll reacted to Stab magazine’s whimpering over the mass layoffs of professional surfers by Hurley and shall we take a little nibble together?

Being a top pro surfer is infinitely the best gig in the sport, possibly in the world. Everyone else works like dogs, while things just fall in your favor. The surf industry booms and pays you a fortune. It runs out of spare cash, and a billionaire shows up! Then before you know it…along comes the Olympic Games.

Fine and good until the “along comes the Olympic Games” bit but excuse me for interrupting.

This is just one thing the stories about JJF have missed. The Olympic Games is about to open new doors for him and a few other first time Olympian surfers, doors that’ve been shut for generations.

The Olympics is a great lever for a big surf star to break open the bigger world of endorsement, the banks and the big athlete brands and such. These companies have seen what happened with snowboarding. They want the next Shaun White, and they will figure that surfing might be the way to get him and/or her.

Indeed it’s already begun.

And ok now. Here we have an essential misreading of history especially as it relates to Shaun White and snowboarding. The “Flying Tomato” won his first gold medal in 2006. A high water mark for still-fresh extreme sports, in general, at a time when cable television, as opposed to anything “on demand” ruled media.

White also dominated a discipline that was easy for the “non-core” viewer to understand. Men spinning wildly high above the earth, short runs, easy to spot mistakes. Everyone could be an “expert” at who performed best and why while sucking down ice-cold Coors Light.

In between his Olympic smashes, White had a yearly X-Games schedule, aired in primetime with much ballyhoo, on ESPN and ABC and an easy-going, magnetic personality that made his interviews and press outings at least appear dynamic. Covers of Rolling Stone and other magazines that used to exist. Celebrity girlfriends and small-time TMZ trouble for inappropriate halloween costumes.

He was America’s favorite red-headed stepchild all “rock n roll” yet mama-approved “safe n cuddly.”

Now, back to John John. Extreme sports are old and not fresh. The Olympics has shed viewers as more and more people “cut the cord.” In the United States, still the only market that matters in terms of seven-figure endorsement deals, much of the programming has been shifted to weird NBC channels like Bravo and Oxygen.

The X-Games is but a hollow reminder of what it once was and doesn’t include surfing.

John John has a public facing persona as vivid as oatmeal sans brown sugar and televised surfing in tiny Japanese waves where the “tricks” etc. are near impossible for the non-surf fan to gauge and/or compare won’t catch any real interest especially when the Coors Light warms up after 40 damned minute heats.

Of course Japan will push Kanoa Igarashi and his story will be cut into a nice YouTube package but that will be the extent of surfing’s Olympic bounce.

If a star comes out of the 2020 Games it will be in skateboarding’s park discipline where men spin wildly high above the earth in short, timed runs with easy to spot mistakes.

Blood on the concrete etc.

The ball is in your court, Nick Carroll.