World number five, Kolohe Andino, main photo, surrounded by sycophants, Charlie, top, and DR, looking like the long retired member of an all-male nude revue, below.

Listen: Kolohe Andino says any one-day world champ decider at Lowers would be “ludicrous and so corny, spinners and air-reverses” and rightly announces, “Anarchy is the only answer!”

Left to die on Todos Santos rocks by Tiger Daddy Dino; the bio film made by Chas that was never shown to the public!

On today’s Dirty Water podcast Charlie and I joust, lightly, with world number five Kolohe Andino who is twenty-six and lives in the Republican stronghold of San Clemente, California.

Myriad topics are covered including the never-released 2010 bio-film Charlie made with Kolohe that reimagined the then sixteen year old as a middle-aged derelict; being left to die on the rocks at Todos Santos by Tiger Daddy Dino; how ludicrous he thinks a one-day world title is, especially if it happens at Lowers; why he wants no part of a big-wave event, let’s say Peahi, on the WCT; his strictly platonic love affair with Craig Anderson; how he learned to suppress anger and save the lives of innumerable surfboards and the importance of home sauna.

A caveat on this one.

I’m not sure what came over me, it was earlier than usual and my sleep had been punctuated with dreams of my early childhood, the blackness, the church, the old men trying to diddle pretty teenage me, and so I  was feeling more peculiar than usual.

Forgive me father and please sir may I have another.

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Open Letter to the World’s Greatest Surfer Kelly Slater: “Are you truly and honestly a next-level hypocrite? Castigating others for being ‘triggered’ while ‘canceling’ legions of fans yourself?”

Easy fix!

Dear Kelly Slater,

You are a very famous professional surfer, friends with many other famous-ish professional surfers and celebrities. Boyfriend to other equally famous-ish and celebrity ladies. Successful, talented, handsome, fabulous-ish and outspoken.

Out speaking damnation upon environmental terrorists (while pushing wave pools that have been, let’s be truly honest, exposed as beautiful disasters) and the only surf website that takes comedy seriously (while blocking it from your social medias).

You are a hypocrite.

An historically grand hypocrite but is that what you want your legacy to be?

An historically grand hypocrite?

I imagine this will front your Wikipedia tomorrow and also be someday spray painted upon your headstone and/or Cocoa Beach statue because it is absolutely true.

But no?

You don’t see yourself that way?

Easy out.

Chat with me and Derek tomorrow, next day, at your convenience on our Dirty Water and you shall be free.

Otherwise, your screed today and everything else you stand for is straight and forever embarrassing.

No?

Yeah.

It is. Your sycophants won’t tell you but also sycophants don’t tell anyone anything true.

Yet you feel it every day.

Know it every day.

They also tell you “Nobody reads BeachGrit.”

Oops.

The fact that you are reading this right now should, and certainly does, cause a slight quiver.

See you at your convenience!

Love,

Chas Smith.


Kelly Slater (pictured in hat) unveiling comedic legend "the noogie" on professional surfer Silvana Lima.
Kelly Slater (pictured in hat) unveiling comedic legend "the noogie" on professional surfer Silvana Lima. | Photo: Steve Sherman/@tsherms

World-famous surfer Kelly Slater boldly defends the right to free speech in our troubled time: “I got no problem when a woman makes fun of a penis and calls it small or whatever!”

Brave.

Oooooeeeee these here are the most dangerous of days for which to open a mouth and use that mouth to utter words. How many celebrities have been recently “canceled” for past remarks? Completely erased from the hearts and minds of a once adoring public for saying, even thinking, currently out of vogue things. How many ordinary folk have been set upon by the mob, houses figuratively, jobs literally, burned?

Very many.

The field of discourse, once relatively open and sun-dappled, is now pitch black with landmines littered everywhere, big holes dug with pointy sticks placed in their bottoms too.

Well, at least free speech has a great hero in the form of world-famous surfer Kelly Slater. I am not allowed to see what Kelly writes, or thinks, due to the fact that he cancelled me, but wonderful friends forward his important missives and here we see him wading into the Instagram comments of his great hero Joe Rogan.

You’ll recall Slater’s recent appearance on Rogan’s podcast where the 11x professional surfing champion tried to make the fight enthusiast and comedian like him.

Rogan’s most recent guest is a comedian named Bill Burr. Rogan declared, “Spent 3 hours smoking cigars and talking shit with my brother @wilfredburr! We had a great fucking time and I hope you enjoy it.”

All fine but somebody must have become sad by something Burr said, something maybe sexist and/or racist, and let it be known in those Instagram comments.

Kelly Slater, defender of free thought, free speech, wasn’t having it, responding:

“It’s called comedy. If it was too real for you to hear without being triggered you might have some issues. Sometimes you need to hear other people’s perspectives and understand them to acknowledge situations properly. But it doesn’t sound like You heard what he said much and are gonna turn it into some anti women rant. Good humor pulls no punches. His just wasn’t outright comedy like we are used to. I got no problem when a woman makes fun of a penis and calls it small or whatever (smiley face emoji).”

Whoa.

And my heart is beating out of my very chest. I wish so much that I could go do applause hand emojis or even raise the roof emojis but, alas, my perspective is not one of the ones Kelly Slater needs to hear to acknowledge any situation properly.

Still, it makes me impossibly happy that our GOAT is out there defending free speech for some and also free speech for women making fun of penises and calling them small or whatever.

Robust.


Listen: “What the world needs most right now is two straight, white, cisgender male self-identifying surfers opining on race, surveillance and vaccines!”

Come feel the noise.

Hot button, I’ll tell you what, the world is one big hot button with every topic, every discussion, every point of view ready to explode into a fiery ball of cancellation, mob Twitter justice, rage, hurt, anger, shouting but also real attempts at understanding. A bulldozing of long-held suppositions.

Etc.

Never have two straight, white, cisgender male self-identifying surfers been…

…more valuable, desired, important.

Every ear titled our way.

David Lee Scales, named after David Lee Roth, and Charles David Smith, named Charles David Smith, recognizing the gravity of the moment, decided to further discuss race, gender identity, Edward Snowden, Bill Gates, government surveillance, vaccines and Bruce Irons new dad bod with the well-reasoned, well-researched perspectives that you have come to appreciate.

That the world is craving.

In any case, you’re likely an equally important class, if not more equally important, and your voice is being craved too.

I think.

Maybe I’m missing something here…


Futuristic solutions needed for dusty ol tour.

How to reinvent pro surfing: “The WSL is swaying on the withered branch of post-globalist capitalism along with other once-accepted ways of How Things Are Done!”

So what comes out the other side?

I’m missing the WSL. In all its stupid wonder.

I miss Gabe, Mikey, R Cal.

I miss being angry about judging calls and erroneous lay days.

I miss the heat strategising.

The crosses to Rosie.

The superflous ad breaks.

I miss the way it still manages to produce beauty in spite of itself.

In a world of increasingly cut-throat absolutism, I miss the vulnerable, earnest fun it provides.

I want it to come back.

Joker needs his Batman.

But, it too will never be the same.

The current model is dead. We all know that.

Erik is pushing for some semblance of normalcy for the end of 2020 but it can’t last. The format is rotten to the core. Swaying on the withered branch of post globalist capitalism along with so many other once-accepted ways of How Things Are Done.

What comes out the other side?

The proposed changes so far are just window-dressing.

Like society at large, it needs wholesale reinvention if it’s gonna work.

And with so little new info yet to emerge from the vacant, echoing halls of Santa Monica, I figured I may as well throw my own handful of shit against the wall, just to see what sticks.

My elevator pitch?

The world tour should be divided into four regional series that each produce a top four, male and female, who then surf off in a super series to crown the world title.

Concurrently, each region’s team surfs off against the others in a one-day specialty event to also produce a world team’s champion, Founders Cup-style.

(I should note in the outset I may have stole at least part, if not all, of this concept from somebody else. The amount of podcasts, articles, instagram comments, fevered dreams I’ve imbibed over the last four months have all blurred into one giant train of thought where I can’t separate fact from fiction, let alone from author. So if you think I stole this from you… please do let me know.)

Anyway, here’s the detail.

The world is broken down into regions. Conferences, if you will.

Let’s say:

Australia and New Zealand

US and Hawaii

Latin America

Eurasia and Africa

January through to September is a series of four qualifier comps for every conference. Think big, traditional Queys like Huntington, Manly, Rio, Gunston, Lacanau etc. These would be grand events. Built for spectators, tourism, sponsorship dollars etc. Corporate boxes out the wazoo. Only open to people born or claiming citizenship in the gazetted regions.

Each conference would have its own leaderboard. At the end of the series the top four surfers per conference then qualify for the final series, which is run over a further three comps.

Now, these’d be the pinnacle, surf-wise. The money makers. The content spinners. Top end sponsors. Full production crews. Premium quality waves. Big windows and able to run over one to two days max. Let’s say J-Bay, Macaronis, Pipe, in that order. Sixteen surfers a comp. Seedings and match-ups determined by placing in the conferences.

No dead air. No fluff. No repechage rounds. (Hopefully) no shoulder hopping. Just the world’s best surfers in the world’s best waves, crowning a world champion based on consistent performance on all stages.

Bing bang bong, and you get your individual world champ.

But that’s not where it finishes.

Sometime during the final series, a one-day teams comp is held. Let’s base it off the wildly successful Australian Boardriders Battle format. Hour-long heats where each surfer catches one scoring wave in a tag team.

Conference against conference. Country against country. Jingoistic pride abounds, giving the fans what they’ve always missed.

Also, this format works best with five surfers per team. So let’s allow each conference to choose a wildcard power surfer. No restrictions. No limitations, beyond previously mentioned birth/citizenship status. A true X factor.

It’s the most entertaining comp format in existence. Heavily scripted, yet entirely unpredictable. Entertaining to watch in pumping surf or absolute crap.

Imagine the thought of Noa beating Dane in a sprint up the beach to double whammy his power wave in the dying seconds of the tournament, winning the world title for the ANZACs over America.

Mouth watering.

So whaddaya reckon?

You get your big industry-pleasing extravaganzas. Your premium quality, high-end surf offs. You can side step a lot of travel issues. Ensure fairer representation and opportunity for all surfers, but still have the cream rising to the top.

Could it all work?

Maybe.

Will it fly? Probably not.

But fuck, what else are you gonna talk about why the world crumbles?

Increasingly weathered but still not entirely unattractive surf punter seeks your input.