It's go-ish time.
It has been many months since professional surfing in the ocean. Today, we have the Tweed Coast Pro which counts for neither World Qualifying Series points nor World Championship Tour points and cannot truly be considered professional surfing at all in the traditional sense of the phrase though is far, far, far better than any Stumble at a Ranch.
These visceral accidents, as I write this, are no longer a part of professional surfing, as under governments worldwide it was decided to protect the lungs of the surfers with a sort of social distancing designed in the terms of the decree “to avoid those horrible sights which so disgust foreigners and tourists.”
These protectors avoid these sights and greatly decrease the number of professional surfers with grave breathing problems, but they in no way decrease the pain suffered by the surf fan; they take away much of the bravery from the professional surer, this to be dealt with in a later post, and they are the first step toward the suppression of the professional surfing altogether.
The professional surf contest is an Australian institution; it has not existed because of the foreigners and tourists, but always in spite of them and any step to modify it to secure their approval, which it will never have, is a step towards its complete suppression.
