Sack Lunch 2.0 singer (right) and fan.

Listen: While professional surfing gasps its dying breaths, Gabriel Medina, Kanoa Igarashi, Leonardo Fioravanti and Kelly Slater are well advised to start their boy band!

And they shall call themselves "Sack Lunch 2.0."

Oh we’ve all been saying “it’s over” for months now, as it relates to our World Surf League, but it is now, right? Blunders followed by silence followed by longest-serving-employee Dave Prodan being disappeared followed by the same Dave Prodan being awkwardly sandwiched in between Ross-Clarke Williams and Mick Fanning followed by unfortunate “opinions” followed by more silence followed by Dirk Ziff stomping out of the room, screaming “GRUMPY SURFERS BOUGHT GAMESTOP STOCK JUST TO SCREW ME AND I’M DONE!”

Congratulations, Grumpy Surfers, but what then should ex-professional surfers do?

The smart ones will hitch carts to fabulous “friends” and/or start a boy band together.

Boy bands trend in every single economic climate or are you not a student of history?

The Beatles, Menudo, New Kids on the Block, NSync, One Direction, Blackpink.

A forever up market, like GameStop, and who better to form up a brand new super group than Gabriel Medina, Kanoa Igarashi, Leonardo Fioravanti and Kelly Slater?

They shall call themselves Sack Lunch 2.0 and they shall make millions.

David Lee Scales and I also discussed suicide on today’s 101st podcast.

101 podcasts.


Listen here.

Random dust-up.

Surf-lit: “The son, still in his wetsuit and with hatred in his eyes, threw himself on top of dear papa, hands around his neck, screaming “F**k you Kelly Slater! F**k you John John!” over and over as papa gasped for air!”

A creeping madness enters surfing.

It started soon after Sunset was cancelled.

First: at an amateur event on a suburban beach on the east coast of Australia, an otherwise unremarkable twelve-year-old surf prodigy (just like the rest of them) curled up a tanned fist and punched his smart phone-clutching surf dad directly in the chin.


A jumping right hook connected with stubbly skin, startling the overweight, overbearing father/coach combo and knocked him to the ground, mid-livestream.

The son, still in his wetsuit, and with hatred in his eyes, grey like the sky above him, threw himself on top of dear papa, his hands around papa’s neck, screaming “Fuck you Kelly Slater! Fuck you John John!” over and over as papa gasped for air.

It took two comp officials to drag the screaming tween away.

Onlookers put it down to an isolated instance of surf rage. Years of pent up aggression and burgeoning testosterone erupting like lava, or a wet dream.

But then: two days later, two beaches south.

A travelling Japanese surfer took out his Modern mid-length from the boot of his red hatchback, unwound the plate and screw of his eight-foot Captain Fin Co single fin, and bludgeoned a nearby surfer to death with it. There appeared to be no link between the two surfers, other than that the victim happened to be parked near the accused and getting ready to surf at the same time.

Have you seen the damage a single fin can do to a man?

Witnesses said after the surprise attack had finished, the Japanese surfer placed his mid-length in a nearby bin before driving off. Exact details are still unconfirmed.

More acts of violence and insurrection quickly followed.

At famous Bondi beach, a local surf instructor pushed three adult learners out into backpacker’s rip, and watched as they disappeared over the horizon, the now tiny blue specks drowning, not waving, before stripping naked and driving to Waverley clinic.

“Lock me up,” she told the registrar on duty. “For I am guilty of spiritual treason.”

Before the media had time to put a name to the terror it had already spread.

At Lennox a disgruntled local snapped in half his AB six channel (the most sacred of his quiver), doused it in kerosene and set it on fire, running down the town’s commercial strip screaming ‘“Consciousness is nature’s nightmare” over and over.

And up the road at Byron, pastel-toned murfers turned on each other, pulling out hair and scratching out eyes while others piled their foam surfboards and linen clothes onto roaring fires at the site of the old whale station.

Across the sea, at Malibu, a long-docile surfing dog attacked its owner, sinking mottled fangs into wetsuit and flesh, while a gaggle of dreadlocked, semi-sentient skimboarders popped shuv-its in furious approval of the massacre.

Nearby, a Rincon local rode a wave from the Indicator all the way to the Cove, the line-up and the surfers flashing past him like memories, or a dream. (Witnesses say it was the best wave of his life). He beached his ride, took off his leg rope, left the board on the sand, and walked straight into the incoming traffic of the Screaming Eagles highway.


In Oregon, a foiler rode his craft into a pod of dolphins, killing three.

Hawaii, small Makaha: a gang of rabid SUPs beat a windsurfer to death with their paddles, as the now-riderless sailboard steered itself towards a rising sun on the offshore breeze.

It wasn’t all violence and decay.

In Queensland, two previously warring locals, Kirra and Snapper respectively, met on the yellow sands of Coolongatta and kissed, passionately, endlessly, oozing salt and sweat and wax.

A West Australian surfer married his jetski.

Also: A crazed surf journalist announced that in the South Pacific entire weather systems were disassembling. Waves had stopped breaking, and dead fish were floating to the surface

The entire Indian Ocean had dried up, too, he said. And the tides had stopped turning.

All of it was a lie.

More signs of the creeping madness.

Nobody could place the cause of it. Of the destruction of people. Of symbols.

The crazed reporter said he was exercising his individual agency in the face of global upheaval. A solipsistic response to prove that he really did exist.

Others called it the democratisation of surfing, and doubled down on their efforts.

But nobody was listening. Nobody cared. And the desecration continues.

When oh when will the tour be back?

Tony Hardy in 1976.

Former Australian champion surfer-shaper’s murder sentence delayed after psychiatrists disagree over his mental health on day of killing

Psychiatrists disagree over where surf legend sits on the "schizophrenic spectrum."

The former Australian champion Tony Hardy has had his sentence for murdering his ex-wife’s husband temporarily postponed after differing psychiatric assessments over how his mental illness affected him on the day of the killing in 2018.

Tony had belted his ex-wife’s husband, David Graves, who was seventy-five, with an aluminium pole fatally injuring the man; Tony’s ex-wife Jacqui was also hospitalised for injuries.

Tony, who is seventy, was set to argue he was not criminally responsible on the basis he was of unsound mind but changed his plea, admitting to his ex-wife’s husband’s murder and causing grievous bodily harm to his ex-wife.

The events on the day of the killing reveal a tragic stacking of grievances fuelled by Hardy’s schizophrenia.

As reported by WAtoday,

Mr Graves was married to Hardy’s ex-wife Jacqui and the couple had built a house in Holbrook Street, Margaret River, that they offered to as a rental to Hardy, who had taken to living in his car.

But during his time living at the house, he remained living in his car in the property’s garage, complaining about the heat and wanting the garage door painted white, the court heard.

Prosecutor Michael Cvetkoski told the court that Hardy and the couple had several arguments until they eventually called in a painter to paint the garage, which was expected to take five days.

Hardy took to sleeping in his car, parked at the local showgrounds.

The night before the murder, the couple were forced to stay at the house after access to their Augusta residence was cut off by bushfires.

At 3.40pm the next day, Hardy visited the property to get water for his 4 litre canteen and parked on the front garden.

Mr Graves was outside painting a windowsill when they got in an argument about where Hardy had parked his car, Mr Cvetkoski said.

The argument “exploded” into a physical struggle, with Hardy overpowering Mr Graves, who fell backwards over a shrub, the court heard.

It was then Hardy went for the 1.5m painter’s pole and struck Mr Graves to the chest as he tried to get up, before hitting him again to the left side of his neck.

Mr Cvetkoski said Hardy heard a “cracking noise” and Mr Graves did not move again.

Hardy left swearing “you bastards”, but didn’t think Mr Graves was dead, the court heard.

If you live around Margaret River, you’ll know Hardy and his brood. Amazing surf family. Tony is pops to surfer-bodyboarders Gene, Ryan, Brett and Josh.

All of ’em except Josh have won a State surfing title. Even his granddaughter Willow scooped one up to go alongside her two Small Fries crowns.

But Tony stopped surfing a while back; blamed age, injuries.

He was what you’d call, in polite company, an eccentric. You’d see him at Main Break, Margaret River, the wave he owned in the seventies, trimming the pig-face that has grown over the footpath. Or stopped at the side of the road in Margs with his shears trimming the bush.

The disagreement between psychiatrists in court centred around where Hardy sat on the “schizophrenic spectrum” and his “delusional thought patterns.”

Hardy told the court he was acting in self-defence over being constantly told “how to live.”

Next court date, May 27.

Shark discovered in Florida with striking resemblance to former U.S. President Donald J. Trump: “I think it’s funny and unique. I have never heard of anybody comparing a shark to a human!”

"Am I alone to see a trump hair shape?"

Underwater photographer and videographer Tanner Mansell from Jupiter, Florida snapped a still that has a Trump-starved public going bananas. And you are certainly aware that the 45th President of the United States has recently vacated the White House and moved south, to Florida, wherein an Office for the Former President has been established.

All run of the mill except for his doppelgänger swimming just off shore.

Mansell did not immediately see the resemblance but posted the picture of a lemon shark doing what scientists called “gaping.”

“After a meal, sometimes the ligaments and tendons can become stressed and out of place, so the sharks will open their jaws as wide as they can to re-align everything, and extend their jaws from the head.” Mansell said. “Kind of like they will do before chomping down on a big meal. I had been trying to get a photo of the ‘jaw gaping’ for over a year, I had seen them do it so many times but they were always too far away, facing the wrong direction, and I never had the opportunity to photograph it.”

Well, the stars came together, he nailed the shot and, immediately, the comments began to flood.

“I wanna apologise in advance to the shark but he looks like Trump.”

“Looks like Donald Trump Shark.”

“Am I alone to see a trump hair shape?”


You’ll recall that Stormy Daniels spoke about Trump’s relationship with sharks a handful of years ago, claiming he is “obsessed” and “terrified” also “hoping the entire species is wiped off the face of the earth.”

Do you think his opinion will change now that he can see himself in a shark’s face?


Mansell is now world famous and said, “I think it’s funny and unique. I have never heard of anybody comparing a shark to a human.”

I have.

Greg Norman.


Rafael Kroeff (pictured) top red circle.
Rafael Kroeff (pictured) top red circle.

Miracle on Maui: Brazilian surfer held underneath water for over a minute at Jaws saves himself through proprietary blend of mindfulness and breath control!

Sign up today.

Brazilian surfer Rafael Kroeff, 38, was out towing Jaws on the legendary January 16 swell when things went sideways. After letting go of the rope and realizing he was in an unfortunate position, Kroeff paddled his tow board over one wave but could not escape the second which also featured a windsurfer barreling down the line.

Of all the dirty luck.

A windsurfer?

Of all the dirty, rotten luck.

Kroeff did not panic though and worked the problem “I decided to hold my board to protect the windsurfer, I was worried that my board might hit him.” he said, selflessly. “I’ve been working with breathing for over 20 years using yoga and functional training to train surfers. I created my own training program five years ago mixing all that with the foundation on mindfulness of breathing.”

As dirty, rotten luck would have it, the wave pushed him down, down, down but thankfully he had those breathing protocols.

“I used a manoeuvre we use to close the glottis so you don’t drink water and sink, I was aware of everything and never lost my consciousness.” he said. “I felt the pressure on my ears because I was super deep but super quickly, I had equalized my ears. I was very focused on being calm but it was the longest ever time underwater for me.”

After being under for over a minute, he resurfaced and was snatched up by many skis, giving him time to assess the damage.”My neck got stiff and my throat was kind of blocked for 24hours, but I’m 100% now. I never took medicine or went to the hospital, got back home to Oahu and went straight to my ice bath, and after that I was 80%.”

Very fine and do you think the Rafael Kroeff School of Mindfulness and Breath Control will have very long waitlist?

I know I’m on it and I recommend the same for you.

4 – 6 ft Cardiff Reef will cease to stalk my nightmares.

Watch both Kroeff and the windsurfer get pounded here.