Popular Hawaiian pro surfer and vlogger
challenges superstar YouTuber Jake Paul to boxing match after Ben
Askren debacle, “I want to drag him out to deep water where I can
drown him!”
By Derek Rielly
"I don't like Jake Paul but I respect him."
A week back, superstar YouTuber-turned occasional pro
boxer Jake Paul wiped the floor, as they say, with the
almost-forty-year-old Olympic wrestler and retired MMA
fighter, Ben Askren.
Paul, twenty-four, knocked out Askren, whose boxing skills were
as paltry as his grappling skills are mighty, two minutes into the
first round, the fight stopped by the ref.
Still, Askren got a guaranteed half-mill for the fight plus,
likely, bonuses from the pay-per-view; Paul got 690k plus
bonuses.
Eli, a twenty-eighty-year-old jiujitsu black belt who grew up
shredding alongside the Florence bro’s, was moved enough by the
cash being thrown around and the absurdity of the event to issue
his own challenge.
Would Jake Paul, six-two, a couple hundred pounds, and with
twenty million subscribers, have the balls to take on a slim
Hawaiian surfer, five-ten, one-sixty, with 18.7k subs?
“I don’t like Jake Paul, but I respect him,” says Eli, “People
say he sucks but he’s actually got talent.”
About the Askren bout he says, “I thought it would last a little
longer. I’m actually a fan of Ben, he’s one of the best wrestlers
in the world but he never ever trained boxing and it
showed.”
Eli says the reasons for his post was the, likely, two-mill
total Jake Paul made.
“That’s life-changing money. It started as a joke. Then when so
many people, including Slater, started reposting my post and it got
momentum, I thought, people actually wanna watch this.”
I ask about strategy. Eli ain’t a dud with the ten ounce gloves
like Askren but he ain’t pro, either.
“Even though people are calling him the YouTube guy, he’s had
more time in the ring than me. He’s had three fights, I have zero.
I’d try and rely on footwork and speed. He’s bigger and has more
power so I’d rely on footwork and speed. I’d be a hard target, tag
him as much as I could. Either land a flurry to rock him or drag
him into deeper water and rely on cardio, him getting slower and
slower as each round goes. He’s never gone longer than three
rounds.”
Say it did happen, and Eli did walk away with a couple of mill,
he says he’d throw it down on a swinging crib on the North Shore,
although it’d have to be Backyards, Rockies or Log
Cabins.
“Everything at Pipe and Off the Wall is five million or more,”
says Eli.
Eli’s also realistic enough to know it ain’t the best idea for
Paul to take on the relatively unknown and smaller
Hawaiian.
“It doesn’t really make sense to him if he’s a lot bigger, and
I’m not some superstar, and if he had the risk of possibly losing
it’d be more negative than positive.”
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Long Read: Surf Journalist recounts his
journey to Ukraine, newest nation to join International Surfing
Association, on brink of war!
By Chas Smith
Добро пожаловать!
Days ago, it was announced that Ukraine had
been accepted as the
109th nation in the International Surfing Association,
certain to exacerbate already intense relations with neighboring
Russia. I visited the capital, Kyiv, in early Spring 2014 and just
stumbled across the stories I wrote for Australian fashion
publication Oyster. Would you like a peek into our newest brothers
and sisters? Well then, you’ve come to the right place.
Dispatch I
And Ukraine International Airlines flight 0518 cracks very hard
on Kiev’s runway. It seems as if the pilot forgot that it was time
to land and that we are all going to die here instead of there. I
am clutching the armrest tightly and my Nick Potash pinky ring is
digging into my finger. It was made from an old WWII pin that reads
“God Bless America.”
We bounce twice before coming to a rest and the cabin bursts
into spontaneous applause. I always chuckle when the innocents
applaud landings, though, I suppose in this corner of the world
where 1 in 10 flights actually crash, the applause represents
genuine relief. Maybe I should join? I smile condescendingly,
instead, at the Ukrainian woman next to me wearing a shirt that
reads “FASHION ADDICT” while rubbing my finger. It really
hurts.
I step off the plane after gathering my bag, an almost perfect
Costume National carry-all, and wander through the eerily silent
main terminal. No one is coming to Kiev. No one is coming to
Ukraine, save the entire Russian Army and their tanks and their
MiGs and their heavy metal Kalashnikovs.
This whole mess started, innocently enough, six months ago in a
large square in the center of Kiev. There, protesters gathered to
call on then Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych to accept a deal
that would bring the country closer to the European Union instead
of Russia. Both the EU and the Russian Federation had aid deals on
the table. Debate swirls on which deal was favorable, but, in
either case, the people of Kiev and western Ukraine wanted to be
European. They had been Russian long enough, as a part of the
Soviet Union, and, increasingly, they wanted David Beckham’s
haircut, Carla Bruni’s voice, Donatella Versace’s plastic
surgeon.
Yanukovych, though, spurned the EU deal and sent the protesters
mad. Hundreds of thousands of them burned tires and threw Molotov
cocktails and whatever it is that mad protesters do. The state riot
police fought back, killing many, which sent the protesters
furious. More burned tires. More Molotovs. And Ukraine teetered on
the brink. Eventually, Yanukovych fled, the government collapsed
and the protesters toasted their victory. Until Russia decided
enough was enough, annexed a part of Ukraine known as the Crimea,
propped up pro-Russian militias in the east and sent their Army to
the border. And Ukraine has been teetering ever since. Will it
implode? Will Russia invade? Will Beckham, Bruni and Donatella
care?
I move through passport control and the soldier handling
documents stares at me. His eyes are almost wild, almost pleading,
almost laughing. Definitely bloodshot. It is not until later that I
realize his eyes were simply telling me that, out there, beyond the
sanctity of Boryspil International Airport, the patients had taken
over the asylum. That, once I passed him, I might get my heart
eaten by fascists, or Putin. But more on that later. For now he
simply asks, “Why are you in Ukraine?” I answer. “Because the most
amazing fashion things ever must be happening in the rubble. Have
you seen Mad Max?” He grunts and stamps and sends me on my way.
Clearing customs, a starving cab driver grabs my arm and escorts
me to his old yellow Lada babbling about Putin and Obama in
Russian. I think he is saying both are bad but can’t be sure. He
keeps smashing one fist into another.
We drive down a freeway that is as eerily silent as the terminal
surrounded by trees and weird. A cold mist falls from the sky. And
then I see my first real sign of madness. A homemade checkpoint has
been erected in the right two lanes. It is not being manned by
official Ukrainian army but by some ragtag bunch of mulletheads.
They awkwardly wave old pistols. One is wearing a leather bandana
over his mouth, a U.S. WWII helmet that has been spray painted
black and welding goggles.
Dispatch II
Fear and paranoia hang thick in the air like the lingering
bottom notes of a Maison Martin Margiela REPLICA perfume. The
little anarchist keeps looking at me looking at my passport looking
at me looking at my passport looking over his shoulder to the other
little anarchists occupying his tire and broken cement bunker. They
all wear mixed camouflage prints, definitely not standard issue. It
makes sense, I suppose. They are anarchists, after all. Eventually,
he points through the taxi’s open window, at my Fujifilm X-20
camera and says, “Sho to?” which sounds like retarded Russian and I
assume translates to “Shto eta” or “What’s that?” I tell him,
“Gwenyth Paltrow calls it, ‘…a versatile work of art.’” He grunts
and waves the taxi through.
And I was not expecting this. I was not expecting Ukraine to be
in full failed state mode. My driver, who is continually smashing
one fist into another while saying “Obama” “Putin,” and I have
already been through three homemade checkpoints and have not even
arrived at our destination yet.
And fear.
And paranoia.
I have been in war zones before. I have had my hearing exploded
by dropping bombs, been shot at, chased and kidnapped. I have been
to Somalia, for pity’s sake, and was expecting Ukraine to be a
laugh. A candy coated European version of real Middle
Eastern/African mayhem. But in some very serious ways, it is more
menacing. In my experience, Caucasians, even little anarchists,
take their due diligence seriously, which means detention. I do not
want to be detained here. The weather is awful and #tuberculosis is
trending.
Things have been out of control like this since the protesters
drove the government into hiding. Ground zero of the movement was
Maidan Nexalezhnosti, a large square in the center of Kiev
featuring sculptured odes to Ukraine’s glorious past. Simply
referred to as “Maidan” it was also ground zero for the last major
uprising in Ukraine, the Orange Revolution. And the last major
uprising before that called, “Ukraine without Kuchma.” The Orange
Revolution ended well for the protesters. They overturned a
fraudulent vote and ushered in their man, Viktor Yushchenko, though
he was later poisoned by Russian agents, they say. Ukraine without
Kuchma ended poorly for the protesters. They all got arrested and
tortured, they say. How this latest uprising, called Euromaidan,
will end is completely up in the air. It could unite Ukraine and
strengthen economic ties to the west. It could effectively erase
Ukraine as we know it from the face of the earth.
After two more homemade checkpoints we finally turn into a hulk
knows as the Ukraine Hotel. It rests on the southeastern corner of
Maidan and is a monument to mid-century Soviet modern all cement
and bland and weird. I walk past its security, through a metal
detector and up to the main desk. The lobby is cavernous and
completely empty save two beautiful women working the front desk. I
ask if there is availability. They smile tired smiles and say,
“Yes.”
After checking in to my Soviet chic room, I stand on its Soviet
decaying balcony and look at the utter chaos below. It is beyond
anything I imagined. Mad Max’s knees would shake. Viv Westwood
would think it was too punk even in the 1970s. Flotsam and jetsam
of the protest still smolder. Bunkers housing self-appointed
militias waiting for the coming Russian invasion polish swords. And
it feels like it is all going to come undone. Like society is
finished. But I have to go and get into it even if it means
#tuberculosis because the last time society was finished Viv
Westwood made some fashion wow. And downtown Kiev would be the
perfect place for the next SEX.
Dispatch III
Click, click, click. Clack. The sound of two dueling stick
swords mixes with Ukrainian nationalist anthems rocking at full
volume. Katniss Everdeen, the real one not the one played by
Jennifer Lawrence, is sharpening her combat skills against a man
twice her size/age in head-to-toe olive green. They circle each
other slowly as a cold mist drains from heaven and click, click,
click. Clack. Katniss wears black on black, of course. The man in
olive green wears a belt so high, nearly to his armpits, that I
feel certain it is the start of a new, prog, never-before-seen,
trend. I look down at my own “belt,” a Yves Saint Laurent shoelace
holding a trim pair Won Hundred jeans very much below my waist, and
think, “Touche, Ukrainian comrade. Touche” before hiking them up. I
will be prog too.
And I have been wandering around Maidan, getting deeper and
deeper into the horror for hours or maybe days. It is a maze of
bunkers, rubble, smoke, and paranoid stares. The paranoid stares
carry particular gravitas because there is real fear that Russia
may invade today. The eastern portion of the country, you see, is
voting on whether to join Russia, simply secede from Ukraine or
stay where they are. Conventional wisdom says the ballot boxes will
be stuffed in favor of secession. Eastern Ukrainians, and the
pro-Russian militias that have taken over some eastern towns,
identify with their northern neighbor far more than western
Ukrainians but, in reality, the whole concept of “Ukraine” is
murky, at best.
The region has been inhabited for more than 45,000 years but
didn’t achieve any real prominence until settled by the Kievan Rus’
in the 800s. The very same Rus’ who gave Russia its name. Kiev,
Ukraine’s capital, is, in fact, considered the “mother of Russian
cities” and Ukraine is sometimes called Russia’s older brother,
though throughout the Middle Ages, it was simply, and less
honorably, referred to as “Little Russia.” In 1921 it was absorbed
into Big Russia, i.e. The Soviet Union and there it sat until 1991
when freedom presented itself in the form of massive institutional
collapse.
Certainly, there have been flare-ups of Ukrainian nationalism
over the past 200 years, yet they are not altogether consistent and
are not shared by the whole population. Here, though, in the dead
center of Maidan circa 2014, Ukrainian #nationalism is trending
hard. #Ultra-Nationalism even, as evidenced by the red and black
flags that flutter over the bunkers. “Ultra-nationalism” is
sometimes called “fascism” and Putin regularly hurls this invective
toward Kiev. He says that Neo-Nazis have taken over and he should
probably invade to save the world from Hitler 2.0.
And perhaps Putin is right but probably not. The Ukrainian
ultra-nationalist groups, such as Right Sector and Svoboda, despise
Russian aggression and champion a romantic version of rose-colored
Ukrainian amazingness but I could not find any overtly racial
overtones within their discourse. All I see is Apocalyptic Punk
2.0.
Some men run mohawks that cascade down their foreheads into
Danzig devil locks. Some sport red ankle length Cossack trench
coats and by red, I mean eat-your-heart-out-Christian-Louboutin,
red. Some wear neat little Trotskyite spectacles and blue plastic
bags. Some perch black Maoist caps on their wide heads. Many have
mullets that are distinctly menacing and not at all ironic.
Individualism is pronounced and seemingly encouraged but
Maidan’s warrior class share one thing, besides a hatred of Russia,
and that is camouflage. Desert camo is paired with Jean Paul
Gaultier undershirts and marsh camo. Digital camo is paired with
neon sashes and traditional U.S. woodland camo. Four-color
semi-arid camo with anti-Russian buttons and French Tiger Stripe.
Mixing prints has been hip for a minute but Apocalyptic Punk 2.0
takes it to the next level. Yes, when the world ends, mix your
camos (and add a touch of Jean Paul Gaultier). It is a bold
statement with questionable practicality. The hallmark of all great
fashion.
Click, click, click. Clack. I look down, again, at my freshly
hiked jeans. I was minutes late on that trend but, focusing on my
shoes, I feel semi-satisfied. They are Louis Vuitton driving
moccasins featuring a black/grey urban camo. And if my jeans were
Luxembourgish forest pattern I would be completely next level
#prog.
Uh oh. Not much of a peek. If I recall, I ran out of money,
as I’d been covering fashion week in Tbilisi, Georgia prior
and you know how fashion weeks go. I barely made it out of the
country. I will now go back and surf.
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Rumor: In lurid Medina family saga twist,
Brazilian media reporting Gabriel’s mother had new wife sign secret
documents when the surfer and model began dating!
By Chas Smith
"Neither of them know about the contents."
I have long considered BeachGrit to be
the world’s greatest surf tabloid but shame, pure shame, has washed
over me in waves as I have come to realize how shoddy we are and
especially compared to Brazil’s gossip media.
They have sunk their shiny teeth into the Gabriel Medina family
saga so deep, so enviously deep, and blood is oozing.
You have certainly been keeping up with the 1x World Champion
first firing his step-father Charlie as coach then rumor and
innuendo about various dramas bursting through the
seams.
The latest?
https://www.instagram.com/p/CNxL1C_Br1N/
Lingua Sogra is reporting that Medina’s mother had his new wife
sign secret papers when the surfer and model began dating. Per the
translation:
Another chapter in the controversy involving the couple.
According to columnist Leo Dias, the surfer’s family had the model
sign some documents as the beginning of their relationship – and to
this day, neither of them know about the contents of the signed
papers. Medina’s family would face problems with the city hall,
adversity involving legalization and purchase of real estate and
other tax issues. Therefore, the athlete would have hired a lawyer
to review everything and resolve the problems with the Maresias
district, on the east coast of Sao Paulo. Still according to the
journalist, close friends of Medina claim that his mistake was to
let the family always be in control of his personal and
professional life. Although they all had separate belongings,
everything was controlled by the surfer’s family. After discovering
the illegalities, Medina would have even cut the allowance she was
giving to the family. Tense isn’t it?
Boy.
It sure is.
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Watch: Jamie O’Brien, Garrett McNamara
openly weep as first-ever recorded mega-tsunami crashes into
Greenland unridden!
By Chas Smith
Missed opportunity.
Wade Gravy, Dylan Graves, Garrett McNamara, Jamie O’Brien and
their legions of fans are in mourning, today, as it has been
revealed that the first-ever recorded mega-tsunami has gone
unridden.
The once-in-multiple-lifetimes event occurred on the west coast
of Greenland after a giant landslide some 30km away caused a wall
of water measuring over 100 m, at certain times during its journey,
crashed into the rocky shoreline, gulping down fisherman and the
filmer himself.
According to news reports no one was injured.
OceanInfo.com describes the phenomena thusly:
A mega-tsunami is a remarkably large wave created by the normal
displacement of water that would cause a regular tsunami. The
tsunami that occurred in the India Ocean in 2004 is often cited as
an example. That wave was unusually powerful and wide-reaching. Due
to the rarity of these occurrences, there is no single scientific
definition of what a mega-tsunami is. Sometimes they are defined as
waves that occur as the result of something falling into the ocean,
such as a meteor or a landslide.
Remember when Garrett McNamara tried to surf a wave created by a
falling bit of glacier?
Very cool.
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‘Cutthroat savage’ who ruined surfer’s wave
of the century at Kirra pens heartfelt note of apology to victim:
“It’s like the feeling after a bender when you blacked out and
found out later you did something you had no idea about!”
By Derek Rielly
"Nothing I say can bring that wave back or take
away the humiliation on my behalf."
Two weeks ago, lucky Gold Coast surfers thrilled to
four-to-six feet of east swell, Kirra organising the lines into
these wonderful green funnels.
And Mitch Parkinson, cuz to Joel and star of
BeachGrit’s surfboard test series, rode the wave of the
day, a tube filmmaker Justin Gane said had the potential to be one
of the greatest rides ever ridden at Kirra – at
least twenty-five seconds in the hole.
Of course, as vision shows, Mitch’s adventure was abbreviated
when a man fell out of the air and into Mitch’s trajectory. Opinion
was unanimous online, the drop-in a piece of cutthroat savagery
etc.
“I almost felt bad for being angry at him, he was so rattled,”
said Mitch Parko after.
Now, the surfer, whom we’ll keep anonymous ‘cause who needs the
grief right?, contacted BeachGrit wanting to “explain my
side of the story after being crucified by the surfing world for
that wave at Kirra. I would have pulled into that
wave if I had not been so stunned and surprised someone was on it.
I’m not someone to bail from a wave like that without reason. I
would like to just copy and paste the email I sent Mitch Parko so
you understand…”
The surfer also sent, at my request, a couple of shots to prove
he can surf.
(Email below)
Hey lad,
I really wanted to explain my side of the story. I’m baffled
if it was the wind and anglewith people further up the
shoulder that were paddling or because you’re such a wizard and
were so deep behind the curtain I have no idea.
But the honest truth is, I had no idea you were on that wave
when I made the decision to go, only to hear you when I was a
quarter of the way down about to pull in. I was so surprised you
were there and bailed because I thought you may have got around me
to the next section.
It’s like the feeling after a bender when you have blacked
out and found out later you have done something you had no idea
about.
Firstly, I love surfing and have so much respect for it and
don’t surf good or anything but have surfed long enough and around
the world to never drop in on crew. If it was a fade or drop in I
wouldn’t have even looked back or would have actually pulled in but
I jumped off thinking you had a chance to make it
around so was not
intentional at all.
Talk about the wrong place at the wrong time caught on cam.
I know nothing I say can bring that wave back or take away the
humiliation on my behalf. I’m going through some rough personal
stuff in life at the moment so this is the last thing I need for my
mental health and just had to clear it up.
I really hope you can put aside the anger and frustration to
truly know I didn’t know you were on it and would never have done
that if I knew someone was on a mental pit like that or just on the
wave in general.
I’m sure you have done something in life that you never
meant to do and hopefully believe and understand even though it’s
easy to judge and think different from the footage.
Anyway, I hope you can accept this explanation/apology
and a couple cases of beer and put in the past.