Toledo now in the box seat at number
three.
Thank God they got the right two men and women for the
Finals, eventually, and plenty of analysis to come I
promise so stay tuned for that.
Allow one quick (existential) digression, por favor re:
the Surf Ranch Pro.
Can you legitimately create a sporting event where no drama
happens, there is only light and no shade, nothing is allowed to
penetrate the veil of sunshine and rainbows, where there is no
controversy, no conflict?
Where big is little, soulful is aggressive, huge is subtle, guys
about to be relegated to the QS are “legimitate World Title
Contenders” or “the Future of the Top 5”? Where “blessed”
psychobabble reigns supreme, losers are quietly disappeared without
being interviewed and the creator of the venue creates his own
rules at his discretion?
The answer is yes, I suppose, because that’s the universe the
WSL has created at Surf Ranch.
By contrast I drove an hour north yesterday to watch an NRL game
at a Gold Coast stadium, with two eleven-year-old boys. Frothing
groms who elected not to watch a single wave of Surf Ranch. The
crowd was full of Rugby League fans who got what they paid for,
sans being preached to, assaulted with Greenwashing, and hammered
with ads and uncounted and inexplicable breaks.
The second half was a blow-out. The losing coach faced the
media, answered questions. Called the performance of his team
“unacceptable” and “horrible”, said it was the “lowest he had ever
felt as coach”. This presser was broadcast, without shame, without
self-censorship. After being marooned on WSL island the honesty and
embrace of reality was as intoxicating as the highest mountain
air.
We described Italo as a step behind the contenders yesterday. He
failed to repair his weakness on the left in his bonus run. Falling
early and missing the Finals cut line. Kelly, slightly overscored
after spidery, thin surfing on a left for a 7.07 made the cut. Owen
Wright, critically underscored on a right, was eliminated by one.
Owen’s thoughts were not sought on the score. He simply disappeared
as if he had never existed.
Yago Dora made the left his own running a version of the Medina
line, which entails fins free on every turn, with acceleration from
the grind. A pair of airs thrown down, one just after the mid-way
point wave deceleration and one at the end corner.
In one of his many pressers today, a defensive Kelly Slater
responding to criticism of the pool as competition venue cited
Dora’s performance as justification.
Is that legitimate rebuttal? I say no.
Only the very ending stanza of rides from Toledo and Medina had
any sense of drama about them. That led some to suggest the Finals
Day venue should be shifted from Trestles to the Basin. I
think there is more merit in that idea, but not a top five. A top
three only. Three runs each. Run and done in a couple of hours like
a Super Bowl.
We don’t need to see days and days of mind-numbing safety
surfing from the rest of the Top 34.
Even in the Finals people safety surfed.
Ethan Ewing, with nothing to lose and everything to gain by
finally showing the world how good he could surf came up with a
seven on the right and a particularly weak brace of rides on the
left scoring a 4 and a 5.67.
Why?
Who is coaching this guy?
You want him back on the QS without firing a shot at CT
level?
Carissa Moore hit her high point in the two bonus runs with a
brace of eights. There was more flow and power in the women’s
performances compared to 2018 and 19 but a conspicuous lack of
progressive risk.
And when I say a lack, I mean zero.
No one took Lakey Peterson’s Finals winning air rev or Caz
Marks’ tail-high reverse and attempted to duplicate it.
No one.
Judges showed they were perfectly happy to reward risk-free
safety surfing when Sally Fitzgibbons did seventeen identical
snaps, surfing purely off the fins and tail rail for a 7.5. Judges
brains finally melted down in the heat, after an amazing display of
rigour.
Performances were well down, with rare exceptions, but scoring
failed to reflect that.
There was a long period of pure aggravation for surf fans prior
to the Finals that felt like deliberate provocation by the WSL.
The machine stopped, there was no indication of when the action
would resume, we were verbally and visually assaulted by both
talking heads and program filler. By the time they cut to a little
“feel good” piece about the chef from Pasquales, Mexico, now head
chef at Surf Ranch wobbling his way across a left on a foamy the
mood was beginning to resemble the one inside the lift in Dirty
Harry 4.
You know the one?
An aggravated Harry Callahan grabs
his tormentor by the tie, yanks him close and says, “Listen punk,
to me you’re nothing but dog shit and a lot of things can happen to
dog shit. It can be scraped up with a shovel, it can dry up and
blow away with the wind, or it can be stepped on and
squashed….”
But alas, in our fairy bubble universe Cote and Mel and Turpel
and Rosie wouldn’t dry and blow away in the parched wind. No matter
how much we wanted them too.
Aggravation continued with the broadcast. Starts of waves
missed. Replays not shown. Judging scale was obviously reset for
the Finals, especially for the women but why? And how?
And for what purpose?
Despite all the provocations, for a magical fifteen minutes
everything clicked. I make that period during the latter part of
the mens semis. Kanoa was in first place. Medina needed a
combination of scores. His waves to respond were the highlight of
the event. A late float to entry in the last tube section of the
right was legit high risk, the precise edge work that only Medina
can manage. The left was seamless. Super deep bottom turns, a slick
air and transition free kerrupt flip at the end. Still down on his
high points in 18/19 but enough to make the Finals.
Defay was strong. She did what she did all event. Brought
nothing new to the Finals, but she didn’t have to because Carissa
Moore didn’t either. Both elected to keep fins engaged at all
times, concentrate on flow and timing and in the end Defay was
rewarded for safely surfing a right, nowhere near her best wave for
a winning 7.93.
But Toledo did.
He botched the ending on both opening rides for a pair of
sevens. Which left the door open to Medina, who bizarrely fell,
overcooking his opening left. Toledo’s second right was the wave of
the event. Board slide, tube, alley oop to full rail turn to slide.
That was the final sequence.
Perfect execution. His left was overscored.
The 9.28 requirement for Medina was easily obtainable. Another
inexplicable choke.
Toledo now in the box seat at number three.
Assuming he holds position for Trestles. He surfs twice, at his
favourite wave. Sleeping in his own bed, enjoying home cooking.
Sticking everything. Comes in fully aroused and warmed up against
Medina with his poor record there. Best of three heats.
I want money on Filipe Toledo.
Meanwhile, in another universe, a much grittier and gloomier
one, the rest of the Australians are clustered down the arse end of
the ratings like flies on sheep dags.
Apart from Morgs, of course.
