One vital question that hasn’t been dealt which needs to be sorted out pronto by us, is: what the fook does an Olympic Gold Medal in surfing mean?
As a deeply sceptical Anti-Olympian, I have to say: I was wrong.
Surfing in the Olympics was as fun as hell.
The short course format of 20 of each sex played brilliantly. For the first time since I saw Dane Reynolds destroy Joel Parkinson at Snapper in front of a crowd driven half insane by the local hero getting his arse kicked by the best surfer on the planet, it looked like a real sport.
Have to admit, to test this thesis I undertook a personal experiment during the course of the conny. By my reckoning any real sport should be understandable on the radio, old school style. And my local was dishing up some perfect rock runners with no one out, so I set up the speaker on the rocks, surfed and listened to surfing in the Olympics. Jonny Bryan, the Welsh VAL gave the details, Barton gave the color. I had perfect understanding of what was going on. It was so good.
One vital question that hasn’t been dealt which needs to be sorted out pronto by us, is: what the fook does an Olympic Gold Medal in surfing mean?
It’s easy in athletics, swimming, shot put, pole vaulting, weightlifting etc etc. The Olympic Gold is the pinnacle of the sport. The winner of the 100m is the fastest man or woman on the planet. Michael Phelps is the fastest swimmer in the World etc etc. Easy to understand. Incontrovertible.
Other Olympic Golds are in much murkier territory.
No one gives a fuck about the tennis gold or soccer or golf. Half the competitors, the best of the best, don’t bother to compete. It’s just a shiny medallion to hang in the pool room. No fan gives credence to a soccer gold medal. Not when you’ve got the World Cup and the EPL etc etc.
What about surfing?
No offence to Miggy Tudela but we’d be screwed if he won the gold. Imagine that stout journeyman Billy Stairmand who we all know and love. Very, very much. The credibility of Olympic Gold would be shredded if Billy took it out while the best beachbreak surfer on Earth, Filipe Toledo, cooled his heals in the San Clemente compound. No doubt plotting revenge at Trestle with a Pablo Escoabarian fury.
Luckily, no one can argue with an Italo Gold. Same with Carissa except more so. The good feelings of an Italo win might not translate into mainstream super stardom. The diminuitive Brazilians grasp on English may not be sufficiently fluid to bum rush the Middle America talk show circuit.
The Italo origin story is compelling.
It’s the one thing I share with the Current World Champ/Gold Medallist. I too, stole my Dad’s esky lid (from his beer esky) and wandered across the road to take my first step into the briny waves. And whilst that gets me gooey in the fork it may not have cut through in Cincinnati or St Paul or Seven Oak.
Carissa is a different story.
She is made to be a darling of Middle America. Almost a perfect creation for these dark times. The all-sweetness, all-light girly girl, “aw shucks” persona used to grate on me. I like my champions dark with an edge you can’t ignore. After the podium shots in the all-white moon suit I let the Moore charisma melt my heart of stone.
I rang around my Gal VAL pals to get a gauge on the “influencer” take on it.
The infamous and despised Murfers of Byron Bay, to a woman, had not watched a single heat from Shidashita. These gals ain’t jocks. They subscribe to what I call the romantic/democratic view of surfing. Nature is grand, surfing is my cosmic dance, the ocean is free and for everybody (with cash, beauty and a Tesla in the driveway) is the gist of it.
Pro surfing does not register on the radar for these gals unless it’s to get a little reflected shine from a great real estate purchase from a local pro or their spouse.
The point is: they were all frothed on Carissa.
Why? They could not say.
Real step forwards for the sisterhood, said one.
The ramifications of the gold medals?
Continuation of the status quo, is my prediction. No change to Brazilian dominance in the men’s. Surfing as Sport has long been codified in Australia. Taxpayer money will continue to be pumped into peak bodies like Surfing Australia and the High Performance Center despite terrible bang for buck.
Owen’s medal, by that measure, is by far the most significant one for the Olympics. An Aussie team sans medals would be a very tough sell to a public milked for an activity that makes up a tiny fraction of the whole and for which few give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut about.
Owen’s story: the great comeback from the Pipe injury to an Olympic Medal has ignited in the mainstream press. That will be enough to keep the tap turned on for the forseeable future.
As for the great unjazzed coming like supplicants to the sport of surfing in their millions.
Let’s see the numbers for Mexico, Tahiti and Trestles.
A Tokyo Bump will keep ELO in the job for another twelve months.
