Come play with us!

It should come as absolutely no surprise that yet another door in our world is being busted down by Australia’s Ian Cairns. The big wave legend and founder of professional surfing as we know it has never faced a challenge that he could not overwhelm by either brains or brawn or a combination of the two and now the Bronzed Aussie is set to host the very first surf film watch party in Mark Zuckerberg’s Metaverse.

That film, of course, the award-winning documentary Bustin’ Down the Door featuring Shaun Tomson, starring Eddie Rothman and the aforementioned Cairns plus Rabbit Bartholomew and many others.

Cairns says of the watch party, which is hosted by surfing.com in the Party.Space metaverse on Saturday, April 23 at 5:00 PM ET / 2:00 PM PT (9:00 PM UTC), “This is going to be historic for the surf industry. In the metaverse, you will be able to mingle with all the guests and speakers, play games, ask questions, and view the movie on the big screen just like you were at an IRL party.”

Alla Koretsky, CEO of HeyLayer, the NFT marketplace for Surfing.com’s Wave Riders Club NFT launch says, “Everyone at the watch party is approachable. They’ll all be there not only to watch this great film, but to take part in surfing history,” with Chris Almida, Surfing.com Cofounder adding, “What a great way to get people frothing for this NFT drop the following Tuesday by giving a sneak peek at some of the incredible artwork.”

My main question is, how will Ian Cairns look in the metaverse? Popping with muscles striking terror into hearts or an approachable huggy bear ready for love?

A sexy beast ready for anything (see above)?

Something a little more… provocative?

Let’s go find out! Click here!

"Embracing the essence of mid-century modernism."

With a leopard grin, green flare flaring from his slitted eyes and a tiny five-five in socks body that vibrates with excitement and joy, ain’t no mistaking the master shaper Bobby McTavish.

You heard of him?

McTavish, along with pals George Greenough and Nat Young, was instrumental in the shortboard revolution which washed ashore in 1967, slashing two feet off the boards thereby gifting surfers the ability to hit and hang around the lip.

McTavish’s story is a good one: he was a state-of-the-art shredder who quit competition despite giving hell to the heroes of the time, Midget Farrelly, Nat Young and so on, helped create the modern shortboard, turned Jehovah’s Witness, had five kids, invented, way ahead of their time, these epoxy moulded replicas of pro surfers’ boards (called Pro Circuit Boards), went back to longboards, sold the label, made a little cash and made, crucially, some fine real estate investments.

Like this joint at Suffolk Park he’s gonna unload for north of three-and-a-half mill.

Pool, butler’s pantry, views to Cape Byron, “opulent bedrooms, lavishly appointed bathrooms, extravagant master suite”, exclusive, enviable etc.

“Embracing the essence of mid-century modernism,” reads the sales pitch.

It don’t scream mid-century modern so much to me as builder flicked through a few Richard Neutra books, skipped the finer details, and figured he could just do something cubist around a pool and the dumb-asses would call it Bahaus and start referencing Palm Springs.

Prices for houses in Suffolk Park, once Byron’s poorer cuz, have shifted almost seventy percent in two years. To put that into perspective, in 2019, 2020, a million bucks would’ve got you a place like this.

Ironically, McTavish, who’s now seventy-eight, was of that early seventies Country Soul era, surfers splitting the cities and heading to Byron Bay for “full contact rural immersion.”

Cops weren’t into it, but that was half the fun.

From Warshaw’s Country Soul,

“The local police, more for sport than anything, liked to keep the surf-hippies on their toes. McTavish was once yanked from his campsite, thrown bodily into a squad car, and driven to the town barber for a forced military-style haircut—paid for with McTavish’s last ten-bob note. “No crime, no charge,” he later shrugged. “Just hair past the collar.”

Inspect the McTavish House, make an offer, here.

Putting the "Break" in "Make or Break."

Respected surf journalist Sean Doherty delivered an excellent piece, overnight, for the wave propagandist organ Surfline detailing what we assumed had happened at the just-wrapped Bells Beach but also providing crucial insight. Yes, the professional surfers became angry with the World Surf League for the coming cull. Yes, SVPoT+HoC Jessie Miley-Dyer and CEO Erik Logan told them to kick rocks. Yes, Italo Ferreira stormed the judging tower, an event which Doherty described gloriously, but most importantly yes, the crew for the television program Make or Break were there to document… everything.

There in the judges tower before security. There hiding amidst the appropriated scrub brush. There… everywhere. Doherty writes, “These guys have been all over the contest site, and they’re like bloodhounds. The slightest drama or controversy and they emerge out of the sand with a gyro-stabilised camera,” before concluding that maybe just maybe Ferreira was playing up the tower storm for the camera.

And whoa.

Now, many questions must and should be asked. Which of our professional surfers, for example, is interesting? Which will jump off screen and into hearts? Which will fade like that aboriginal face paint applied to the winners’ smiling visages?

Most importantly, though, how can the patented Wall of Positive Noise remain structurally sound once Make or Break airs? JP Currie has smelled this change a comin’ all event long, sniffed a different version of professional surfing and I think he is right. I think that the commentary team, in particular, should recognize that the ground is shifting under their very feet and let the truth ooze out at Margaret because there are certain to be fireworks.

Professional surfers being told to pack their bags and leave the island.

Professional surfers weeping and gnashing their teeth out in the vineyards.

Professional surfers ruthlessly beheading each other in kangaroo paddocks.

We will see it all on Make or Break anyhow and that sort of unvarnished honesty will be expected in the near future.

Time to shine, Joe Turpel.

Time to hand jam.

“I know how to lose! But go fuck yourself.” 

With three minutes remaining in the last quarter-final on Saturday, 2019 world champ Italo Ferreira held a lead and priority over Jack Robinson.

Robinson needed a high six, an achievable score but a solid one for a day with waves of uncertain quality.

Jack hunted for space, but Italo gave none. The men were so close their arms clashed on every paddle stroke.

“That is how you get your opponent in check,” said Rabbit. “He is within the turning circle of his surfboard.”

Sets roll through.

Out of position, they duck the first ones.

Less than a minute-and-a-half remains. Italo is forced to utilise his priority and take a wave.

It sections on takeoff but he floats it smoothly. He wraps under the lip, turns off the bottom, comes back and hits it. As the wave fattens he wraps twice more before hitting the end section with power.

It’s as good as any in the heat so far, and looks certain to at least equal the 7.10 he’s currently holding as his top score.

He rides out in the whitewash, standing tall and triumphant. One arm with outstretched index finger is in the air, pointing towards the beach and judges. 

He thumps his chest with his fist.

Job done, heat wrapped.

But, not quite.

With just twenty seconds remaining Robinson takes off on a mediocre wave. He carves under the lip with some speed, comes back, hits the lip again, before nursing the flatter section. He makes the end section in unspectacular fashion, clapping himself to the beach.

The wave is fine, but looks unlikely to trouble the result, particularly given Italo’s final, larger wave.

The partisan crowd are audible, as they have been throughout Jack’s final wave, but the cheers seem disproportionate to the ride.

We wait for the scores to drop.

It’s likely that Robinson has his second best scoring wave, but unlikely that it’s enough. It’s unclear how much he knows about Italo’s final ride.

The camera stays with Jack. He stops on the stairs and closes his eyes. He is mouthing something we cannot hear, a silent incantation to the judges, willing them to give him the score.

It works.

He’s given a straight seven, Italo a 6.70.

It was almost as if the scores had been mixed up.

The cameras follow both men on a split-screen, once again highlighting the clear and uncanny improvements in production quality at this event.

Jack is congratulated by friends and supporters, Italo smashes his board on the walls of the locker room and screams at the wind. Someone in his entourage quickly puts a cap over the camera lens.

As Jack heads to the lockers, a crew of cameramen are seen rushing out, clearly in pursuit of a furious Ferreira on his way to confront the judges. If this is the Make or Break crew, which I can only presume it is, they are certainly getting the drama they’re looking for.

Then, in an uncharacteristically slick move by production, we see a drone angle of a shirtless Italo in the judges tower demanding answers.

It was genuinely engaging and for once the WSL were not shying away from the negative side of professional sport.

For every winner, there must be a loser, and often this is more compelling.

And what of winning?

Have you tasted success? Did you like it?

More importantly, what did it do to you?

Whatever your understanding of success, I don’t think it’s a stretch for me to suggest that not one of you has come so far in such a short period of time as Italo Ferreira.

But, at what cost?

Remember who Italo was when he came on Tour.

He was unknown to all of us, but a clear talent with an electrifying backhand. Out of the water he was characterised by a beaming smile and endearingly broken English.

Seems like someone else now, right?

Who could’ve predicted this character arc. It’s a mere four years since he won his first event, three since his world title. Chalk up an Olympic Gold medal, national hero status and millions of followers.

Who else in the history of surfing has become so detached from who they once were because of success in competition?

The impact is apparent in his demeanour, his physicality and his style. 

His body looks hewn from granite. It’s adorned with elaborate piercings and jewellery, risqué fashion choices and tattoos. He travels with influencer girlfriends and an entourage. He sprays aggressive slogans on his boards. And he wears an almost permanent scowl.

All of this is fine. His choices are his choices, but it’s a long, long way from a boy whose first surfboard was the lid from a cooler where his father kept the fish he sold on the beach.

In the space of a few short years Italo Ferreira might as well have been whisked away from his old life and transported to another planet, and all because of surfing.

Realistically, it’s hard for any of us to truly empathise with Italo or understand his psychology.

But winning is addictive. 

It doesn’t matter what the context is, once you’ve had it you never want to let it go.

What would you do to keep hold of this feeling? 

Would you clench your jaws around it like a terrier with a rat, shake until its spine snaps, until its belly tears open from anus to throat, and blood and entrails drip from your chin?

That’s Italo’s approach to surfing. It has changed his life and he’s not about to let it go.

During the heat there was a phone-in from Tom Carroll. He revealed he and Italo share an affinity.

They “just clicked,” said Tom.

“It makes perfect sense,” agreed Joe.

But the Tom Carroll today, meditative, measured, intelligent, is different to the Tom Carroll of old. 

I wonder which side of the man Italo identities with? 

And what does Carroll see of himself in Ferreira?

I’ve no doubt that Italo will figure things out, but it might not be this year. It might take time and perspective, and perhaps some help.

We can’t fault his hunger or drive, nor should we deny him it. Without consequence and passion sport is nothing, and that’s what Italo gives us.

“Eu sei perder! Mas vai tomar no C…” he tweeted after the dust had settled. Complete with middle-finger emoji.

Translation: “I know how to lose! But go fuck yourself.”