Perth man suffers critical freak accident
as surfboard rounds on him, fin slicing underarm and shoulder
thereby severing artery and causing severe blood loss.
By Chas Smith
Terrifying that a board can turn on its master with
such ferocity.
More often than not the surfing experience is relatively
sublime. A wave at a friendly face in the car park,
invigorating paddle to the peak, a few fun waves wiggled and
jiggled upon, a belly ride on whitewash, an amble back to vehicle
et voilà. But there are, truly, many variables that can,
each, go horribly askew. Being dropped in on by an unwieldy kook
and speared, lost log rolling into head, shark nibbling toes,
rattlesnake planning a land assault.
Surfboard fin performing seppuku.
This final horror occurred hours ago to a middle-aged Perth
surfer out enjoying autumnal Yallingup, home to Taj Burrow and many
fine waves.
Australia’s 9 News is
reporting that sunbathers who witnessed the freak
accident rushed into action, dragging the man from the water and
forming some sort of tourniquet to stop severe blood loss from a
severed artery under the arm or in the shoulder. He was rushed to a
local intensive care unit where he was stabilized then airlifted to
Perth for emergency surgery where he remains in critical but stable
condition.
Very best wishes for a speedy recovery but also terrifying that
a board can turn on its master with such ferocity. I’ve had my nose
broken by surfboard rail before and been speared in the guts
causing a light bruise and knocking the wind out but that’s it.
Easy stuff. Though what is the hardest knock you’ve received from
your usually trusty steed?
Nasty business.
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World Surf League CEO Erik Logan steals
spotlight from banished Conner Coffin, Seth Moniz on day two of Rip
Curl Pro Bells Beach with “pimp-like” panache!
By JP Currie
"Such is the unpredictability of professional
surfing."
Four surfers eliminated after two days of
competition. Meat and potatoes time.
Tell me the mid-season cut isn’t a great idea?
They ran at Winki today, and what started off as marginal,
unappealing and windy junk actually provided some solid
entertainment thanks to buzzer beaters and tight scoring.
I’m probably committing some sort of sacrilege in suggesting
this, but is Winkipop not a…better wave?
We were also treated to some primetime ELo, some showbusiness
ELo.
But more on him in a minute.
Spare a thought for Conner Coffin. Last year’s top five surfer
has gone 17th, 17th, 5th and now 33rd. Good result in Portugal
aside, he looks deflated and will likely be below the cut line at
the conclusion of this comp.
He was cursed by Turpel early on today, who said Coffin “felt
confident just staying in rhythm from the cliff.”
Apparently the rhythm of the cliff isn’t as good as the rhythm
of the water in preparation for surfing competitions.
Conner must have sleepless nights about days like this. All
those years spent honing his style and refining his rail-work, only
to be eliminated in wonky 3ft surf not conducive to the longer
lines he likes to hold. There seems little adaptation in his
surfing.
Do you have sympathy for a man who values aesthetics and stays
true to his style?
At this rate he won’t be around for J-Bay, and that would be a
crying shame.
(And btw, if you’re listening, GERRRRRR!, I want you to know
that I’ve thought about Conner’s Secret Turn at least once every
day for five years or more. Now I might never see it, and that’s on
you.)
Such is the unpredictability of professional surfing that it
would have been an impossible punt to pick Heat 11, with Jake
Marshall, Deivid Silva and Miguel Pupo, as the most entertaining of
the Opening Round, but that was to be the case.
At the final hooter three men were separated by just 0.43 of a
point.
With 30 seconds remaining, Jake Marshall held a commanding lead.
Pupo was in second and Silva was heading to the elimination
round.
Ten seconds later Silva dropped a 7.0 for three solid backhand
turns with no hitches on a prior set wave, moving him into
first.
Marshall, now in second, caught a wave with less than 10 seconds
left and was riding when the buzzer sounded, presumably thinking he
was home and dry. But scores were still to come in for Pupo.
Miguel got a 5.90, meaning Marshall had gone from first to
second to last in the final 20 seconds.
All of a sudden he needed a 5.24 on the wave he’d caught at the
buzzer. He was given a 4.70.
Pupo had squeaked through ahead of him by 0.06 of a point.
It was a breathless final exchange of waves.
In the context of surf scoring Marshall would be within his
rights to feel sore about heading to the losers round, but any man
might have ended up first or last and it would’ve been tough to
argue their case either way. In the end, Deivid Silva was a fine
enough winner.
A favourite sub-genre of mine is the obscure sponsorships of
Brazilian pro surfers. They’re not too proud to rep anyone if it
means a few shekels towards a plane ticket and a new G-banger.
Silvana Lima was sponsored by an altcoin seven years ago, long
before your granny was buying her groceries with Satoshis.
Deivid Silva had stickers for a pizza restaurant on his board
yesterday in a quite lovely nod to the archetype.
Elimination heats were completed. Coffin, Matthew McGillivray
and Seth Moniz are left to mope and ponder Margaret River with a
miserable 265 points for finishing 33rd. So too wildcard Tully
Wylie who made scant impression this time.
So that was the surfing, but onto the real show, the one we
really tune in for: the pantomime of the World Surf League!
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m sure Erik Logan referred to
what he does as “showbusiness” today?
It was probably loosely in reference to the forthcoming “Make or
Break” series on Apple TV, which Logan was there to pimp, and you
can be damn sure he’s a showman.
Pimp it he did.
I mean, I’m excited about it. I genuinely think it’ll be good,
but Erik Logan thinks it’ll be GREAT! This is his arena, his
velodrome of seedy schmoozing and media fludge.*
He stopped just short of anointing himself as the saviour of pro
surfing on the spot, but the subtext was clear.
Clearly still smarting from the Clean Vans backlash and in a
tizzy about what sort of footwear a man in his position should
wear, he opted to go functional with spick and span Salomons to
pair with his blue jeans and WSL logoed shirt, top button
loosed.
A Salomon Cross Hike Gore-Tex, if I’m not mistaken. Perhaps even
a mid?
Serious footwear, at any rate.
For those not familiar with the French brand who cut their teeth
in the ski industry, think day-hikers, remote workers, stay at home
dads, and old, weathered European men in luminous Nevica ski
jackets.
Salomon shoes are what men put on when their partners tell them
that socks with sandals is “not smart-casual”.
I’m not sure about you, but all I could hear when ELo was
talking about “Make or Break” was the Diana Ross song “One Shining
Moment”.
That’s clearly his theme tune.
Slightly unnerving were his interactions with Rabbit
Bartholomew, who, bless his heart, had put in a good shift but was
clearly flagging by the time ELo came in.
His face a shade best described as “perplexing red” (and I do
mean that in the synecdochical sense) he slunk lower and lower in
his chair as the day went on.
If things had gone on much longer Rabbit might have been reduced
to a pile of laundry on the chair between Logan and Turpel, topped
with a chequered shirt.
ELo employed some of what he remembered from his management
workshops by reaching over to touch Rabbit’s hand every so often.
It was a tactile trust play reminiscent of a pick-up artist, or the
way you might lay a hand on the arm of an elderly relative in a
care home, just to check it’s still warm.
If you listened very carefully I’m sure you could hear Rabbit
emit a low growling noise, much like an aging Cocker Spaniel.
But ELo’s fludge was at least mildly preferable to Shannon,
clearly on the same dollar per word rate as Turpel, but with a
pitch that would make dogs whine.
Listen to her and tell me it’s not like when you accidentally
hit the double speed button on a podcast app?
It was exhausting. Thank christ for Richie Lovett slowing things
down and giving our ears a break every so often. And he’s ok,
right? No major note of improvement from me so far anyway. A solid
mid-range score with the potential to creep into the excellent
range. The commentary equivalent of Nat Young.
Anyway, on we go, as we must.
Much more to look forward to I’m sure.
*fludge in my own neologism for the purpose of describing ELo’s
verbiage. Think of it as oral frogspawn.
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Italo, emotional, after beating Mick Fanning
in 2018. WSL
Comment live, day two, Rip Curl Pro, Bells
Beach!
By Derek Rielly
Get emotional!
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Kelly Slater, shooting for his fifth Bell,
which'd be a record for the men and thirty-one years since his
first victory there. WSL
Fifty-year-old Kelly Slater makes
triumphant return to Bells Beach despite Oscars COVID; shoots for
record fifth Bell an astonishing 31 years since his first win
there!
By JP Currie
Miracles do happen!
Are we betting on Bells? Is there redemption to
be found in a dribbly Southern Ocean?
Addiction is a funny thing.
You carry it with you always, even when you’re “better”. In the
best of times and the worst it’s still there, draped over your
shoulders like an invisible weighted blanket.
The worst of addiction is unseen. No-one knows it’s there, least
and most of all the afflicted. You live with a malignant ghoul that
lurks in the dark corners of your house. You don’t notice it
feeding on your mind, but you wake feeling drained, hollowed out
day by day.
There will be no escape, no redemption. What’s in you is in you.
What’s done is done.
The flames may not be visible but a creeping burn blackens and
chars from the inside out.
They say you need to replace the thing you’re addicted to with
something else, something healthy, fulfilling, wholesome. But what
if it becomes another addiction? Or just masks the initial
problem?
Maybe some people are just doomed.
Genetics, personality, who knows why.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t watch yesterday’s heats live. I, like
you, have been underwhelmed by the forecast for Bells this
year.
At 2200 GMT the comp was put on hold until the next call at
0145. I honestly didn’t expect them to run. Instead I watched the
early tip-offs for the final day of the NBA’s regular season. A
frantic chase before chances were gone.
I was tired. I ran just short of 34 miles yesterday in one
six-hour stint. Too tired to stay up all night in the hope of
three-to-four-foot-and-onshore Bells Beach.
My brother posed a question to me this week: “Why are you going
on so many long runs? Is it to forget your gambling losses?”
Interesting, I thought.
I pondered this yesterday, alone in the hills.
Speaking of losses, are you excited about the upcoming
mid-season cut? I think it adds a bit of spice to a turgid
format.
I listened to a bit of the Lipped podcast the other day for the
first time in a while. There was a fair degree of whinging and
reported whinging about the mid-season cut. Surfers don’t like it,
makes them feel insecure, scared for their futures, not fair etc
etc.
Good, I say.
Call me unkind but I will shed no tears for professional
surfers.
As a reminder, after Margaret River the men’s field will be cut
to 22 and the women’s to just 10. It is worth providing a reminder
because the availability of information about this critical format
change is shockingly poor, not least on the WSL’s own channels.
I was about to direct you to a video called “Rankings Update:
Which Surfers Need To Put In Work To Make The Cut”. (Subheading:
“Watch as Kaipo, Peter and Shannon break down the latest drama of
the Championship Tour Rankings.”)
I watched this a few days ago and it was embarrassingly bad, not
to mention completely useless.
Kaipo was typically incoherent, mumbling something about
“wardrobe” in reference to the yellow jersey and what I’d guess was
supposed to be a segue into discussion of the cut, but there
followed no mention of the surfers at risk of what implications
were. There was certainly no “breaking down” of anything other than
basic broadcasting competence.
I was going to suggest you watch this clip for giggles, but in
typically Orwellian fashion it has since been replaced in the app
by one of Joe, Shannon and Richie Lovett. As further evidence of
ineptitude they haven’t bothered to change the title or subheading
so it still says it’s Kaipo and Pete.
Do they not have a decent video editor in the whole
organisation? I suppose not since they apparently sacked the
content team recently, but the heat replays are truly painful to
watch.
The WSL website and apps are utterly atrocious. I wrote a whole
piece about this I never posted because examining it was too
irritating. If you’re going to parade like a media company you’d
better sort out your front end.
I doubtless missed some fun broadcast wrinkles yesterday. You
don’t get the full experience on the replay. It was nice to hear
Ronnie again, though, who for my money is by far the most competent
broadcaster, maybe the only one.
I remain confounded by the fact that Kaipo has a job, much less
one that flies him around the world and gives him a microphone.
It’s beginning to seem a bit like he might have incriminating
information about someone at the WSL that he uses as leverage,
similar to the Putin/Trump thing.
You know, evidence of illicit and seedy dalliances with sex
workers, that sort of thing. There’s no other explanation I can
think of.
Shannon and Bugs were introduced as a punditry duo in an
apparent attack on anyone with ears. It was a soundclash for the
ages. In one corner we have Bugs, with the slurred vowels of red
wine and Oxycontin; and in the other we have Shannon, whose pitch
must wreak havoc with sound engineers and the folk at parties doing
lines off the kitchen counter.
“If anyone can get a near perfect score, it’s Mick Fanning,”
mewled Shannon as Mick took off on two foot of mush.
I only watched the heat replay, of course, and the waves were
junk, but how can Mick’s surfing look so dated already? Even if
opportunities had existed for perfect scores, he looked some way
from it.
It occurred to me that you could easily automate WSL commentary
and we wouldn’t know the difference. You know, like those automated
phone services for utility providers. There’s a very narrow range
of phrases and tone in the WSL commentator canon. I’d imagine it
could be learned by an algorithm in a couple of hours.
Just as long as you didn’t input any of Strider’s data, because
that would fuck up even the most sophisticated machine
intelligence.
I was too consumed in other things to get any pre-match bets on,
but Kanoa was paying 4/1 to make the semi. That seemed like value
given his recent form and the fact he can look sparky in junk
waves.
I was kicking myself when I saw his surfing in comparison to
everyone else’s in the opening round. Bugs called him “Tom
Curren-esque”, which might be a stretch, but his waves stood out
today nonetheless.
You don’t quite catch some of the radical angles he gets his
board and body into in real time. It’s only when you see the slowed
down replays you notice some of the detail.
That’s an 82/1 accumulator (or parlay to the Americans in the
room).
And it won’t be enough, but it would be something.
Oh, and I ran a hundred miles this week.
Take from that what you will.
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Middle-aged man with dreams of witnessing
the Rip Curl Pro Bells Beach live saves money, makes pilgrimage to
Torquay, turns away devastated after realizing there is a hefty
entrance fee!
By Chas Smith
Anti-anti-depressive.
The Rip Curl Pro Bells Beach is currently
underway and now that the Billabong Pipeline Masters has been
reduced to the Billabong Pro Pipeline I do believe the argument
could be made that it is the most historically significant surf
contest on the planet.
It has been run, continuously save Covid ravaged 2020, off
Torquay’s rugged shore since 1961, always over Easter week.
Australian rock n’ roll anthem Hell’s Bells is played every morning
before the first day of competition. The trophy, designed by local
Joe Sweeney, is iconic.
Morris Cole.
It is also the only event on the World Surf League Championship
Tour schedule that demands an entrance fee.
A middle-aged man who longed dreamed of witnessing the spectacle
saved all his money for years and years, cutting his children’s
bread rations by 1/3 and taking extra night shifts. He toiled and
sweated and eventually had just enough to travel to Melbourne, bus
to Torquay and make pilgrimage except when he arrived at the top of
those iconic steps was met with a ticket booth charging exorbitant
fees for the pleasure.
Money changers in the temple.
Dejected he turned away after direct messaging me, “A bit of
Bells fodder. $10 entry fee to watch. Obviously I said fuck that
and went home.”
I, too, was once slapped by that bit of dirty pool. The world’s
favorite surfer Mick Fanning and I had recently become entangled in
an imbroglio and, thus, my invite to Bells was discontinued. I
thought, “I’ll show you and come anyway…” so there I went, to
Torquay, and there I saw the fee and there I obviously said “fuck
that” and went back to the public house.
Wild.
But, more to the point, how much would you pay to witness
professional surfing live and in person?