For my money, there was no greater inevitability in
pro sports than this comeback.
In life and in surfing, you might find perfect moments, but it’s
our flaws that keep us going. Absolute, lasting perfection is a
goal best left in the abstract.
Because once you get there, where’s left to go?
If there’s meaning to life, or surfing, it lies in the
chase.
As we career towards a future where supreme intelligence is no
longer human, and our very existence is uncertain, this chase is
more vital than ever, because it binds us to humanity.
Hold tightly to your love, because it’s a uniquely human thing.
But also cherish your losses, your tragic errors and your deepest
flaws. These give us purpose.
Our weaknesses are agnostic to culture, or race, or gender. Our
frailties trace vital lines of communication. We are comforted by
the fact that others share them, but equally joyous in seeing
people overcome them.
And in the perfect moments when flaws are vanquished, that’s
where we find the greatest joy. Moments that become bubbles, where
all of life’s grind and tragedy is temporarily suspended.
These moments are found in surfing, perhaps in something as
simple as an exited barrel or single turn for most of us.
But for the men who’ve given their lives to the art of
performance surfing, these moments come in victory over other men
like them.
Any one of the four who made the semi-finals at Margaret River
would have been a worthy winner, and all were worthy adversaries.
Yet each have their flaws, some briefly conquered, others
revealed.
For Joao Chianca, still the number one rated surfer in the
world, his emotions are his weakness, a fact he noted. He
approaches his fellow competitors like prey. A heat with Joao
Chianca is like a crocodile’s death roll.
We might easily view this as his major strength, even if he
thinks he doesn’t always get the balance right. “Cold blood, warm
heart”, he stated as his aim. It was a perfect analogy for elite
sports. It sounded too good to be original rather than something
he’d heard on a podcast, but if it was his own turn of phrase then
it should become both his catchphrase and guiding principle, and
I’d expect others to steal it.
Chianca may be emerging as a far more cerebral athlete than
first imagined, a fact alluded to by Britt Merrick on Ain’t That
Swell recently. Chianca understood surfboard design, he said, on a
deep level.
Regardless, he lost to Medina today, in a match-up I hope to see
much more of, if only to watch them paddle off the contest site in
order to establish priority, foaming at the mouth.
Medina is still the alpha, but Chianca is undeterred.
Until the semi-final loss to Colapinto, John Florence was more
or less flawless.
The idea of Florence having flaws at all will be antithetical to
most people, but if he does, it’s the inability to compromise his
surfing to fit the confines of a heat. Florence knows no other way
to approach a wave like Margaret River than with sheer, poetic
violence.
It’s served him well, amassing forty-something excellent wave
scores in the years he’s competed here. Contrast this with the next
highest which is Jordy Smith with fifteen. One of those rare WSL
stats that’s actually interesting.
The approach had also served him well until, quite ironically,
he tried to address his often flawed approach to heat surfing by
aiming for mid-range scores early rather than waiting for the best
waves and terminating them. It was a tactic he based on the
previous heat, and on many other days he would’ve been right. Today
he wasn’t wrong, just unlucky.
The luck was on Colapinto’s side. It came first in a highly
juiced 8.50, which I haven’t watched again but caused some ire from
fans in the comment section. And it came second in being perfectly
positioned for one of the waves of the day, ridden, to Colapinto’s
credit, with the sort of speed and grace that warranted the nine
points he was awarded. Few complaints about that one.
Florence was the best surfer of the entire competition, but
Colapinto won that heat. So goes pro surfing.
The flaws in Griffin Colapinto’s game this year are increasingly
hard to spot. He’s stylish, well-rounded, his head-game seems on
point, and most importantly, he seems to have remarkable composure
and belief that allows him to do his best surfing in a vest.
He elevates to a slightly higher level with each event, and
firmly belongs in world title conversations alongside the likes of
Robinson, Medina and Toledo.
But it was Medina who took the Margaret River title for 2023 in
a dominant final where he threw away more points than Colapinto
could amass. It was a performance reminiscent of the past, and if
you ask his most ardent fans, myself included, it might just
foreshadow the second coming we’ve never doubted.
It was Gabriel Medina’s first victory since coming back at this
point last season, and the first result better than ninth this
year. His hiatus from the competition landscape was due to the
breakdown of his marriage and damage to his relationships with his
mother and stepfather.
Medina’s flaws have always been personal, not professional.
When it comes to pro surfing, Medina is Him.
We know this, his competitors know this, and he knows this.
Testament to his dedication to gym work, Medina muscled his way
through the warbles better than anyone, manhandling converging
sections of whitewater at Main Break and staying on his feet where
others could not. It was not just poise and timing that carried him
to victory, but sheer physicality.
Perhaps his personal problems have strengthened his resolve to
reassert his dominance, his love of winning the key to his
redemption.
God knows, we all have something to run to, for better or
worse.
The flawed gamblers among us were surely rewarded by this return
to form. Medina’s odds had been steadily lengthening with each
ninth place finish. But for my money, there was no greater
inevitability in pro sports than this comeback.
And so we roll onto the maligned Surf Ranch, where the major
fault is faultlessness. We don’t enjoy waves of mechanical
perfection. It’s unnatural. It’s inhuman.
But cast your eye over the current top seven surfers in the
world, as well as some of the talented outliers. Only five of these
men can make the cut off for Trestles, and right now I couldn’t
pick them with head nor heart.
The Surf Ranch might not be your favourite Tour stop, neither is
it mine. But at least the waves are assured, and my sleeping
patterns can be planned.
More importantly, there’s no-where to hide in the baking heat of
Lemmore.
After all, if the canvas is perfect, the flaws of the artist are
revealed.
