(Two events in Brazil, anyone? Brazilian CEO?)
And so it was that the least promising event window of
the season delivered one of the best final days.
Conditions weren’t perfect, but they were the best we’d seen.
The kind of clean, sunny beachbreak that makes you glad to be
alive.
The success of the day was in no small part due to the
consistently superb Brazilian fans. It is an undeniable fact that
Brazil not only produces the greatest surfers in the world, but
also the finest and most vociferous supporters of professional
surfing.
(Two events in Brazil, anyone? Brazilian CEO?)
The clientele for finals day were also fresh and clean. Only one
top five surfer remained in Ethan Ewing, perhaps the most
unlikely.
In the end, it was to be Yago Dora who claimed his first CT
victory, a hometown favourite with universal appeal and an
undeniably broad skill-set. The manner of his victory is matched
only by the considerable style with which he wields foam, resin and
water.
But before that, the prelude.
Sammy Pupo’s hot streak came to an end against Ryan Callinan.
The latter being the first of Mitch Salazar’s predilections to take
out the event victory.
Throughout the day Salazar was to make several claims with the
emboldened bluster of a tarot card reader. These ranged from wildly
inaccurate to patently bloody obvious.
“In my view, he’s a top ten surfer of all time”, he said of John
Florence, in a tone that suggested it was a hot take. “I think
people forget just how complete a surfer he is.”
They don’t, Mitch. They really don’t.
Salazar approaches his job like a self-appointed sage, imbued
with profundity and wisdom, but the substance of what he says
carries all the weight of a tortilla.
I truly hope that the new CEO, whoever it may be, recognises
that some slash and burn is needed with the commentary team. Mitch
and Kaipo have to go. That’s unequivocal.
As for Turpel, I waver, just as you might at the vet with a
beloved family pet. He’s utterly useless, but easy to sympathise
with. We’re so used to having him around.
But when he told us yesterday, without a hint of irony or
humour, that if we’d ever wondered what it was like to surf like
the best in the world, we could download a game from the App Store
to find out, it was the nail in the coffin. Verbatim, the note I
recorded: “Fuck you, Turpel, honestly. I’m out. Hopefully you are
too.”
I’m sure people think that we just enjoy using the pundits as
punching bags here at BG, but our ire and humour conceals a serious
point. We spend so much time listening to this broadcast team, they
are the faces and voices of the sporting performances, and they can
make or break our viewing experience. They absolutely need to be
better.
But back to those performances. Ewing vs Fioravanti was settled
in the opening exchange of quarter final number two. The smoothness
of Dora rendered a virtual no-contest against Jadson Andre in the
next.
The fourth heat of the day, an all Hawaiian match-up between
Florence and Mamiya, was a different matter.
The crux of the heat was Mamiya’s final wave. With a minute on
the clock and needing an 8.27, he executed four seamless backhand
strikes, the first of which was the turn of the heat. It wasn’t the
biggest wave of the day, but there was plenty of reciprocal
power.
He claimed vigorously, like he felt he’d got the score, and upon
direct comparison with Florence’s 8.93, his upwelling of emotion
seemed justified.
John’s 8.93 had started with a wrap and finished without drama
or verve. Barron’s was full throttle from beginning to end. It
should’ve turned the heat.
Two judges agreed, one giving a nine, another an eight-five. But
the rest settled on flat eights and the result was 8.17.
Florence took a long time on the beach before this heat, head
bowed, caressing his board in his arms as if in prayer. To whom or
what ends is uncertain, and it may be he was just trying to return
to the ubiquitous present amidst the baying crowd, but it did make
me recalibrate my sense of how much winning heats might mean to
him.
Regardless, by the semi final this centre could not hold.
Against Yago he was barely able to summon a wave let alone a score.
He exited the competition with a whimper, sitting astride his board
with a 6.50 heat total, albeit after a semi final finish that sees
him in striking distance of a shot at a third world title.
Both semis were lacklustre in the warbly, inconsistent high
tide. Callinan and Ewing were both mistake prone in the other, with
the latter stitching a couple of solid scores among the falls with
some searingly smooth rail surfing.
But it was the final that capped the day as a resounding
success. And a nod once again to the crowd that made this a
reality. So often it’s pure WSL ministry of truth style fiction,
whether in ELo’s manufactured numbers or those in the booth
reporting things our eyes tell us are lies. But in Brazil these
crowds are real.
Drone shots showed thousands of people packing the beach, tanned
limbs pressed up against barriers, jammed skin to skin and
grinning. Brazil is what the WSL has always dreamed pro surfing
could be. Even through a screen the atmosphere is tangible.
As the finalists were announced, combat style by the Brazilian
announcer on the blue runway, their personalities seemed to have
been momentarily switched. Ewing grinned from ear to ear, an
outward expression of happiness seldom seen.
Dora, by contrast, was steel-eyed, terminator-like. “I’ve never
seen Yago in the fifteen plus years I’ve known him with that much
intensity in his eyes”, said Jesse Mendes.
On the birds-eye angle, each combatant cast long shadows in the
late afternoon sun. One man in blue, the other in red. One dark and
moustached, the other blond and clean shaven. It was a vision that
stirred images of an empty street with a man at either end of
it.
Ewing took a wave almost immediately. Mere seconds in, Mitch
“Nostradamus” Salazar proclaimed his victory. “I think this is the
way Ethan wins this final”, he stated conclusively.
Fortunately, everyone ignored him.
The decisive blow was Dora’s ten point ride for a gigantic full
rotation, spun and landed as clean as it gets. It was a flat,
snowboard-like rotation, of a type few in the world might execute
with such panache.
Certainly it was not the type of surfing we’ve seen from Ethan
Ewing, nor are we likely to. This isn’t a slight, but rather to
make the point that there was no answer he could give in this
situation. This gulf in range made Dora a worthy winner.
It was only the second maximum score of the entire season, and
it couldn’t have been more different to Callum Robson’s genre
bending barrel at Supertubos. Nevertheless it was valid.
Detractors could argue it was a capitulation to the partisan
crowd and the moment, but if so, only by half a point.
Dora moves seven positions to number five in the world. He’s a
threat at every venue, including Trestles, and if that fact isn’t
already obvious, it will become more apparent in time.
For all the talk of surfing’s importance to culture in the likes
or Australia and California, only in Brazil does it feel like real
sport.
Stadiums are not the answer for pro surfing, packed beaches and
quality broadcasts are. If the WSL is to have any future, they’ll
follow the fans, not the money. Satisfy the first and the second
will follow.
On a personal level, thanks for all the comments and messages of
support, both in public and private. It has an impact. I’m still in
the hospital. My boy isn’t out of the woods, but he’s on the
mend.
I’ll be forever grateful for the healthcare in this country and
the simple, human kindness shown by nurses in particular.
It’s a weird little thing this life. Do whatever you can with
it, for yourself and others.
