"Not the worst day of competition we’ve seen this
year, not by a long chalk, but nothing like we hope for at the
iconic Tahitian reef that tongue-ties surf scribes and simpletons
alike."
It was fine. Just fine. Not the worst day of
competition we’ve seen this year, not by a long chalk, but nothing
like we hope for at the iconic Tahitian reef that tongue-ties surf
scribes and simpletons alike.
I’m fine, too. Thanks for asking. Or I’m not. Really I’m not
quite sure anymore. I’ve been away a bit over the past couple of
weeks, scrabbling to rescue something from the ashes of another
summer break which has smouldered to an uncertain close.
Each man’s choices come with their own pain. I’ve wished,
throughout my life, to be more like Kelly Slater. Not specifically.
Not even in skill, and certainly not character. But simply in being
utterly besotted and entirely consumed, by one, single thing.
I’ve never found it. It’s why I write, I think. Because I’m
searching. I look for answers by dipping vicariously into the lives
of others, like a swallow on a summer river, flitting joyously in
and out.
Except it’s not joyous. Not always. Mostly I just find it hard
to feel satisfied with the stultifying ordinariness of existence,
despite recognising my objective, multitudinous privilege. People
tell me I should get therapy, but that seems too American, and more
than a little conceited. There’s no reason or solution I can think
of for such aching discontent.
Yet. Yet…
However, this summer I’ve come to a decision: after this school
year I’m taking a break. I plan to pour myself into writing, for
better or worse. Some ideas are half-started, some aren’t even
that. I certainly haven’t worked out how it might work financially.
It’s a gamble, sure. But if I don’t do it now, then when?
So if anyone out there wants to hire a writer of questionable
temperament and moral fibre but unflinching commitment to the
betterment of his art, I’m here for it.
Slater’s commitment to his art was evidenced once again today.
Straight from Skeleton Bay, Namibia, he came, straight into woolly,
windy Tahitian tubes.
Hardly for the first time, I was stunned by the endurance of the
man. Nevermind the competition, and the various stresses on the
meat suit he’s been punishing for more than half a century. What
about the travel? The endless drudgery of getting from one place to
the next. The waiting. The queues. The planes and trains and boats
and hired cars. How many flights? How many connections and
phonecalls and room bookings and card payments? How much stress?
How does he take it?
I have no idea, but it tightens my chest just to think about
it.
Teahupo’o was windy, sick looking, today. Not sick as in
radical, but sick as in aw, that’s a wee shame you’re no feelin
well. Slater was in heat one, and surfed with a freshness that
belied the air miles. But the early heats were mostly decided in
quite un-Tahitian fashion by turns rather than tubes. He did own
the best single wave of his heat by some margin, a high six for a
deep and technical barrel he airdropped into, but the
relentlessness of Yago Dora’s hunt for a title shot was too
much.
It’s painful watching the WSL broadcasts like this. Everyone
knows what we’re watching is sub-standard, but no-one wants to say
it. Instead, we get a veneer of positivity, the claptrap of
disingenuity. I get it. No-one wants to watch a broadcast full of
soorpusses, but who are the fans swallowing the narrative? Only the
most ardent or naive.
Days of poor waves can’t be avoided, in competition or in life,
but this season more than any has proven that scheduling the Tour
stops around peak swell times is paramount. It seems trite to state
this, but it’s not happening. It simply must be bulletpoint number
one for ELo’s successor.
And what of the top five / Final’s Day structure, do we ditch
this now ELo is gone? I’m not sure. Location notwithstanding, I
quite like the concept. Surfing, on a pure sporting level, does
need to feel more critical. There are very few heats where it feels
like much is at stake. The Final’s Day structure theoretically goes
some way to solving this, but the two we’ve seen have been
lacklustre, and it brings its own set of problems.
JMD crept into the booth briefly today, sheepishly resplendent
in lime green. She informed us, clinically, that the injured Ethan
Ewing would not be replaced at Trestles. Noticeably absent was her
lightness of manner during the Logan era. Gone is the insidious
bluster of that time.
There was lots of talk of wildcards today, justified by the fact
that Teahupo’o is a specialist’s wave where wildcards have done
well. But only one, Mihimana Braye, a surfer whose name is new to
me, prospered in the mediocre conditions.
Griffin Colapinto and Joao Chianca are the unfortunate top seeds
that draw Matahi Drollet and Kauli Vaast in the elimination round.
Good for betting, if you like that sort of thing. Bad for Chianca’s
chances of going to Trestles.
Should we make more of this wildcard potential in surfing, as a
USP, if you like? If there’s anything comparable in professional
sport at the highest level I can’t think of it right now.
Or does it just point to the fallacy of judging one man’s
surfing against another in a timed, restricted format?
There was no fallacy in the surfing of Gabriel Medina, John
Florence and Jack Robinson today. Crucially, all are vying for a
top five place (I’ll leave it to Joe Turpel to explain the
ramifications of this) and each won his heat in convincing
fashion.
It’s hard to accept that Gabriel Medina hasn’t nailed down a top
five slot by now, but that’s the world we’re living in.
Also in with a shout of making the top five (as dull as that
might be) is Leo Fioravanti. The Italian laid down the highest heat
total of the day with 16.93. It’s still conflicting to me that the
lone European on Tour is an Italian surfer. Not that he’s had a
traditional upbringing in the country of his birth, plainly.
I have nothing against Italians. In fact, I quite admire their
general vanity and arrogance. It’s just Italy is a place you go to
smoke cigarettes and drink coffee, not to surf.
So we go to elimination. The interest lies in the battle between
Medina, Robinson, Florence and Fioravanti, all chasing Chianca and
Dora to fill the final two spots in the top five.
There is a glimmer in the forecast. Just a glimmer.
In surfing, as in life, that’s what we must hold onto.
