Bobby Martinez (pictured) near sainthood. Photo: Morgan
Maassen
Tributes pour in for Bobby Martinez as
onetime surf tour standout’s bold prophecy fully manifests!
By Chas Smith
Come honor the legend.
Augury is not an easy game. The variables in
life, near infinite, can make a sure bet go very quickly sideways.
Oh it is easy for the average fella to mumble something they think
might happen in the future if this or that also occurs
etc. etc. with many caveats and hedges in place. It is equally
difficult to stand in front of the world, microphone in hand, and
prophesy loud enough for everyone to hear. For everyone to know
where the marker is and be able to hold account.
Over twelve years on, Bobby
Martinez’s presage there on the sands of New York
rings truer and truer and truer with each one that passes.
“I don’t want to be part of this dumb fucken wanna be tennis
tour.”
Now he could have said “I don’t want to be part of this dumb
fucken wanna be dog show.” Or he could have said, “I don’t want to
be part of this dumb fucken wanna be rodeo.”
But he did not. He said, very clearly, “I don’t want to be part
of this dumb fucken wanna be tennis tour.”
Surf Fans Bow Heads in Front of Bobby Martinez
Understandable, then, why tributes are pouring in today,
praising Martinez, offering fealty to his wisdom.
For hours ago, the sitting World Surf League CEO Cherie R. Cohen
(She/Her), who must not like that poisoned title so continues to
operate as “Global Chief Officer & Advisor,” took to social media
to declare “Our very own, takes the court. So proud of you Sarah
Swanson! Excited to collaborate. Surf + turf.”
Swanson held the position as the World Surf League’s Chief
Marketing Officer bringing us gems like “It takes a tour to make a
title” and the Bailey Ladder Leaderboard.
What cross pollination between tennis and surfing do you image
we’ll see as the new season gets underway?
Are you brave enough to loudly predict?
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"It makes no sense," writes Kelly Slater.
Kelly Slater questions “official narrative”
over Hamas’ massacre of Israeli citizens
By Derek Rielly
"How does an outpost get taken over close to the
concert hours before and nobody is tipped off? Makes no sense,"
writes Kelly Slater.
Many years ago, 2015 or thereabouts, Kelly Slater was
interviewed by the conspiracy theorist Luke Rudowski of
wearechange.org.
Briefly, Slater and Rudowski both agreed that 9-11 was most
likely an inside job (Zionists, CIA etc.), that Monsanto maybe has
their base in Hawaii in case of a zombie apocalypse, that the Zika
Virus was caused by genetically tuned mosquitoes, there’s a cancer
cure and maybe Kelly has it, and the importance of following
alternative media like wearechange.org.
These sorts of interviews used to enliven even my gloomiest day,
as if it was a fairy tale about the glorification of pumpkins.
Not everyone was so enamoured by the entertainment. The podcast
Surf Simply ran an episode, later pulled down ‘cause everyone got
real sad Kelly Slater was being teased, titled Calling Out
Kelly.
One of the show’s three hosts Ru Hill concluded,
“(Kelly Slater) is spreading fear, mistrust, scientific
illiteracy and guilt because if someone’s getting cancer or getting
sick he’s alluded in the past to connections in the past between
GMOs and autism. If your child’s getting leukaemia, autism, and
then you’re thinking that I might’ve caused this by what I’m
choosing to feed them, it’s just… awful. That is the reason why
Kelly Slater is no longer my hero.”
In his latest foray into the narrative challenging game Kelly
Slater responds to conservative commentator Charlie Kirk’s posit
that the under-siege right-wing government of Bibi Netanyahu issued
a stand-down order to the IDF for six hours.
“Israel was on the brink of cvil war,” says Kirk.
This allowed bad boys Hamas to go on a wild Jew-killin’ spree,
ostensibly as as strike on their Zionist enemy, but also ‘cause Hamas sure do like killing
Hebes. In turn, Bibi gets a spike in popularity as country unites
to defeat vicious enemy. Wins all round.
“That is a legitimate non-conspiracy question,” says Kirk.
“One thing that really threw me off, and I’ve asked a couple
Israeli friends about it to no clear answer… some of the concert
goers that got shot in their car but got away went to a military
outpost and were greeted only by Hamas militants there who had
taken over the outpost (and presumably killed everyone there).
“This car took off and everyone in it got shot but then they
sort of got away and the car died. They scaled a ten-foot fence and
ran for their lives and hid in the woods for hours.
“How does an outpost get taken over close to the convert hours
before the concert and nobody is tipped off? No alarms? No phone
calls or texts or anything from a secured area? It makes no
sense.”
North County, San Diego stepchild Ashton Goggans
(insert) displaying his keg. Photo: Instagram
Emily Ratajkowski identified as “Fatphobic”
throwing San Diego-area surfers into paroxysms of self-doubt!
By Chas Smith
Blame IPA.
North County, San Diego has two famous first
children and one almost famous third stepchild. Rob Machado and
Emily Ratajkowski as the former. Ashton Goggans
as the latter during those occasions when people mistake him for
Anthony Bourdain re-incarnate. This, here, above La Jolla, below
Camp Pendleton, is a simple life where the Hollywood gilt don’t
mean much. Hard-working salt of the earth folk who like their
bicycles electric and their coffee flat and white.
Regular dudes.
Except that Emily Ratajkowski.
Ooooooh as much as “the crew” likes to keep it “real,”
Ratajkowski’s perfect skin, her pouty lips make them all want to
give it up, move to Soho and crush that Loewe game.
BeachGrit regulars will remember when the model-actress
Encinitian became single one year ago. Swamis locals crawling all
over each other to win her hand first. Chris Cote re-thinking his
entire life.
Though she has gone on a series of A-list dates during that
time, the San Dieguito Academy alum has yet to settle down and
candles still flicker from Del Mar to Leucadia.
Except.
Emily Ratajkowski outed as “fatphobic” by Page Six
The svelte 32-year-old posted a photo to Instagram standing in
one leg of a plus-sized pair of jeans sending the hoi polloi into
an absolute furor.
“What in the fatphobic hell is that second picture … so
distasteful and disgusting…. how did anybody okay that,” one
wrote.
“Designers won’t make plus sizes unless it’s for a photo opp
where a thin person can be quirky,” another added.
Now, North County surfers don’t care about the social
implications of all that, but they do wonder if their drinking
habits are giving them a leg down in winning her hand.
IPA beer, you know, rules here. The fattiest beverage ever
crafted. And now Cardiff Reef rippers are peeling down wetsuits
after sessions and pinching tummies, wondering if the shot has been
blown.
Wondering if it can be melted away quickly with a switch to hard
kombucha.
Paroxysms of self-doubt.
Difficult days ahead.
And sugar-content headaches.
More as the story develops.
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The epic new joint for Sabre Norris and fam and doin'
an interview with the kid on her backyard mega ramp.
Surf-skate prodigy Sabre Norris and fam buy
$40 million of real estate in the one Bondi street
By Derek Rielly
The power of a gentle but relentless
positivity!
It’s a very easy thing to fall under the spell of Sabre
Norris and her family, Olympian Daddy Justin, wife Brooke,
kids Socki, Biggy, Naz, Disco and Charm aka the Norris Nuts.
Years back, see, I spent a day with the surf-skate prodigy Sabre
Norris and her fam. It was two days before Christmas and Sabre
gifted me the true nature of family.
While my own house of cards was collapsing in a welter of
sorrow, the foundations made rotten by poor husbandry, hers was
exalting in each others’ complexities.
Sabre Norris, whose surfing is expressive and features a grab
bag of tricks, is also a fantastic skateboarder.
When she was nine, and before she’d mastered riding a bike
without training wheels, Sabre launched a thousand worldwide
headlines by riding out of a 540 on the monster ramp in her
backyard.
In my story, I’d admitted that the kid had become my new
favourite surfer and Sabre Norris responded with a hand-written
letter thanking me and inviting me to drive up and see ’em, “surf
all day” and wrap it all up with dinner at Crinitis, an Italian
restaurant famous for its crisp pizza bases and delicious
toppings.
Sabre’s letter to DR.
At the time, Sabre lived with her two younger sisters and little
brother (now there’s two more in the mix) in an industrial estate
called Thornton, thirty minutes drive inland from Newcastle.
The apartment was attached to the swim academy is small, maybe
fifty square metres. Two bedrooms.
In the main, a mattress hit three of the four walls. In the
kid’s room, it was bumper to bumper. Nazzie against one wall, Sabre
the other, Biggie and Sockie in the middle. When Sabre got scared
at night and she worried that someone was gonna come in and kidnap
’em, she wrapped her arms around her sister to keep her safe.
The main room was an open-plan kitchen and living room. There
was one lounge chair, in red velvet, rings hanging from the roof
that Justin used to train with, half-a-dozen guitars (the kids busk
in Newcastle to raise cash) and the world’s tiniest Christmas
tree.
This year, after a wild run on social, 4.6 mill Instagram
followers between ‘em and 6.69 mill YouTube subscribers and deals
with Nintendo, Mattel, Disney, Lego, Hasbro, Woolworths and the
Cartoon Network that nets ‘em ten gees a day, Christmas is looking
lil more glitzy.
Back in July, the Norris’ had scooped up a block of six
apartments next door for $10.5 mill with rumours it’ll one day be
converted in a big ol house for the kids.
“I actually nearly didn’t get to meet Derek in real life because
a couple of days earlier my Mum wanted to ban Derek from coming to
our house,” wrote Sabre Norris. “She thought he was going to cook
me in his writing.
“When Mum said he couldn’t come I had to fight for him.
‘Come on Mum, this guy is the inventor of Stab and now he’s
inventing BeachGrit! That’s the equivalent of winning two world
titles, maybe even equally Kelly Slater’s eleven. Please don’t blow
this chance for me.’ With a lot of begging and pleading, mum
reluctantly said yes.”
Readers, I’ve never been more thrilled to have new
neighbours.
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Warshaw (pictured) being lionized for
surfing.
Cultural icon Matt Warshaw lionized, again,
by most important magazine on earth for going surfing!
By Chas Smith
Huzzah, old sport.
Oh to be Matt Warshaw. Surfing’s premier, and
only, historian certainly has it all. Author of best-selling books,
past checkered with a who’s who of notable surf personalities,
respect from every corner. He is not like us. He is a cultural icon
and, such, has been lionized for the second time by the most
important magazine on earth.
Yes, The New Yorker, founded in 1925, matters to people
who make money and hold power. It employs Pulitzer Prize winning
writers, not racist AI bots. The topics it covers are discussed in
various salons whilst the well-heeled sip brandy.
The first time, Warshaw was lauded for
being the Oxford dictionary’s surf consultant. His caricature
appeared thusly.
The second time, just yesterday, Warshaw was praised for
going on a surf trip to Fiji. His pasquinade presented so (Warshaw
on right).
“The first Zephyr surfboard ever made was made for me,” Warshaw
told the writer. “My brand-new Jeff Ho surfboard had been stolen. I
was twelve, and heartbroken. I was with Jay Adams, who later became
the most famous of the Z-Boys.”
A double-barreled flex that makes Kelly Slater’s various
boastings seem downright humble.
Somewhere, Sam George is weeping into a crumpled photograph of
Nia Peeples, pleading, “Why not me? Why doesn’t The New
Yorker love me? Why doesn’t The New Yorker choose
me?” to a silent universe.