All hell breaking loose.

The media landscape was rocked, yesterday, when it was revealed that Sports Illustrated had published stories using fake AI-generated writers. Our surf world, frankly, was less than surprised as Sports Illustrated’s owner, The Arena Group, also counts Surfer Magazine amongst its titles.

There is, of course, no need to re-acquaint with Emily Morgan who was introduced as Surfer’s new trending news writer soon after The Arena Group acquisition. She enjoyed spicy food, strong coffee walks with her dog and lived in the shadow of Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains though was disappeared quickly after her quirky AI-styled verbiage was called out.

Our surf world is small, however, and her ripple didn’t spread beyond these shores.

The Sports Illustrated brouhaha, on the other hand, has exploded. Major news outlets are covering the story with Sports Illustrated’s own staff raging mad.

In a letter to ownership, the writers issued a public statement reading, “We, the workers of the SI Union, are horrified by a story on the site Futurism. If true, these practices violate everything we believe about journalism. We deplore being associated with something so disrespectful to our readers. We demand answers and transparency from [parent group] Arena Group management about what exactly has been published under the SI name. We demand the company adhere to basic journalistic standards, including not publishing computer-written stories by fake people.”

Heavy.

And yet, one of those Sports Illustrated “fake people” might have leaked into surfing. This morning a piece titled “Highlights: Hawaii’s Black Friday Swell Delivers Massive Surf On Maui” was published by “Jake Howard” who might be described as a “neutral white young-adult male with short blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Seasoned big-wave surfers in Hawaii, from Kai Lenny to Mark Healey, all described the giant northwest swell that hit the Hawaiian Islands the day after Thanksgiving as unexpectedly big and power,” it began. “Forecast models indicated it was going to be big, but it’s always interesting when swell events like this exceed expectations.”

Suspect certainly and more work must be done to uncover whether this “Jake Howard” is real or simply a machine with cute dimples and eyes that melt even the coldest of hearts.

The yeoman’s labor of true, honest, human surf journalism.

More as the story develops.

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?

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.