The Package has arrived.
Sid Abbruzzi is surfing’s patron saint. The spot has been held, for the last thirty years or such, by Saint Christopher, who has long been venerated by “athletes, mariners, ferrymen, and travelers.” The amalgamation, I guess, extending to surfers but sharing a saint is not the same as having a saint and ours is now Sid.
The Water Brother should need no introduction. The fact that he might, simply testimony to his holiness. But we will get in to that later. For now, you should examine your heart. If you do not know of Sid Abbruzzi, you should deeply question your own attachment to this surfing life. If you do know of Sid Abbruzzi, well, I don’t have much to add here except for the time I met him at Surf Expo in Florida.
It was the year that the former surf personality Ashton Goggans decided the look du jour was tightly rolled yellow beanie and delicately oiled beard, in Florida, but never mind that. Sid had stopped by the Florida Surf Film Festival booth with a crew of Rhode Island heavies, all tattooed and tough. I immediately recognized him as something entirely unique. He said, “Hey, come back to our hotel room with us.”
Intimidated, but with no other option, I accepted.
Now, I had no idea what this hotel room would hold but showing weakness in the face of true ideological belief is tantamount to complete human failure. Sid had an aura. A look. A piercing seriousness and commitment that is altogether rare in our western world. I’d seen it in the eyes of Hezbollah commanders and Yemeni freedom fighters.
I saw it here.
Turns out, I was right but in ways I’d never expected.
I’ll get to that later too. For now, though, a film has been made about Saint Sid’s life. It’s not out yet but I’ve seen it. Twice. So enraptured by the first go through that I replayed, from the beginning, for the wife, immediately after.
She wept too.
The official trailer dropped seconds ago. The film, itself, out mid July.
Gird your loins.