John John Florence, Teahupoo, Paris 2024
John John Florence, team USA flag bearer, in an out of the water.

Team USA’s surfers put world to sword in wildly commanding performance, day one, Paris 2024

Once again the USA stamps on the heathens and little people of silly little nations with imperialist certainty.

Round 1 of surfing’s bid for Olympic glory in the books.

Perfunctory, without death or drama.

Teahupo’o (or “Teahupoo’ooo’ooo’oo”, as Shannon Hughes insisted) was without claws. Overhead sets at best. Still requiring elite level commitment and skill, of course, but nothing to set the world alight.

A layman, tuning in on the back of pre-event hype in mainstream media, might well have wondered what all the fuss was about.

This is the world’s deadliest wave?

This is surfing’s most spectacular amphitheatre?

As it was, the competition struggled to hold my interest. I tuned in for the third heat of the day (featuring Toledo, mercifully) and lasted through the rest of the men’s and into the first half of the women’s. But it was an effort not to switch to House of The Dragon.

Barton Lynch presided over half of the commentary, Chris Cote the other. It was like a busman’s holiday.

Lynch did his best to explain surfing to the man on the street, if the man on the street was an imbecile.

“It’s called a tube, because that’s the exact shape of it that you see from the inside.”

Both Lynch and Hughes fulfilled the classic punditry trope of apologising on behalf of our double world champion, and his inability to make a backhand tube in even mediocre Teahupo’o.

If you didn’t see it, Toledo’s late effort that garnered a 6.23 and saw him finish second does not tell the tale of the heat. It was his final wave of three attempts, caught under priority and shakily made.

The first two attempts, decent quality waves that he was in prime position for, saw him pitched over the falls, looking for all the world like a surfing dilettante, as opposed to the two-time world champion, supremely gifted surfer, and man who has (allegedly) been training specifically for this competition in lieu of his day job since January.

The struggle, the inner turmoil, is very real.

As such, he finished just ahead of Kanoa Igarashi, who, in equally confusing fashion given his vast experience at Teahupo’o, only attempted one wave. It was the worst performance of the round.

Gabriel Medina dominated the next heat, as expected, but without looking dominant. That honour was split between John Florence and Griffin Colapinto, both of whom flew the Stars and Stripes high and hummed Star Spangled Banner as they locked in heat totals over seventeen points.

God bless America.

And a firm nod of respect to the least known of the three Japanese surfers in Reo Inaba, who put his WCT challengers in Rio Waida and Leo Fioravanti firmly to the sword with a comprehensive victory.

In the women’s division, the athletes of surfing’s top tier prevailed, much as expected.

Once again the USA lorded it over the rest of the world, stamping down on the heathens and little people of silly little nations with imperialist certainty.

Caroline Marks, Caitlin Simmers and Carissa Moore laid waste to all countries before them, taking heat wins with a Trumpian disrespect for their rivals.

Marks, for her part, did the best barrel riding I’ve ever seen from her. She was top American dog in both men’s and women’s competition with a stupendous (and thoroughly deserved) 17.93 heat total.

The likeable Molly Picklum once again failed to find the spark she had in Hawaii at the start of the year. Even a meat tray won’t console those down under who surely have the highest hopes for her.

But it should be noted that her total of 8.44, underwhelming as it may have been, would still have been good enough to win the previous heat, won by teammate and medical marvel, Tyler Wright.

Scant consolation for Australia, a real shame for the rest of the world.

I’d drifted off the world of deceit, dragons and Targaryen lore by the time the fourteen-year-old Chinese phenom Siqi Yang surfed, but she remains my hero and heir to any throne she wants.

It’s an odd sort of experience for these Olympians though, isn’t it?

Cast away across the narrow sea, far from the buzz and thrum of all the real Olympic action in and around Paris. I found myself feeling a little sorry for them, subjected to what amounts to just another surf contest. The bastard children of the Olympics.

But I did note a thing or two the WSL might learn from Olympic/ISA handling of this contest. The website, for one, is vastly superior. A far more pleasurable experience in many facets of finding the information you need, as opposed to that abominable WSL effort.

And if you go to the Olympic site today, you will see not an infuriating and ambiguous clock that might signify the restart of competition, or may morph into another clock of ambiguity, ticking away the lay days. No, on the Olympic site, it clearly states that “competition is very likely to be called on”along with the scheduled time. What a delight.

Furthermore, all the judges are listed on the site by name! A rare transparency when compared to the cloak and dagger judging approach preferred by the WSL.

Anyway, I see some swell in the forecast. Winds are sketchy, but the baying Olympic crowd might yet be treated to Teahupo’ooo’oooo’oooo’ooo’ooo in all its death defying glory.

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Mass complaining shuts down Chas Smith
Hello, Meta, I haaaaate Chas Smith!

Meta shuts down controversial surf journalist Chas Smith after “mass complaining”

Nothing sells tickets and draws eyeballs like controversy…

The great journalist H.L. Mencken once said the job of the reporter was “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”

Now, I can’t name names here, which itself is a symptom of the affliction brought upon this very website.

Even the moderately astute reader will discern the missing names and characters in this opinion piece, and the fact I have to engage in this solipsism is part of the problem itself. The implied threat of the cudgel of a lawsuit – real in this – by deep pocketed, even if one would win in the end, is enough to stifle free speech discourse is tragic enough.

But to have missed out on the deluge of stories that Chas would –and should – be writing now about the thin-skinned surfer and a certain blood relative means us, dear readers, have lost out on some fine, caustic, penetrating, humorous, insightful Smith-ian ramblings is alone a good enough reason to chafe under the jackboot of mercurial censorship.

Well, only partially mercurial, which is where the truly tragic part of the story lies.

Now, the mercurial aspect is the hive mind of Meta was brow-beaten into pulling Chas’ Instagram account (@surfjournalist), set off when a certain relative of a certain surfer sicced an online mob into mass complaining about Chas’ account due to a certain story, which was typically ridiculous and clearly ribald musings.

The internet is a jungle and the word viral is just a form of “Lord of the Flies” mob rule, passion, zaniness and pure subjectivity, with decision made with obvious superficial analysis. My son, for example, runs an online business in the soccer world, and when he posted a picture of his knee post-surgery somehow that was deemed overtly sexual.

But you can almost understand, if somewhat morosly, how when an angry person can motivate a small herd of fellow angry people to complain, the site figures cut out the cause of the whinging and just move on.

However, what is far more disconcerting is when this same self-pitying, self-aggrandizing whinging brings out entities that threaten legal action. I mean, big entities, using the threat backed by the ability to write checks to law firms, while fully knowing their position is bogus, is really shitty.

The entities I’m talking about – and I’m tip dancing around, equally cowed by the possible ramifications of poking a few mega corpo bears who in their own respective way oversee the consuming, largely pointless past-time denizens here are enamoured with.

It’s also shortsighted.

Nothing sells tickets and draws eyeballs like controversy and good stories. The essence of drama is actually quite simple. Not necessarily easy to execute but painfully obvious to identify.

Drama is the choices and actions people undertake when under pressure. When confronted by a foe, a challenge, an object in the way of pursuing your dreams and capturing glory, do you run or fight for those dreams?

If, to pick a random, made-up, totally fabricated example, should someone choose to, say, oh I don’t know, just riffing here, not to paddle for a wave at a particular location, and then finds oneself (see could be a guy or girl, as I weasel around any actionable details) back at this spot with the world’s eyes upon you, you have D-R-A-M-A right here in river city.

But when said entities allow themselves to be manipulated by the virtual mob, as well as a misguided attempt to stifle a crucible moment of choice, they lose because their sports theater has lost is Iago, it’s Fredo, it’s “agony of defeat.”

Look, I get that the Olympics are a jingoistic display of xenophobia wrapped in the entertaining gauze of nations coming together, and I buy in as much as anyone.

I actually love it.

But the nuclear mon pere and corpo smack down of one guy in a small corner of the world is, well, sad and unfortunate, and maybe worse, an ugly harbinger of what could be.

And, I guess, what is.

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Caroline Marks (insert) showing off House USA. Photo: Instagram
Caroline Marks (insert) showing off House USA. Photo: Instagram

US surf team turns back on temptations at sea and opts to stay on land instead of Olympic love boat

"The Team USA housing in Teahupo’o is within a private home and all furniture is provided within the home."

(Apologies for yesterday’s outage. What a stupid, stupid mess. And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.)

The 2024 Olympiad is officially underway after Paris staged a grand opening ceremony. Boats on the Seine, the Tour Eiffel awash in laser beams, French-Canadian Celine Dion leaving the rain glittered audience ultra moved. Three weeks ago, now, I heard Bernard Arnault’s son Antoine declare that the family’s LVMH had designed the show and hell would come if it was not a success. Well, he, like Lachlan Murdoch, can rest easy.

Halfway across the world, and twelve hours earlier, Olympic surfers showcased their own piece of France, this one with crystalline waters and impossibly green hills. Much of the world getting its first glimpse of Tahiti and its gorgeous “End of the Road.”

As those who have been to Teahupo’o know, the town is very small with no hotels or McMansions. As such, Olympic committee organizers opted to commandeer a repurposed cargo ship as a floating athlete village. Tales of lusty encounters between medal hopefuls are all-to-common at most Olympic Games and it must be thought that adding warm tropical air, poisson cru and the gentle sway of the ocean currents would only heighten amorous feelings.

Smart, then, for Team USA to avoid.

Julie Dussliere, Senior VP, Chief of Paralympics & Internally Managed Sports, told People Magazine, “Athletes are free to stay wherever they choose. Many nations and athletes have elected to rent homes in the Teahupo’o area in lieu of staying on the cruise ship. Team USA’s property is located within the town of Teahupo’o near the ‘End of the Road’ and the Point.”

Providing more context, Dussliere explained, “All houses are typical of homes in French Polynesia with a heavy emphasis on outdoor living and functional outdoor spaces. The Team USA housing in Teahupo’o is within a private home and all furniture is provided within the home. The beds are not cardboard.”

Florida’s Caroline Marks gave a peek of the house to her many fans on Instagram and the deck does look like a very nice place to take in the sunset whilst nursing a bowl of poisson cru and snuggling….

…uh oh.

More as the story develops.

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Kai Mckenzie speaks about Great White attack
"Man ohh fucking man to be here right now just to fucking be able to hold my beautiful Eve and my family is everything to me…"

Kai McKenzie vows to surf again after Great White attack, “F**ck off to that shark!”

“It was a very scary scene and it scared the fuck out of me”

Surfers don’t come much cooler than Australian Kai McKenzie whose leg was bitten off by a 10-foot Great White five days back, only for it to be washed ashore shortly after, put on ice and sent off to the hozzy with Kai in the chopper.

The twenty-three-year-old Rage teamrider was surfing a breakwall in Port Macquarie when the shark hit. Leg gone, Kai made it shore where an off-duty cop used his dog’s leash as a tourniquet, saving the kid’s life.

“Breaking his back last year, he never once complained … [he] always just got on with doing what he loved as soon as possible,” Rage wrote on Instagram. “He is an inspiring person.”

In a missive posted from his bed in Newcastle’s John Hunter hospital, Kai writes;

Man ohh fucking man to be here right now just to fucking be able to hold my beautiful Eve and my family is everything to me, a few days ago I went through a crazy shark attack ( biggest shark I’ve ever seen ) which was a very crazy scene and scared the living fuck out of me ,but to all you fucking kind hearted people, all you legends, to anyone and everyone all your support has meant the absolute world to me. It’s so cool to see so many beautiful people support me. There are so many messages to get back to but I wanted to say a massive thanks to everyone for your generous donations on the go fund me page. We are so very grateful for everything. I can tell you now if you know my personality this means fuck all. I’ll be back in that water In no time ! BIG FUCK OFF TO THAT SHARK and BIG THANKS to Steve for saving my life.

Jump into his GoFundMe here.

Long road back etc.

 

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Yang Siqi with ISA President Fernando Aguerre
Siqi Yang with ISA President Fernando Aguerre

Chinese wrestler with three-minute breath hold Siqi Yang stuns surf fans at Paris 2024 Teahupoo!

500-1 Olympic longshot Siqi Yang impresses world with gutsy showing at Teahupoo.

The Olympics.

For some, the pinnacle of sporting achievement; for others, the dilution of sporting cultures by pomp and ceremony.

But regardless of stance, there’s potential entertainment for all.

Like in Rio in 2016, when someone lost the keys to the Maracana stadium, and officials had to employ bolt cutters to get fans in.

Or at the same games, when a dodgy contractor poured hydrogen peroxide into the swimming pools and athletes were forced to compete in acid green water.

Or, best of all, in Seoul, 1988, when doves fried.

A flock of doves had been released before the opening ceremony as a symbol of peace. Many settled on the rim of the Olympic torch. I suppose they were expected to move when the torch was lit, but it ignited with such ferocity that the birds had little chance, burning to ash as the crowd looked on and applauded.

Could there be similarly comical disasters for Paris 2024?

Very possibly. But they may occur ten thousand miles away in Tahiti.

The inclusion of surfing in the Olympics is certainly polarising among surf fans. A competition at Teahupo’o is not to be sniffed at, even by the most ardent doubters, but is surfing ready for the stage?

Mainstream interest is at an all time high, and with justification.

There’s the fearsome venue, obviously. The controversy over drilling into prime Tahitian reef to erect a judging tower for a four-day event. The lack of infrastructure to host such a major competition, and the re-purposed cruise ship solution.

All fascinating threads just waiting to be unspooled for the general reader. You might think that a savvy surf writer would have cashed in on some of this in the months and weeks leading to competition. You might think that someone who spends a significant chunk of his time watching and commenting on professional surfing would be able to leverage and recoup some of this time spent.

Some might.

I, most certainly, have not.

The cruise ship concept is fascinating. What might happen in that contained space? Which of our favourites might be fucking and/or fighting?

But for me, well, I just can’t look away from Filipe Toledo.

I pitched two stories, both to the Guardian. The first some months ago, a long read of 5000ish words. A deep dive into the mind of Toledo. An investigation into the uniqueness of this situation, examining sporting parallels, if there were any.

They liked it, it gained some traction, there were discussions. But ultimately they said they didn’t have the budget to send me to Tahiti, and weren’t convinced that Toledo would talk to me.

Fair enough.

The second story was pitched yesterday. A much shorter piece, but on roughly the same subject. I haven’t heard back, so I’ll presume it’s dead in the water.

Perhaps it is too surf-centric an angle. Perhaps a story about ecological catastrophe, the potential death of competitors, or the sex boat moored offshore would have been more suitable.

But for me, the paradox of a man who has utterly mastered one aspect of his sport, yet failed spectacularly in another is endlessly fascinating.

As Chas has oft said, whether Toledo conquers or capitulates, it’s a hell of a story.

But aside from this, what for us, the hoary old men and women of surf fandom?

Well, curiosity, for one.

How will these various non-luminaries of the surf world cope with Teahupo’o? Several in the draw have very limited experience of the wave, and in that we might imagine ourselves, thrust into that position.

Then there’s schadenfreude. We don’t want to see anyone get hurt, of course, but who doesn’t enjoy watching someone other than themselves pitched over the falls?

And then there’s sheer disbelief in the case of China’s Yang Siqi, the girl raised in landlocked China, just fifteen years old, who only saw the sea for the first time six years ago.

(All according to my very cursory research, of course.)

Now, she will be cast into Teahupo’o’s maw. (Or if she’s wise, will simply keep Filipe company in the channel.)

There are several names among the competitors that I am seeing for the very first time. Mainly among the women’s draw, but there are at least a couple of men I could tell you nothing about.

This strikes me as curious, and is certainly a quirk of the Olympics. That being athletes who have little business competing at the highest level might somehow find themselves at the zenith of their chosen sport.

Think Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards, the English ski jumper. A loveable soul, surely, but with no business in ski jumping. Evidenced by finishing dead last in every competition he entered.

Or, my personal favourite, Eric “The Eel” Moussambani, the swimmer from Equatorial Guinea who gasped and splashed his way to a heat win in Sydney 2000 after all his competitors had been disqualified for false starts.

To be fair to Moussambani, it was the first time he’d seen a 50m pool.

Could our very own surfing provide similar comic value in Paris 2024? I like to hope so.

Fancy a bet on it?

Hard to look away from Florence (4/1), Medina (3/1), or Robinson (5/1).

But the forecast is questionable, the stage a little different, and so upsets are possible.

Joao Chianca at 30/1 seems generous to me. He will have the fire and the freshness after missing much of this year.

Or what about Kanoa Igarashi at 50/1? He’s no stranger to Teahupo’o. And if any surfer in the draw fits the mould of an Olympian, it’s him.

And for an even darker horse, try Joan Duru at 80/1.

For the women, I’m struggling to look past Molly Picklum at 10/1. Sure, she’s had an inconsistent year, but she will not hold back. And much like Kanoa, there’s something about her that makes me believe an Olympic medal might mean more to her than some others.

Clearly Vahine Fierro is the favourite (4/1), and Simmers (7/1) is probably worth a punt, too.

I would predict that the majority of the women not currently on the WCT are cannon fodder, but the draw has been unkind (Simmers, Picklum and Weston-Webb all in heat four, for example), and so some super long shots have a chance.

Siqi Yang at 500/1, anyone?

Wouldn’t that be a story!

(Editor’s note: a little strife we got ourselves in means our stories are a little, how you say, late. This came in two days ago. Since then, lil Siqi Yang gave hell to Teahupoo, Filipe caught two pretty good waves and John John/Gabriel, predictably, ruled.)

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