SHAME (barf).

Lower Trestles’ famed cobbled stones are still ringing with yesterday’s thrill. “Where were you on Sept. 6, 2024?” will certainly be the very first questions surf fans ask each other for generations to come. Unless named Kelly Slater or Filipe Toledo, the answer will certainly be “Watching Lexus Finals Day and open thread live chatting with friends.”

At the end John John Florence and Caitlin Simmers hoisted the championship cups, deserving after a year’s worth of quality work in all different conditions.

Both number one going in, both challenged, though, by upstarts seeking to spoil the entire World Surf League season. Caroline Marks pushing Simmers to the brink, taking it to a third round. Italo Ferreira bull raging from fifth to almost first.

Yes, Florence and Simmers deserved the tiaras though somewhere during the day, the judges absolutely lost their minds and started throwing completely bizarre scores that had surf fans baffled in the open thread live chat and Richard Lovett plus Jesse Mendes wildly confused in the booth.

None of it made any conceivable sense. Italo getting excellent marks for an accidental air. John going even better for a ride worse than his first.

The chaos, thus, infected the passionate Brazilian surf fan who, for once, had reason to believe a fix was in. Grieving at the end of the contest, he wept whilst walking up the Trestles path, Order and Progress flag sagging behind him. He wept arriving home, wife and children pestering with surf related questions. He wept over a piping hot bowl of feijoada.

And then he got angry.

Heading into his phone, he unleashed a flamethrower of passion across various World Surf League social media channels. Poop emojis, barf emojis, Brazilian flag emojis one after another after another.

Rage.

Pure undiluted rage.

I, for one, understand. I was rooting for Marks and Ferreira too but not for good and decent patriotic reasons. No, I wanted them to win because that’s how much I despise the World Surf League and victories by those two would surely have forced a reckoning.

Thanks a lot, judges.

A day that will live on forever!

Italo Ferreira jumped off the stage and sprinted to the water before each of his Lexus Finals Day heats, of which there were maximum. The one-time World Surf League champion came into the morning in fifth, the lowest possible slot, but it mattered not. As Hippy called, the moment was built for him. Small but puntable Lowers. Enough waves to sate the Brazilian dervish.

Italo dispatched Ewing, Robinson and hometown hero Colapinto, four, three, two, right into the Finals Day final with John John Florence.

The final shred of World Surf League dignity just barely hanging on. Zero disparagement of Ferreira’s surfing on the day, but to even think he was the best surfer over the course of the year is to beg for an asylum stint.

Hype and hyperbole had deeply infected the booth as Ferreira and Florence bobbed, letting the minutes tick by in the first of a best of three mini-series.

Italo struck first even though a restart was in the cards. Catlike, solid as a rock, chisled, ripped to the eyeballs plus many other metaphors tossed at his 4.67 point opener. Kaipo Guerrero and Jesse Mendes spoke about how many Red Bulls the Brazilian had consumed thus far. “Four before the early morning heat,” Kaipo said. “He had seven before his Pipe win,” Mendes added.

Healthline suggests that 5 Red Bull is the maximum that should be taken in one day.

Italo struck second and threw some miracle full rotation that he somehow landed.

John John, finally responded nineteen minutes after the opening bell, a clean reverse, whacking down the line. He was not well rewarded.

Italo, again, full rote bigger and right in John John’s face, chants of Italo rising from the Brazilians covering the cobbled stone like moss. The judges rewarded him, pushing Florence into much danger and the World Surf League’s last thread of virtue further frayed.

John John, though, caught a wave, surfed it well, nose picked etc. Judges push him through to the complete confusion of everyone.

Men’s Title Match Heat One: Florence

I don’t know if Italo Ferreira jumped off the stage and sprinted to the water, again, for his Men’s Title Match Heat Two start against John John Florence, as they were already in the water when the camera finally panned to the surfers, but he did the equivalent by catching the first wave at the bell.

It was his thirty-second of the day and nabbed him an inexplicable 8.17.

Florence, undaunted, slipped into a layback hammer, forehand hack and pumped his fist after working down the line. Judges giving a 9.70, the highest score in finals’ history.

The cobble stoned Brazilians and also Brazilians at home certainly sharpening their best, most vicious death threats.

It took multiple minutes for the commentary team to simmer down, Turpel calling it the best turn he’d seen all year, yet Italo, who had been hyperactive all day, caught no waves until the 18 minute mark wherein he nippeda right, blasted the lip, raced, raced, raced to a missed backside rotator, handing John John priority.

And he used it to back up his 9 with a mid 8.

Italo looking spent.

Not enough Red Bull in the world.

Left needing near a perfect 10.

Right needing near one too.

The judges, World Surf League executives and those on Dirk Ziff’s teat breathing a giant sigh of relief.

Disaster kicked down the road like an ecologically friendly plastic bottle.

Men’s Title Match Heat Two: Florence

O Pip, Pip, wherefore art thou Pip?