The ghost of Zoltan Torkos is haunting.
The surf world has entered a new phase of unrest after many years of relative calm. Two days ago, Shane’s boy Noah Beschen, I think Mason Ho and likely others traveled deep to the heart of Texas in order to participate in what I hear was a Swatch Nines event. All seemed fine and well until, that is, a large piece of plywood with coping was lowered just above the surface of the waters allowing the aforementioned to slide it as if they were at a skate park.
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Wild polarization immediately taking hold and nearing dreaded Zoltan Torkos levels.
But you certainly recall almost fifteen years ago when the Santa Cruz magician decided to answer Volcom’s siren call and kickflip a surfboard?
Yikes.
There were those who claimed it the very peak of progression and then those who claimed it was a heretical. Surf and skate so close yet so far. Those, like Chris Cote who loves the marriage, and those, like probably Maurice Cole, who don’t.
Major infighting.
David Lee Scales and I discussed today, anyhow, but found enough time to consider the musical importance of Die Antwoord and how ice in urinals might just be peak fancy. You would be doing yourself a disservice in not listening.
Don’t be a little whiny baby.