Jack “The Ripper” Robinson dominates European surfing grand slam in wild seas!

His friends call him Jackie. His enemies call him lots of other things!

The European leg, a slightly grandiose way to describe a solitary event, is doing itself no favours.

At broadcast start this afternoon the rain lashed the Supertubos line-up. It was evident on the camera lens and the mics. It tin-tacked the Atlantic. The broadcast team, wrapped up like puffy little winter robins, whinged about possibly getting wet.

The swell was filling in, as predicted (miraculously) by Surfline, who could say anything at this point and it would still sound like fiction.

But it was to last just twenty minutes before the wind switched and kicked in.

During that half-heat’s worth of simmering excitement, Jack Robinson engaged in some adroit foreplay, turning Supertubos’ nipples gently between thumb and forefinger, rimming the lineup.

It was heavy. Ian Gentil broke a board within the first couple of mins while the rain drummed on the mics.

Filipe Toledo, cued to surf in heat seven, looked pensive from the athlete’s area.

“He looks intent on making some decisions,” said Strider cryptically.

Kaipo reminded us again that he calls Jack Robinson “The Shaman”. A nickname he clearly stole from Ain’t That Swell, yet continues to pass off as his own. “Let’s see if he can’t go out there and bend water,” he pitched to Strider.

“Dude, the sky’s falling out there,” said Mitch. “I hope you brought your Yeti. You could probably just leave it out there for ten seconds and that thing would be full” he added in an awkward nod to the sponsor.

Later, he would pronounce “Supertubos” with such a ludicrous Spanish accent I’m beginning to wonder if he’s trolling us.

Or perhaps tthhhhhhrrrrrrrooooaaaallllliinnngggg.

Jack Robinson dropped an 8.17 then a (wildly undercooked) 7.5 for back-to-back waves in his inimitable fashion. Two big no-hand pumps saw him through the doggy-door of a thick left. Then on the paddle back out he snagged a meaty right as opponent Ian Gentil took it on the head.

They were the last barrels of the day.

The plan was overlapping heats, but even before the first was done, rain started to obscure the camera and all hope along with it.

Liam O’Brien bested Crosby Colapinto in a scrappy, non-tubed affair where neither man could break into double figures for a heat total.

“It was a bit like a washing machine out there,” said Liam O’Brien. “I had to go back to grindy turns.”

Back in the studio, Jesse Mendes wore a beanie high on his head as if he were looking for a window to lick.

In an all-Brazilian affair to end the foreshortened day, Yago Dora and Sammy Pupo struggled to find rideable waves. Both men ended with pocket threes. Dora’s were a ball hair better.

“Survival mode,” Yago Dora claimed.

“You study oceanology, Strider,” pitched Kaipo, presumably referencing oceanography’s cousin in a Jesse Mendes beanie. “It’s true that when the swell gets bigger the lulls get longer, right?”

“You could say that,” replied Strider graciously, before saying the complete opposite.

It’s a funny old room when Strider’s the sharpest tool.

“When you’re building a house, sometimes you need to use a hammer, sometimes you need to use a screwdriver,” offered Kaipo.

No-one quite knew what he was referring to.

Or why one would build a house with hand tools.

Onto tomorrow. There’s swell in the water and uncertainty in the air.