"I didn't choose Filipe Toledo, the forecast did."
In sixteen hours or thereabouts, the Bells Beach Pro, lightly sponsored by troubled camping retailer Kathmandu and underwritten by the taxpayers of the bankrupt state of Victoria, will skid into life, marking the beginning of the 2026 Championship Tour.
The tour has been in hiatus since last September when it was won by, ooowe, anyone remember?
Slinky Yago! And pragmatic Molly!
Once Bells starts, the door shuts on surfing’s richest fantasy league, Surfival. Which means, if you want to have a swing at seven gees and a fleet of three PANDA surfboards, you gotta get in now before that hoary ol AC/DC tune lights up the famous amphitheatre.
Usual rules. Pick one surfer, gal and guy, per event, and you can only choose ’em once, like, don’t use up your Yago, Molly or Gabriel, Caity, and if they make it past the second round you’re safe.
If they don’t, you’re out.
Last man, gal, standing wins the cash, boards.
Ruthless. Effective.
Things to consider: what’s the surf gonna be like? Three-foot and clean, day one, which augers well for small-wave wizard Filipe Toledo and the frenetic jabbing of Italo Ferreira.
A sample of comments from the hundreds of surfers already locked in.
On Ethan Ewing,
“At this point the Ewing family owns that wave more than Rip Curl does.”
“Ewing rhymes with pooing. And that’s pretty cool.”
“purely based on glutes”
“I deserve to lose early if Ethan also loses early.”
On Griffin Colapinto:
“Curse me, daddy.”
On Filipe Toledo:
“I didn’t choose him, the conditions forecast did.”
“Short kings bow to the lion.”
On Rio Waida:
“CHAT GPT told me to.”
On Tyler Wright:
“Success is the best revenge; suck on that, Rip Curl!”
On Caroline Marks:
“Florida Man Mr Cheddar huffs paint and teaches calisthenics class in Buc-ee’s parking lot, sees vision of Caroline Marks Ringing the bell inside a pulled pork sandwich.”