Please, would a little salt in the stew be such a bad thing?
The Quiksilver Pro France is my favorite event on tour. Partly because it’s on my European doorstep and I can watch most of it without being nocturnal, and partly because the normally consistent wave count per heat means that I can concentrate on the surfing and try not to dwell too much on the commentary.
Some of the recent commentary has been tedious at best, and downright painful at worst. I’m eulogizing, of course. Some of it has actually made me feel like I’ve been trapped in a room with Chas Smith, while he rafts Beachgrit up his beak and pukes carroty chunks of his laconic wit into my mouth and hair.
The problem with commentating on pro surfing is the inevitable flat spells, during which the commentary team is forced to fill in the blanks. It would be a bloody hard gig, no doubt. But the big, fuck-off flashing neon beacon that the WSL seems to have missed in their desperate attempts to package professional surfing is simply this: professional surfing requires professional commentators.
And if you can’t get pros, at least get comedians, or dudes who can spin a yarn. Back in the good old days of the not-too-distant past, guys like Damien Fahrenfort and Jake Paterson not only seemed to be enjoying what they were doing, but their knowledge of the game was insightful and honest. So honest, in fact, that they were unceremoniously dismissed by Renato Hickel.
What are we left with? Commentary so fucking bland it’s like the oral equivalent of an egg-white omelette. The hosts are so scared of reprisal from the firm hand of Hickel that you’re more likely to encounter controversy at a prayer group.
I’m sure webcast virgins don’t want to hear the likes of Turpel’s nasally explanation of how “paddling is a technique whereupon the arms are thrust into the water to propel the surfer forwards.” The viewers may be new to pro-surfing, but they’re not fucking imbeciles.
Other sports don’t make allowances for inexperienced fans. Fans should be lobbed in at the deep end to get immersed in it and learn for themselves. True fans will stick it out. We should let them connect to surfing through the diversity of characters that we are blessed with. They don’t need the commentary equivalent of a wheelchair ramp for every vaguely technical term. It’s surfing, for fucks’ sake, not Swiss Monkey Kabaddi. It’s hardly complex.
It’s an odd spin on a sport that should trade on the strength of its characters. Surfing is rich with personality but the WSL seems to want to keep its sordid little alter ego locked in a cellar and pretend it doesn’t exist.
During flat spells, I would rather hear about Medina smashed off his shiny little face as he basked in title glory; stories of Occy’s debauchery; I want stories Glenn Hall accidentally becoming involved in a midget-throwing contest!
And you know what? Characters sell. People sell. All that is required is a commentary team with a bold opinion, a modicum of intelligence, and a dash of charisma. Not too much to ask.
It’s not all ear-gougingly terrible, though. Blakey and Williams should definitely be given some more minutes. Their air game so far in France has left Turpel and Potz in combo land. (Admittedly the latter are the commentary duo equivalent of Raoni Monteiro).
I occasionally scribble down in disbelief some of the more interesting contributions from the WSL’s dynamic commentary team. Without getting bogged down in petty semantics, I’ll just leave you with this glorious contribution from Martin Potter while commentating in a heat at this year’s Quik Pro France:
Joe Turpel: “So, what do you think of that, Potz?”
Martin Potter: “I don’t know how to think of that, Joe.
Fuck. Me.
If Pottz has forgotten even how to think, there really is no hope.
