Mick has a mental grit that very few sportsman in the world can lay claim to, and to understand why – you’ve gotta understand his story a bit. Photo: ASP/Kirstin
Like a prize fighter doing it for his dead trainer – up, down, hook, smash and one more for the road sucker – Mick Fanning clinically, dispassionately, destroyed the competition on his way to a fourth Quiksilver Pro France title. In the process, he put a chokehold on the World Title race, and today we’re gonna look at how.
This guy is the consummate professional, which was refreshing when contrasted against one of the dodgiest telecasts of a surfing contest I’ve ever seen. But that’s a topic for another soon-to-be delivered article. There’s no hype with Fanning, no hoopla and none of the theatrics of a Kelly, Medina or Julian. It’s dignified surfing, that mesmerizes on account of its devastatingly controlled power. Critics will call him repetitive and robotic, and in a sport as style- and expression-based as surfing, they’ve sort of got an argument. But Fanning is repetitive and robotic in the same way a Manny Pacquiao four-punch is. It’s still art. It’s still devastating, and it relies on a level of skill and focus that no one in the surfing world can really hold a candle too.
We discussed it in last column’s comment thread: you don’t let this guy control his own destiny when the title is within his grasp. He ain’t gonna fumble. Once Fanning gets in front he actually grows physically; his shoulders broaden, his line of sight becomes a tunnel, his nostrils flare like Gomer Pile, and he sees sections like Dirty Harry does fall guys. His 5′ 11″ DHD thruster becomes the magnum and Mick blasts his opponents away with booming echoes.
Mick has a mental grit that very few sportsman in the world can lay claim to, and to understand why – you’ve gotta understand his story a bit. Mick has suffered some serious trauma in his life. Raised as one of three boys to a single mother on a nurse’s income, he had it pretty tough as a kid. He and his brother Sean turned to surfing and were both world class talents as teenagers. They made promise to each other to qualify and travel the world together but when Mick was 17 his brother was tragically killed in a car crash. He’s often said that he surfs today carrying the dreams of his brother.
In 2004, he suffered an injury that likely would have ended most careers. On a boat trip to Indonesia he botched a floater and snapped his hamstring leaving him with an agonizing 60 hell mission back to a first world hospital (note: boat trips can go real fuckin’ bad in Indo. Consider your health insurance before going). He missed the better part of two ASP seasons but returned looking like a Greek sculpture and scalped Kelly and A.I on his way to his first title. The fact that he is the most winningest surfer in the history of the Quiksilver Pro France is telling. This event throws up a wider variety of conditions than any other – from Pipe-esque pits, to rippable rip-bowls, and dry-sand shories. Winning here requires one to be a master of all aspects of surfing and Mick has proved yet again that he is definitely that.
When he drew Medina in the final with three-foot left shories running straight into a punt wind on offer it seemed like an almost unwinnable proposition. And it’s true that had Medina stuck his one trick on one particularly large ramp (he tipped backwards and lost control of the rotation) he would have likely taken the final. But Mick found the rights among the rubble and with that sublime cheek to the wall bottom-turn went to work: thwack…zah!… poof on the end section!
I’d bet my nut sack on a can of Coke that he’s got the title from here (I’ll be held to account for this by Zach. He’s been after my nuts ever since I dipped my dick in his tea when he stayed with me). And Mick has a lot to thank Filipe Toledo for that. This son of a Brazilian surfing champ and protege of the Gouveia brothers among others has The Passion! coursing through his gains. He carved a swathe through the title contenders at the Quik Pro – taking down Jordy and Kelly – and surfed like a jolt of electricity. His movements are unbelievably quick, a curled up ball of quick twitch fiber exploding into back foot jams then a pump or two and the wildest satellite-spin corked air reverse rotation (that’s what did the damage to Kelly, anyway).
Critics will say he lacks some starch in his rail game, but technique-wise there’s room to develop – more than Medina’s got anyway. I find his style quite palatable too and couldn’t be happier to include him among the cream elite of the ASP tour. Mick will no doubt thank him with a beer at some point for his efforts at the Quiksilver Pro, and Filipe will no doubt duly poor that beer on the ground in front of Mick. The piss and The Passion! don’t mix, and Filipe will want no charity from the champ. “You are next old man,” he will tell him with seething Portugese zest. Mick will nod and grin. – Jed Smith
