Jordy Smith, Mr. Showtime, fresh off his engagement high and top flight surfing, has arrived. Photo: ASP
Get your head back in the game, fool! There’s a title to be won.
The day dawns bright and blue in Tahiti. Four contenders stand on the bow of their boat each with their own vision of the splendor that awaits them come the end of Hawaii. Three have world titles, one is without, and as they stare out toward the thick scoops of Pacific thundering toward them, they will exchange the obligatory hate-filled grins and wishes of good luck. They will also tell themselves at that moment that this is my time, motherfucker, and thus pledge to stop at nothing to get their hands on that crown come the end of the year. So begins an almighty dash to the finish line spanning three generations of performance surfing and four very different athletes. It is a good day to be a surf fan.
That Mick Fanning leads the race is perplexing. He will be the first to admit we are yet to see the best from him this year. After a strong opening on the Gold Coast, he faltered badly on the final day going down to Kelly at his home break on one of the best days it’s been in ten or more years. That would have hurt but Bells was a real kick in the cajoles. Ever since winning the event as a 19-year-old wildcard, few surfers have shown as much dexterity for the challenging wave as Mick. So the day he lost consecutive heats to Brazilians in the Bells Bowl (Filipe Toledo in RD 4, Adriano in the Quarterfinals) was not a day I thought would ever be included in a world title winning campaign. In Rio, he had no answers for the show-stopping swagger of Jordy Smith and although he made the final in Fiji, he lost twice on his way there (in round one and round four, both times to Hobgoods). Keramas was another mediocre result, losing out in the quarters to eventual runner up Michel Bourez. In his defense is the fact that in each of the events he has lost, bar Keramas, his vanquisher has gone onto win the event. Still, it’s far from convincing form at the moment and that in itself must be putting the jitters into his opponents. He’s still winning the race with plenty left in the bag.
The day my (ex) girlfriend told me she thought Kelly got better looking when he went bald was the day I truly came to comprehend the infinite possibilities that abound in this man’s universe. The pipe the size of a breadstick, the cavalcade of models he’s banged, his Hep-C free run at Pam Anderson, the career as a soap star, the chart-busting record with The Surfers, the just plain bust of a clothing label and, of course, the 11 world titles and 53 world tour wins: it all points to 41 years on this planet being no obstacle in his bid for a 12th title. Where Mick has been patchy, the champ has been utterly mesmeric though interspersed with some worrying signs. There wasn’t much he could have done about William Cardoso’s giant killing run at Bells, and there’s no real shame in going down to Adriano in a Brazilian beach break, but his loss to fellow Floridian journeyman CJ Hobgood at the most perfect right in the world was cause for concern. If ever you were ever going to find a weakness in Kelly, it’s going to come in the more testing variety of performance conditions – say a Brazilian beachy or a slow heat at Keramas. If every wave was held in the perfection of Kirra, Cloudbreak, Chopes or Pipe, this guy would be winning world titles until his knees were filled with gout.
His age mightn’t be a hindrance, but it is definitely is a factor. Kelly has complained on a number of occasions of this year of being hampered by niggling injuries and, at 41, there can’t be long until the physical toll of his remarkable career begins to show. Ali was a mere 38 when he turned out for the flogging of a lifetime at the hands of Larry Holmes, Lance Armstrong was the same when he returned to Tour De France to finish third (and we all know what happened there), and His Airness too was also 38 when he came back with the Wizards for three years of mediocrity. Kelly knows his body and its limitations better than anyone, and perhaps better than any athlete in the history of sport, so it will be very apparent to him that this may be his last year in a physical state comparable to his contenders. A fit Kelly Slater on what he believes might be his last shot at a crown is going to be some force.
Like Mick, Joel too would have been gutted to go down to the champ at all-time Kirra but there was also something worrying about the way he lost. He was clearly out-strategized and out-smarted on a wave he knows better than almost anyone on the planet. By virtue of Kelly’s meticulous study of the wave the night prior to the event, he came up with genius read on the conditions for the final day and it proved the difference. There wasn’t much Parko could have done about Bells where he was beaten by Raoni Monteiro despite racking up a ten and a nine in the heat. While in Brazil, it was a strangely relaxed Parko that turned up to the event and was promptly punted in round three by Aussie battler Glen Hall. And then Fiji…sheesh. To get caught with your salty rod in your hands while your heat was being called in mindless six foot Cloudbreak will long live as one of the stupidest mistakes by a pro surfer in the history of the sport. And there’s been a few. His sponsor Billabong, meanwhile, was on the same day being threatened with insolvency while the only other one-time world champ in the event, CJ Hobgood, was competing without even having a major sponsor. Arrogance, stupidity or the sign of a surfer who after five taxing attempts to win a title before he finally got one just wants to put his feet up for a while?
This is Jordy’s year! Well, I’m willing it anyway. We’re roughly the same age, share similar interests in that we were both infatuated by anal sex and older women in our early twenties and, it must be said, that after he demanded I buy him a drink at a bar and I told him to go fuck himself, I’ve had nothing but pleasant and totally professional experiences with him since. It all just seems so right for him this year. Last week, he tied the knot with his model girlfriend on a soft-top in one foot surf at Cape Town–a brave tempt of fate given the Great White’s known ability to sniff out romantic sequences. Most importantly, Jordy has come to understand his ability and seems to realize that a world title lies very much within them. So far, his performances have sparkled with personality and new school flair, it’s just consistency that’s proved his downfall. That said, he has managed to tailor his brand of surfing to a competitive format better than anyone else from his generation. (John Florence ain’t bad either but the injury at the start to the year has put a serious nail in his title hopes.) Let’s have it: a grinning, reckless son-of-an-old-school Saffa shaper as a world champ. Surfing’s ready for that. – Jed Smith
