Can the Brazilians be stopped? Photo: Kirstin Scholtz
Welcome to surfing, World Surf League! What an introduction it was for surfing’s newly formed governing body. When Noa Deane proudly proclaimed to a packed house at the Surfer Poll Awards back in December, “Fuck the WSL!“, few thought the surfing gods would pick it up and run with it the way they did.
But they did, and there is no doubt that the WSL got fucked six ways from Sunday for most of their first event as an organization. It began with the forecast. It always seems to be the case: when it pumps before the contest–as it did courtesy of Tropical Cyclone Marcia, which produced mindless Kirra leading up to the event–you get skunked for the event. In what has to be some kind of record, for eleven straight days the Quik Pro went on hold. It forced the WSL to extend the waiting period, costing them a rumored hundred grand, and when it resumed in burgery, fluffy Rainbow Bay, the WSL copped it again. This time, though, several of its prized golden gooses laid golden turds all over the event, thereby overshadowing any surfing yet to go down.
The golden goose topping the pile of steaming turds was undoubtedly the Brazilian boy wonder and reigning World Champion, Gabriel Medina, who let fly at his round three opponent, and perennial Aussie (Irish) battler, Glen Hall in his post-heat interview. It followed a contentious interference call in which Hall, holding priority, blocked Medina forcing the Brazilian to dip out inches before making contact with Hall. But Hall went over the falls anyway. There was no conclusive evidence to say the pair made contact but it didn’t look good and the judges upheld Hall’s protests, throwing an interference at Medina and condemning him to a shock round three elimination.
Medina responded in his post heat with this:
Cue hysteria. He also took aim at WSL commissioner Kieren Perrow for running the contest in sub-par conditions.
Joel Parkinson backed Medina’s call, also questioning the credibility of a surfing contest held in poor conditions. Freddy Pattachia, meanwhile, pulled off one of the most imaginative post-heat anger fits in the history of sport when he ollied his surfboard onto a rock on his final wave. Josh Kerr punched the shit out of his craft and fisherman yanked out a three meter plus man-eater from the contest area for the second time in two years (a tiger shark, this time round). Come finals day, however, surf fans were rewarded with the high performance surfing demanded by one of the best point breaks in the world. The Brazilians brought the heat, sending shockwaves through the world of surfing with their dominance in the event. They ran amok in the early rounds, eliminating Slater, Parkinson and Mick Fanning. They were led by the electric Filipe Toledo who staked his claim for the world’s best high performance surfer waves up to head high. I’ve run out of adjectives to describe the speed and precision with which he executes the full gamut of hi-fi moves–everything from laser guided wraps, to punts, fin-throws, full-blooded drop wallets–often on a single wave. Critics might point to a lack of power, but that’s purely the result of his diminutive frame. You couldn’t ask for more commitment in a turn than what Toledo throws at it.
His opponent in the final was Julian Wilson who’d gotten there via a similar path: by laying down the crispest of linked power hacks capped with a signature end-section air reverse for the money. But he couldn’t get near Toledo in the final. The young Brazilian built and built throughout the climax, his flaring hooks, gouges, and laybacks somehow increasing in zest as his confidence rose. Finally it clicked. On a thick Rainbow wall, Toledo hooked, lacerated, stabbed, and finally spun his way to the events first perfect ten and his first World Tour win. Can Brazil be stopped?
