Billabong Pro Jeffreys Bay The Bourgeoisie Revolt

In: Billabong Pro Jeffreys Bay by Steve Shearer 18 Comments Tue 19th Jul '11

Tags: billabong pro jeffreys bay

If you come to a fork in the road, take it - Yogi Berra.

Normally it's the peasants who revolt, as was the case in Soweto last week, where an angry mob went on the rampage, burning down the homes of two ANC councillors and torching their cars in protest over the soaring cost of electricity. But in this topsy turvy year of our lord 2011 we long-suffering surf fans have become accustomed to Pro Surfing turning the tables on accepted truths. Here we have a royal revolt, led by no shows from the greatest of all time and the undisputed best surfer in the world right now. Of course we dismiss conspiracy theories that six heats of Round 2 were run last night to effectively eliminate Slater from the comp and perhaps teach him a lesson. No, they had to run, despite the protestations of surfer rep Kieren Perrow.

It made a marvellous spectacle.

Truly.

Anyone doubting De Souza's World Title credentials must have had their minds changed by last nights performance: the bottom turn was aggressive and committed; the top turn fully rotated at top speed. Based on that and a semi-final finish or better, De Souza is on track to be the first Brazilian world champ. And that would seem a fitting finale to this year where too much weirdness is barely enough.

The irony may be that after Brazil finally claims a World Champ, the victory would be pyhrric, with the best in the world losing interest and pursuing other goals.

This is a cruel business.

Concerning a mountain of correspondence received over the GT question, and comparisons to the new kid Adam Replogle, I admit my position has now changed. Adam, or Poges as we call him in the business, has grown on me, with his jokey 100-proof manhood and slightly creepy lusty goat-like behaviour. It was after inserting himself as the meat in a foxy Capetown minx sandwich and running a few lines on them over the webcast that my opinion changed from disappointment to outright admiration. Keep it creepy Poges. And if your reading this - which I know you are - from one surfboard slut to another, keep that technical information coming brother. Enquiring minds need to know.

The undisputed highlight of the day, after the shock of seeing Trav-dog Logie where Slater's chrome dome and white wettie should have been, was the Owen Wright and Freddie P heat. There's rich history here and a mountain of resentment from Freddie P towards what he terms the "Golden Boy who can get scored an extra half-point" and whose testicles commentators have shown a fondness for gargling.

This is the rich vein Pro Surfing needs to mine. If I could quote again a recent conversation with the best critic pro surfing has ever seen, Derek Hynd, "There's no broad appeal hope for the sport until they take a look at what the crowd really wants to see."

"Which is what?"

"Which is phenomenal rivalry. Occy and Curren created the US boom in 85-86. Until there's full rivalry where no-one's dumbing down their opponent just to get the upper hand by being nice you won't get any progress".

Well, seen through that lens the Big O and Freddie heat was entertainment at it's finest. The heat started with both surfers sitting too deep in the line-up and absolutely immobile. Frozen. The effect was similar to witnessing the stone statues of Easter Island, or some modern art installation. It was unnerving but somehow completely compelling. Fifteen minutes passed, I could have sworn I held my breath the entire time. The re-start siren sounded and it seemed to spur Freddy into action. He caught a little runner that went nowhere and fell backwards, which seemed to release a spigot on a deep fountain of rage which was expressed in a series of animated gestures. It was very operatic, even from over two thousand miles away.

After that emotional overload Freddy went to work and caught a couple of waves, which he surfed well. He had Owen on the ropes, with the big O only having one wave in the bank. With a minute to go, Owen fell on a set and it looked like the game was over. You'll recall last year in Tahiti we noted Owen's propensity to do a "Bobby" and just sit there and do nothing as the clock ticked down? Yes. Well, Owen was hurt by those comments and has done a lot of hard mental work in coming to grips with strategies for pulling a heat from the jaws of defeat.

He did something audacious. With less than a minute to go, he suddenly swung around and with more urgency and movement than he had shown all heat he windmilled at full speed up the point, away from Freddy.
What the...?, I thought.
A bait and switch? No, surely not.
But right before our very eyes, over the marvel of live webcast coverage, came a wave and Owen stroked into it, got to his feet and pumped down the line...."catch it Freddy!", I shouted.
And he did, he freaking did.
Which left Owen in the lineup with priority and a wave coming.
He belted the bejesus out of it and snatched victory over the fired-up Hawaiian as the siren sounded.

Poges got the jist of the exchange in the post-heat interview and it was obvious that Freddy had lost some valuable follicular real estate from the stress of the heat.

Meanwhile, I am working hard to try and contact the King via email and phone to try and find out his take on the J-Bay no-show.

And the forecast for the local points is looking juicier and juicier.

Bloke could get used to this remote coverage caper.