There’s only one certified G right now, and his
name is Italo Ferreira.
Day One at the Meo Rip Curl Pro dawned grey and
sombre.
Even on the best of days, Portugal is the most maligned event on
Tour, owing to the narrow-mindedness of vocal Australian and North
American fans to whom sardine pate on toast is considered
anathema.
But you are wrong, as well as culturally retarded.
For proof, look only to the previous few days, where the world’s
best, with bellies full of bacalao, have been getting spat out of
tubes bending over Supertubos’ sand like they were curled with the
precision of Cristiano Ronaldo’s right boot, and as wide as his
grin.
The greyness of the day was owed mostly to this juxtaposition.
Supertubos has pumped in the run up to this event. Everyone has had
their fill. And so it was logical that we’d be greeted with
mediocre waves and a stormy, uncertain forecast for the days
ahead.
The standard WSL slap in the face from the much-lauded Mother
Nature. For the WSL, it remains largely an unrequited love
affair.
To be fair, the waves were clean and fun in the morning. Barron
Mamiya got a good one, perhaps the best of the day, as foreshadowed
by Jesse Mendes, a man whose vocal tones personify doom.
“I don’t expect to see many clean barrels today,” Mendes
prophesied ominously.
Thanks, Jesse, I thought. Let’s settle in comfortably for the
rest of the day, shall we?
Mamiya advanced comfortably, his 14.50 total the second highest
of the day, and greater than the cumulative points of his opponents
Edgard Groggia and Cole Houshmand.
Of course, he wouldn’t be the first young man to fall for the
cult of personality or perceived power. He was born and raised in a
country predicated on it.
Countrymen and friends Griffin and Crosby Colapinto were
victorious in heats two and three, though one would hope on a
different bent to Houshmand. Certainly Griffin’s claim that he’d
been “connecting with the dunes and the daffodils” in his pre-heat
spiritual limbering is a world away from taking selfies with a
rapist and calling him a G.
There’s only one certified G right now, and his name is Italo
Ferreira.
Imperious in yellow, he stitched together the highest heat total
of today, and really, no-one else’s surfing came close.
He left it late in his heat against Jackson Bunch and Frederico
Morais. With seven minutes on the clock he was in last position.
But he was a cat pawing at garden birds, surfing seven waves before
his innate murderous instinct took hold and he gripped one in his
teeth and broke its neck.
He rotated through clear air in the Portuguese sky on
back-to-back lefts. He probably should’ve had a brace of nines. As
it was, a high eight and a mid seven were more than enough.
“I know how to play this game,” he said post-heat, stroking his
whiskers and referencing Jackson Bunch scoring a seven for an air,
and his recognition in that moment of what the judges were looking
for.
Italo continues to be in a rare rhythm. If titles were still
decided on cumulative points over the course of a season, you’d be
silly not to back him, even at this early stage.
One man who wouldn’t know rhythm if it inserted a finger in his
arsehole is Mitchell Salazaar. Back in the booth after a too-short
hiatus, he brought his established brand of cheesy spanglish
witterings.
Speaking to DJ Ahmed Spins (pal of Ramzi Boukhaim and typically
shite WSL studio guest) Salazaar enquired if he’d ever been to
Mexico.
Or rather, Mehhhiiiiicco.
Mr Spins replied that he had not.
“You should come,” said Mitch. “We’d love to have you.”
We?
WE?
At time of writing, it remains unclear who authorised Salazaar
to speak on behalf of 130 million Mexican citizens (of which he is
not one).
In fairness, the quality of studio guests was cranked up a notch
as the swell deteriorated and the wind blew onshore to end the day.
Gabriel Medina graced the booth, offering a welcome cocktail of
graciousness and cool indifference to Salazaar and Kaipo
Guererro.
Kaipo, undeterred, spoke of faith and god’s plan in reference to
the injury keeping Medina from the water. Such was Guerrero’s
prayer, I wondered what terrible ailment or misfortune plagued
Medina! But still just a sore teat. No timetable for return as
yet.
Medina was present for the final heat of the day, watching
friend Miguel Pupo take victory over Leo Fioravanti and Deivid
Silva. The anecdote about him and Pupo surfing mock heats against
one another (filmed and studied in the aftermath to verify scoring,
no less) was yet more evidence as to why Brazilians tend to do this
pro surfing thing better than anyone.
As the round drew to a close it was decided conditions were no
longer suitable. The wind was too strong, the tide too high. And so
the men’s competition was paused in the interests of equality
whilst the women were sent out to surf.
