'86 Occy

This week we're seeing the second (that's right, the SECOND) swell of the summer.

The first was a couple of weeks ago, the big mack daddy tropical south that had every spot in Orange County going cuckoo. The Colonel was also going a bit cuckoo, but, alas, his insanity involved lugging a 70 pound backpack over various Yosemite backcountry ridges in search of secret lakes, not secret spots.

July 25th, 2009 - The Wedge

July 25th, 2009 - 11,000 feet above the Wedge

So, for all intensive purposes, this is the Colonel's first swell of the summer. It's been fun and we've had waves for close to a week now. Today, which was supposed to be the beginning of the end, we saw much bigger waves than expected...and some totally unexpected drama, which we'll save for the next post.

Anyhow, yesterday was a beautiful day, the water was still pushing 70, the air was hot, and the waves were shoulder high and super fun. So, in the spirit of keeping all the recent praising of heroes past going (see the last post, heavy on the Curren-is-God fever which still infects many of us thirtysomethings) the Colonel decided to pay tribute to the other Surf God of the 80's, Sir Mark "Rrrrrripping, Rocky!" Occhilupo.

And how does one pay tribute to the Italian Stallion from Down Underbite? Why, with flourescent 1986 missile popsicle butt hugger Billabong trunks, of course.

Like this...
For those of you who weren't there, these were the mid-80's equivalent of the Andy Irons "Rising Sun" (or is it "Rising Son?") boardshorts. If you were a good surfer and over the age of 21, you didn't own a pair. But if you were that magic 16 year old demographic, these blinding boardies were practically standard issue.

So when I saw them reissued last summer in the midst of this 80's retro nostalgia fest that's all the rage with post-emo surf hipsters adorned in crap plastic sunglasses that only homeless people wore back in '89 because gas stations and baseball games used to GIVE them away, well, the Colonel couldn't resist.

And yet, when shown to the wife, they elicited such unbridled laughter, that they quickly found themselves in a drawer, tags and retro Billabong sticker still firmly attached. (My wife, who is my exact same age and is as much a child of the 80's as I am, harbors no such illusions that any retro display is anything other than a desperate attempt to recapture lost youth at the expense of maturity, dignity, and any sort of fashion sense not shared by an 8th grader.)

So jump ahead to yesterday. The sun was shining, the waves were fun, the water was warm, and the Colonel said, "Fuck it." Out came the missile pops, in went a 36 year-old never-was, and do you know what the aforementioned wife said?

"Hey, I like those trunks!"

"What a minute. I bought these last summer and you laughed for like two weeks. I thought you hated them."

"Maybe it's the weight you lost," she replied. "Or that you have a good tan. Or maybe I'm just used to the retro 80's thing now."

But I know she's full of shit. She's got a thing for Occy and she's finally coming clean. But I can deal with that. Occy is the shit. And all I can do is wear his shorts.

The Colonel says, "Alex, come jump in with us."

Curren Vs. Occy

The Colonel got a request from a friend yesterday:

Colonel-

There's been a lot of news swirling around in recent weeks but one story I feel warrants your input: Occy vs. Curren at J-Bay next week.

Who's your money on?

That’s a tough one, but definitely worth exploring a bit. The Colonel is a child of the 80's and remembers calling the ASP toll-free recording over 20 years ago to find out if Curren had clinched his 2nd world title, and then calling all his PA surf buddies with the good news.

So with that bias acknowledged up front, let's dig in.

Occy clearly has the competitive edge because he’s been competing professionally almost nonstop since he came out of retirement in the 90’s. He hangs out with all the top ASP guys half his age, with twice his repertoire, but you’d never pick him out as “the old one”. Occy seems ageless.

Now, some argue that Occy and Curren are equally gifted surfers and that your favorite is just a matter of aesthetic preference (“smooth vs. radical”). I have always completely disagreed with that assessment. Curren is clearly the more gifted. He’s the Magic Johnson to Occy’s scrappy, hard-working, sometimes even ugly-to-watch Larry Bird. That's not to diss Occy. After all, Larry Bird has almost as many National Championship rings as Magic. But what came naturally to Curren, Occy acquired with determination and the enthusiasm of a dozen 10-year olds.

And while Occy may love J-Bay, let's be honest, it’s Curren’s spot. It’s like Rincon on steroids. There isn't a wave on Earth that's better suited to Curren’s smooth, fluid, graceful style. It’s also an incredibly complex wave that plays right in to Curren’s amazing natural wave knowledge. Sure, Occy knows the wave inside and out from experience, but Curren feels it. It’s pure instinct for him.

Plus, as cool and spacey as Curren appears, we all know he’s a competitive animal, too. Occy is equally competitive, but also emotional. Curren is the ice man. He’s the Ivan Lendl, the Roger Federer. And while sometimes the scrappy, sweat-drenched underdogs like Rafael Nadal prevail, I don't think that's going to be the case at J-Bay next month. I think Occy will be more like Andy Roddick.

It will be close as hell and both guys will surf like World Champions. But like the 2009 Wimbledon champ said, "Unfortunately, someone has to win."

The Colonel says, “Curren defeats Occy.”

Note: If you want a taste of what we're in store for, flashback to 1986 for one of the greatest Curren/Occy heats of all time...

Easy Now

Scary times. Really fucking scary times. But probably the best time to be reminded of why we surf in the first place.

"My whole life is this escape. My whole life is this wave. I drop in, set the whole thing up, pull off a bottom turn, pull up into it...and shoot for my life...going for broke, man. And behind me, all the shit goes over my back. The screaming parents, teachers, police, priests, politicians, kneeboarders, windsurfers...they’re all going over the falls head first into the reef. Head first into the fucking reef. And I’m shooting for my life. And when it starts to close out I pull out through the bottom, out to the back, and I pick off another one and do the same goddamn thing."
-- Miki Dora, 1989

The Colonel says, "At ease. Really".

Andy Irons, Master Of Whine

Ok, I'm a bit late on this one, but it needs calling out...

Andy Irons did his first "real" interview a few months ago. It basically consisted of the former 3x World Champ basically blowing his fuse for 20 minutes.

You can read it here.

During his rant, which didn't really touch on any of the specifics of his competitive fall from glory, he complained rather passionately about the surf media and all the lies and slander they've printed about him over the past couple of years, not to mention all the shit us "internet bloggers" were talking about him.

At the prompting of the interviewer, he actually compared his life-under-a-lens to that of Kobe Bryant and other professional athletes.

If this were a movie, that would have been the point where I sprayed Starbucks out of my mouth.

Quick note to Andy: The backup catcher for the Toronto Blue Jays gets ten times the media scrutiny that you do.

Professional surfers are the most non-criticized athletes on the fucking planet. Period. Which is bad enough...because listening to and reading the surf media, which is just the PR arm of the surf industry, is boring and repetitive. But having to listen to professional surfers actually complain that they're the targets of critical, mean spirited journalists, is...fuck...I don't even have a word for it.

It's idiotic.

It's inane.

It's so fucking delusional and pathetic it makes me want to tie them up with leashes, stuff them in boardbags and bury them in the desert (sorry, Gator, didn't mean to steal your idea).

Andy, do you have any clue what happens to real professional athletes who have spectacular competitive flameouts amidst endless rumors of alcohol and drug abuse?

First off, the don't stay rumors for very long. They become FACTS. Legions of reporters and journalists start sifting through your trash and calling your cousins on the phone in Kauai and showing up at your father's job and interviewing your 3rd grade teachers. Every time you leave a strip joint or a bar or a westside plate lunch stand, a half dozen photos get snapped. You wind up on the cover of Sports Illustrated with headlines like "Wipeout!". You have 7 page exposes written about you in the LA Times and Vanity Fair with photos of you in mid-yawn, looking bloated and hungover, and that nasty white clag in the corner of your mouth.

The only professional surfer in history who has gotten even a taste of true sports celebrity is Kelly Slater, and even Slater, the NINE TIME WORLD CHAMPION, is still more well known outside of surfing as the guy who had a bit part in Baywatch and once dated Pam Anderson. He's not even C-list. At red carpet events they tell Kelly to get out of the way so they can get a shot of Andy Dick.

Know this, Andy Irons: the entire surfing industry is on your side. You're good for the sport and you're good for sales. When I met with the head of marketing for Hurley while back, he couldn't stop talking about how many pairs of "rising sun" boardshorts you had sold for Billabong. They are the best selling boardshorts EVER.

So quit your fucking whining. When you've got Evan Slater drilling you about hookers and blow and your wife is telling Chris Mauro about what a distant limpdick you've become and how she's going to dump you for Derek Jeter, you may complain.

Until then, you are a professional surfer who gets paid very well to travel around the world and ride waves. You are part of a billion dollar industry, with virtually no independent media outlets, that provides you with more privacy and less criticism than in any sport in America.

Have a Bintang and a smile and shut the fuck up.

The Colonel says, "At ease."

How Much For That Hole In The Wetsuit?

Funny how there is absolutely zero unbiased information available about ANY surfing related product.

Ever thought about that?

I mean, surf gear is not cheap. It's not Formula One racing, but it's not soccer either. The average board is $500 and the average wetsuit is probably $250+. Toss in leashes, traction pads, wax, board bags, racks, and you can easily plunk down a cool grand before you've even touched saltwater.

It's especially weird when you realize you can read professional, unbiased reviews of tennis rackets, running shoes, golf clubs, crampons, movies, tacos, wine, even toys. There are literally dozens of websites and magazine that scrutinize, evaluate, and rate every six dollar Star Wars action figure that Hasbro spits out every month.

So why is surfing exempt? Why do we, as surfers, plunk down hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, every year on expensive, high performance sporting goods with nothing more than a "It's killer, bro" from a zit-faced 17 year-old surf shop employee who's probably flunking social studies?

It's fucking retarded. WE'RE retarded. I'M retarded.

To either prove my point or to fight back against it, or both, I bought an O'Neill PsychoFreak yesterday. On the off chance you didn't commit last Fall's Surfer Magazine "2008 Wetsuit Guide" (AKA a 22 page advertorial written by the wetsuit companies themselves) to memory, the PsychoFreak is the mainstream surf industry's first $500+ wetsuit.

Psycho Freaky Expensive

Why is it $500?

Well, it's full of holes. Literally. Some R&D genius at O'Neill decided that if you took neoprene rubber and carved a bazillion little divots in it, you'd have a wetsuit with a bazillion little air pockets sandwiched inside. Or as they call it, "Air Insulated XDS Neoprene". The air pockets, in turn, make the wetsuit lighter and warmer.

A Bazillion Pockets Of Warmth

Okay. I guess. Sounds, um, sort of plausible. I think. Maybe.

But I was intrigued. I couldn't get it out of my head. It was either the most brilliant innovation in 50 years of wetsuit design, or the biggest marketing gimmick since the same company released the first $300+ wetsuit back in the late 80's, the short-lived "Animal", which primarily consisted of their highest end wetsuit at the time with a bunch of Darth Vader panels glued on.

Luke, I Am, Like, Your Father, Bro

Now, I did not actually spend $500 on my holy wetsuit. Thanks to the economy, Jack's Surfboards is having a 30% off sale on all wetsuits, so I successfully got my bad self all freaky and psycho-y for the bargain price of $350...about the cost of a decent higher end suit. A pittance, really, for the honor of becoming the first David Horowitz of the surfing world.

But let's cut to the chase: is the PsychoFreak warmer and lighter than O'Neill's next most expensive suit, the Psycho II? And if so, is it a buck fifty warmer and lighter?

(And before I answer that, just savor for a minute the sad fact that NO ONE has asked this question before. There are FIVE mainstream surf magazines in America alone.)

The short answer is, big surprise, no.

It's a great suit, don't get me wrong. O'Neill, to their credit, make fantastic wetsuits. They're incredibly warm and flexible and they don't disintegrate into wet toilet paper after six months like Rip Curls (another media-ignored topic we'll address later).

Yes, the PsychoFreak 3.5 is a tad lighter than my Psycho II 2/3. And it might be like one degree warmer.

But is the PsychoFreak suited for "frigid" conditions as their website claims? Are holes in the rubber really another "Revolution Courtesy of Area 52?" (Area 52 being O'Neill's not-so-humble euphemism for 6 guys in a shop carving up neoprene swatches.) Is it a wetsuit "ready for the harshest of conditions?" And is it worth five HUNDRED recession era American dollars?

Kind of. No. Kind of. Definitely not.

And sadly, you heard it here first.

The Colonel says, "I am not an Animal."

Liar Liar

Remember when the Colonel claimed he'd never surf Salt Creek again?

Well, that bastard fucking LIED.

He paddled out yesterday, and it was okay. He saw an old college fried, Scott Finn, out in the water, which was nice. But then he had to listen to some retarded high school kid scream at everyone for an hour, and that made his ears hurt. (The Colonel did, however, shove the aforementioned retarded high school kid out of the way when the little shit faked going right on an obvious left, and scored a nice little left while squeezing a "Fuck, bro!" out of said fucktard.)

So TODAY, thinking he might be on a Salt Creek upswing, The Colonel disregarded all of Kenny's good advice about knowing when to hold, fold, walk, and run, and instead threw the dice again.

In return, The Colonel got to enjoy two solid hours of ridiculous high tide dumpers on the sand, which is fun if you're from Laguna and love skimboarding, but sucks if you're fat and slow and actually interested in standing up and riding waves.

The Colonel says, "No can hear, got sand in my ear."

Behind The Black Curtain

The Antman doesn't send out many photos these days.

A few weeks ago though, he sent out this shot of Black's in San Diego. It's an amazing image.

Black Beach, 2008

I'm not sure if it's a better photo than this one though. Kind of a tough call.

Black's Beach, 1992

The Colonel says, "At least we've got our trunks on."