“I think, It’s on.”
“I’m driving. Speak louder. I can’t hear you.”
“Dad, they’re calling it on.”
“What?”
“Dad, turn up the volume.” The freaking Super Bowl is on!”
“I thought that’s in February.”
Oh son, tunnel, I’m going to cu…”
“Hello? Dad? Are you there?
Today started like any other. I called my dad early to share my excitement about the possible start of the Cream Tour World Cup – a day I not only had (digitally) circled in my calendar all year but also had pestered my dad in our last half a dozen phone calls about.
He didn’t care. But he also enjoys Sudokus and CDs, so he’ll be forgiven. However, a dad who did give a damn about the whole show was Californian Governor Gavin Newsom, who dialled in to make the official intro, throwing more hand jives than an 80s pro on speed.
“Surfing is California’s official sport”, he declared.
Yes, we can, Governor, Yes we can!
Now imagine Arnold Schwarzenegger still the Governor of California. Rehearsing the intro speech projected onto a teleprompter – carefully crafted by fellow landlocked public servant Isaac from Arrow Rock, Missouri, upon watching Make or Break… “I’ll be back, I must have a Wasser first!”
But Arnie isn’t around anymore, and neither are 41 of the 51 surfers who started the season back in January at Pipeline. We are down to 10 – the top 5 women and the top 5 men at each other’s throats for a world title.
Heat one of the men’s almost ended in tragedy before it even started. What arguably should have been an interference for either Kanoa or Italo (still wrapping my head around which one, though) ended in Connor Coffin singlehandedly fixing the WSL. A scuffle for priority, which 99% would have been an interference call in any of the previous events, was the product of flawed implementation.
In a format where rankings mean everything, why wouldn’t the higher seeded surfer get priority at the start because otherwise, it doesn’t really matter if you are the chaser or chasee if it’s just a free-for-all? Particularly with the number four and five seeds where there is currently no incentive to finishing fourth instead of fifth (they start together). At least a guaranteed priority on Finals Day would mean something to number four. Coffin Bro Number 1 seems to agree, eloquently breaking down the problem (and the fix) in pursuit of maybe? Elo’s corner office.
After near fatality at the start, the judges sent a clear message when Italo took off on a guillotine closeout and swung for the skies. Cloud high, inverted and chopper blade fast, it was a single, impressive manoeuvre only a guy addicted to energy drinks can pull off. The judges threw down an 8.17 and made it clear they wanted to see more of where this just came from. He sealed it with a nunchuck reverse, a shove-it, and a switch foot snap, defeating the local boy who flies the Japanese flag.
Kanoa seemed flat throughout the heat, almost as if ammunition ran out halfway into the matchup. But there was more to it. Kanoa lost someone close to him – winning or losing, who gives a shit in these moments.
On that note. The queen just died. My buddy too. May the waves pump forever wherever you are, Bryce Williams.
On paper, the men’s Final matchup number 2 was the best heat of this year’s Super Bowl. If free surfs were any indication, Ethan Ewing has been the hottest guy in town. The outside, under-the-radar, blonde-haired dark-horse favourite vs The Red Bull powered dynamo, Italo Ferreira for a place at the big(ger) table.
Early on in the heat, Italo did Ferreira things, eating up sections like Nintendo Luigi munches coins (they share a likeness). Italo’s 6.83 involved some gravity-defying, sky-walking drift to put Ewing on high alert. Meanwhile, Ethan was waiting – giving us flashbacks to Bells where he literally sat on the brake-peddle, waveless, throughout almost the entire final against Fil Toledo. The most stylish surfer on tour finally got his mojo back with a little over twenty to go but failed to make good use of his priority. On the other side of the coated cobblestones, Italo was racking up the sixes with tail drift turns and speed-runs – pedestrian surfing by his standards.
It never seemed like Ethan was going to be a threat in this heat, an assumption only solidified when Ewing fell on consecutive waves and chipped away to a meagre 4.33. Meanwhile, the Brazilian roamed free, attacking anything that even remotely resembled a wave. That pre-heat fin change was perhaps, in hindsight, looking erroneous for Ewing.
Oh well, you’ll live and learn. Number 3 in the world ain’t so bad for the young Australian.
I know I’m repeating myself, but if Italo vs. Ethan was the best heat on paper, Italo vs. Jack Robbo was a photo-finish second. However, reality told a different story because only one surfer showed up. Italo, who went from “outside shot” to “serious contender” over the course of three heats, was on fire. Italo’s Air revs and full 3s are some of the best in the business and only rivalled by the other Brazilian still in the mix – Filipe Toledo.
Conditions and wave size played into Ferreira’s bag of tricks for apparent reasons, but Jack’s lack of spark surprised me. He didn’t really get into the heat until the second half of the matchup. However, even then, he never really posed a threat to Italo’s high-octane surfing. Also, the guy surfed 19 waves up until this point… nuts!
Honestly, if you have been reading until here, thanks, I appreciate it, but fark, the good shit starts now! It’s the moment we have all been waiting for. The three heats (possibly) that make sitting through onshore, shitty elimination rounds, lay days and the Bitcoin Cup, El Salvador all worthwhile.
Finals are upon us, people! Italo vs. Fil. Best of 3. Let’s fucking go!
Italo strutted out, a bundle of caffeine, passion and frenetic energy, doing his restless toe-to-toe hop like a prize fighter about to jump in the ring. Toledo looked a little more relaxed but the eye of the tiger was still there for the yellow-clad natural footer.
Heat number one between Italo and Filipe was blazing! Two of the best aerialists and all-around high-performance surfers going blow for blow at one of the most rippable waves on the planet is just fucking oscar material. No warm up required for Toledo on his dark arts, Sharp Eye quad with the high resistance H4 fins. Fil kicks off with a casual 7.5 and some of the usual above-the-lip antics, only for Italo to do the same over on the left. This went on for roughly 30 minutes and entailed everything from Toledo Senior whistles to Board-to-the-face turns to Tom Carroll cameos. Italo was striving to manufacture aerial momentum but eventually went back to the rail to claim his best score, an eight. Then he did twenty whips in a single wave in pursuit of a 7.13. If it was points per maneuver criteria he would have been in double figures. It was a tough one for the judges to discern. Two said yes and three said no and the average landed him just under. World titles were being decided by split judging calls.
The first heat between the two Brazilians showcased everything we want the WSL to be. It highlighted the sport’s progressive dimensions and what entertainment looks like when you throw pure talent into the ocean. In the end, local knowledge prevailed by a fraction of a score, but if heat one was just the entree, I couldn’t wait for the main course!
Spoiler alert; of course, Toledo won the World Title. Let’s be honest, anything else would have been a surprise, but let’s rewind for a second.
The re-match of the all-Brazilian contenders was a different type of battle – compared to the first heat. While heat one was all guns blazing, heat two was a chess game. Filipe was Bobby Fisher, and Italo was Garry Kasparov. It was a lot more cagey. Fewer Hail Mary spins and more calculated risks. It paid off for Fil, who dropped a pair of excellent scores in the second half of heat two to close the lid on the best of three series and become the man he always wanted to be.
There is no disputing Toledo is a worthy world champion. He has taken the sport to a new realm, where aerial trickery and sublime rail surfing are rolled out with uncanny synergy. It’s true that Trestles is a wave that seems custom-made for his Finals Day aspirations, but that’s the game for now and he played it exceptionally well. Critics of his heavy wave act should go back and watch his heat against a rampaging Nathan Hedge at Teahupo’o. In Hedgey’s own words he was ‘having a dig’. Wining world titles is about being drowned in glory but it’s also about facing all the demons that haunt your mind as you chase the holy grail. Toledo’s has certainly overcome mental obstacles to be on top and from that we can all derive inspiration.
There was webcast talk of a finals day relocation, which seems like a healthy direction for the WSL. An alternative wave or waves opens up new possibilities for surfers and provides a different kind of experience for fans. Maybe somewhere with friendlier, Oz time-slots would be nice for us? However, for now the moment deservedly belongs to Filipe Toledo, a wiry-limbed surfer originally from outside of Ubatuba, Brazil who likes to go fast and fly when he’s not hanging with his kids. “This one is for Brazil and for my family,” he told the crowds. This one is for you too Filipe.
Men’s WSL Finals Results
Title Match
Heat 2
Filipe Toledo – 16.50
Italo Ferreira – 14.93
Heat 1
Filipe Toledo – 15.13
Italo Ferreira– 14.97
Match 3
Italo Ferreira – 16.10
Jack Robinson – 13.30
Match 2
Italo Ferreira – 13.10
Ethan Ewing – 11.83
Match 1
Italo Ferreira – 13.37
Kanoa Igarashi – 11.83
