When the biggest buzz of the day is the fact Kelly takes a twinfin out in his heat, you know things have come down a notch since yesterday. More on this later.

In the commentary booth – where most of the action takes place for the first hour or so this morning ‘cos it sure as hell doesn’t happen in the lineup – Shane Dorian’s reminiscing about Andy Irons with the industrial-strength sugar glaze that’s cosmetically applied to one of modern surfing’s deepest tragedies. He describes how, when Andy was on a roll, all was wonderful in Andy’s orbit, but when things weren’t clicking, everything was just the worst. “Surfing with Andy was an emotional roller coaster, it was fun to go on the ride with him.” 

It’s impossible to always choose the right words when you’re riffing in the booth on this ‘n’ that, but ‘fun’ might not be the most fitting descriptor of the Bipolar Disorder that rarely affords its poor hosts a firm foothold on life. 

Fame must be a bugger for anyone suffering this condition: for every loved one beside themselves with worry and doing all they can to help, there’ll be any number of parasitic arseholes and enabling sycophants whose interests dovetail with your gradual self-destruction.

Shit, that went darker than intended. Mean just to say it’s fitting that Pipe’s held in Andy’s memory, because transcendent moments like yesterday’s Invitational final throw the mediocrity of this morning’s false start into ornery contrast. 

And just as the heights of Andy’s achievements made his comedown to ‘ordinary’ life so hard to bear, there’s something about Pipe that makes it almost obscene for a single heat to be run in conditions less than stellar – or if not stellar, at least fearsome. 

Commentators can go on about how pros have to adapt and ride what’s in front of them, but let them adapt at lesser contests. Pipe demands a higher set of standards. 

And so it comes not a moment too soon that Marty Thomas (who looks increasing like lead singer in a middling rockabilly covers band, while being distantly related to Colonel Sanders) whacks the brakes on after two heats – three if you count the Dancing Bear surf-off decider between MW and LF. 

Leo takes that decider out, thus sealing his official spot on tour. As the comp’s put on hold to let the morning wind edge back around to a more favourable aspect, let’s pause for a moment of silence to reflect on poor Michael Wright, having come so close to a spot on the tour, and now banished to purgatory. 

But miracle of miracles! Resumption of play, heat three of round one, sees a resurrection nothing short of biblical. Here’s Mike Wright, surfing against Fred Morais and Filipe Toledo! Why Joe Turpel isn’t in paroxysms or speaking in tongues at this remarkable turn of events is beyond us, until we’re struck by the realisation that MW will probs get as many starts as he wants in a fractured 2021 anyway. 

And while we’ve got this heat under scrutiny: filled-out Fil Toledo looks solid! Not quite Willian-Cardoso-solid, but gone forever is the Dickensian chimney-sweep physique of youth. 

An unexpected upside of this – apart from more heft to Fil’s already powerful rail work – might be that it’s unlikely his old boy will ever whistle at him ever again. As the saying goes, “You can whistle at a whippet, but you can’t…” ah, actually there’s no such saying, but you get our point.

Anyway, here we are, reconciled to working through the seeding round today, and, despite the fact we’re seeing our heroes surf in a jersey for the first time in ages, the prospect of 12 consequence-free heats at head high Backdoor – with a slight late bump if we’re lucky – is as compelling as watching a slow puncture. 

Let’s cherry pick some highlights in the water, and see what we can notice around the traps.

Hold the phone: here’s Strider doing the piece to camera about the comp’s C-19 safety protocols and procedures. Appropriately, he’s masked up for this piece. It’s the only piece he’ll do with the mask on all day.

Jordy’s heat four abbreviated bottom turn to stall ‘under the hood’ – as Joe would say, is a thing of casual beauty.

It wouldn’t be a Gabby heat at Pipe (heat five) without some calculated last-minute tactics, and jumping off mid turn to deny ADS priority etc is further proof that some things never change. Suck on that paddle-battle, Luvvy O’Meara.

If FanCam’s anything to go, the Woz has approximately a dozen participants worldwide willing to send footage of themselves jumping up and down like Yahoos to demonstrate their appreciation of the sport, as every time FanCam comes up, it’s the same dozen yahoos doing the same jumping and yahooing. Good for them.

We all love Andy Irons and remember his irreplaceable talent, but gotta say the one-note lionisation of AI through the ad breaks is unsettling. It feels like a missed opportunity to use the power of his story to an effect greater than simply trying to shift Rising Sun merchandise. 

Why not do a spot using Andy’s story to encourage anyone who’s struggling with life to talk to someone, to know they’re not alone, and perhaps take the first step on the long, often hard-yards journey of rigour, discipline and self-love that is healing and recovery. It’d be challenging to execute such a message the right way, especially for an organisation estranged from nuance, but not impossible. 

Imagine if AI’s legacy counted for something vital like that. 

And while we’re up on our high horse: It’s great to see the problem of ocean pollution has been solved! Remember in previous years, all those Woz PURE initiatives? Ad-break clips of mid-tier pro surfers purposefully picking up plastic off the beach etc? Talking about how it all starts with us? Judging by the absence of any reference to anything remotely environmental this time round, we can assume victory for the planet has discretely been claimed. Hurrah!

Nice to see the ocean rise from its slumber for JJF in heat seven, and a suitably masterful burst from the people’s champ. And onya Robbo, Free-o and Caio.

And finally, seeing as The Grinch and pals didn’t get terribly much airtime today, other than a contractual obligation flurry towards the end, we’ll sign off with some Dr Suess reportage on today’s big news item.

Kelly showed up with a twin fin, 
Stuck in the sand for all to see,
How many fins are in a twin fin,
Not one, not four, not three!

Two is the number of fins in a twin fin,
a surfboard all shiny and black,
Two is the number of fins in a twin fin,
Oh fuck, is that a stabiliser in the back?

Two and a bit is the number of fins in a twin fin,
Ridden by surfing’s ageless saviour,
Two and a bit is the number of fins in a twin fin,
It’s not attention-seeking behaviour.

A grindy old set of heats that couldn’t help but suffer in comparison to yesterday. It’s not like anyone’s going anywhere, so let’s wait for the real thing before we rip in to any clashes of consequence, eh Woz?

// DING ALLEY
Ding Alley is illustrator David @maccatoons McArthur and writer Gra Murdoch.