G’day Caarnts,

Baz Cornell here, fillin’ in for that Murdoch bastard. Those Woz farkers are always gettin’ ex-world champs in the booth, so I‘ve decided to give yas the insights ya can only get from a two-time Toona Boardriders club champ  (’89, ’92) 

Did the three-scoob drive from Toona to Newy last night, crashed in the back of the car a block back from the connest site. First thing I see this morning is Bugs dragging himself into the booth for the early Wozcast shift. Those caarnts need to show a bit of respect. Farken Ronnie ‘n’ Richie should call the first coupla heats an’ let the old boy throw down a cooked breakfast and a coupla flatties to wake up. Poor bastard looks shot to bits.

Next thing I see there’s this shiela gettin’ interviewed by that kid with the chick’s name, (farken’ Stacey Gaylbraith I believe) I thought for sure she’s a groupie after a bit of early-mornin’ pro surfer action, turns out she’s fucken RUNNIN’ THE SHOW! Like, she’s makin’ the FUCKEN’ CALLS. For a moment I thought maybe I’d had a head-on on the M1 last night and had crossed over into some alternate uni-farken-verse. 

Chicks in charge. I’m all for it, ‘specially if they’re sorts.

The ocean looks pretty alright this morning – about farken time April showed up ay. This setup they’re at, it’s no Toona Point, but it does the trick. There’d HAVE to be better waves nearby, for SURE, but this wave kinda grows on ya I reckon. And an all-day B-grade option beats two hours of A-grade up the beach I s’pose. 

Connests, can’t have ‘em with a few farken compromises.

Anyway, heat starts and Medina just goes all crash-test-dummy in the shorey for the first half of his heat against that Fred fella. There’s farken Andy King and Dog Marsh, their respective ‘Master Coaches’ sittin’ there, more like farken ‘Master Baters’ if ya ask me. I’m like, this pro surfing caper’s a farken joke, this Medina guy’s a kook, and then, like a minute or so before the hooter he drops this farken floater into the death shorey that’s farken ridiculous, and I’m like, yeah, there ya go. Farken Siiiick.

Honest to God, I dunno what to make of this Medina caarnt. Does me farken head in. Like, he’s a farken machine, rips an’ all, but then he comes in after his heat, knowin’ everyone’s watchin’, turns back around to the ocean, reaches his arms out and does this weird, theatrical blessing / benediction thing, to God or Jesus or whoever, which is fine, but ya know, fark, if I had the Almighty favouring me by His Providential Hand, I’d keep it a bit more on the downlow? Like, I’d be grateful to the Big Guy, but a bit embarrassed too, like, “Thanks Heaps and all, but I’ve got a few world titles and fabulous wealth and a hot missus and Chuckles off my back, so if you wanna go hurl some healing thunderbolts at the 26 million refugees currently seeking to stay on their own Dream Tour instead, I would be TOTALLY farken cool with that.”

But, yeah, I farken know, it’s just what ya grow up surrounded by ay. Nothing determines ya faith a millionth as much as the geo-farken-political lottery of where ya get spat out into the world… And I swear I heard Gabs use the word ‘Mate’ in his post heat yarn, so he’s orright in my book. 

If Gabs takes the win tomoz, I wanna see him spit the winkle on the podium.

Next up, farken Jules against that li'l de Souza fella. Now, if someone wants to get me on Team J-Dub, I reckon I can get him to bring home a world title no wukkas. Basically, this boy finds himself in no-man’s land as far as his two key sponnos goes: Imagine, you’re paid good coin to promote Red Bull AND Bonsoy… how farken confusing would that be before a heat? Energise with the fizz or the froth? Mix ’em? No wonder there’s times he just drops anchor and catches fuck all – probably tryna remember if he whacked the kiddy lock on the Red Bull fridge. It’s cool to enlist the kids to schlep the Bonsoy, but Red Bull’s not the go for the littlies hey, unless you wanna wire ‘em for life.

Deadset, that Morgs fella DOES look like a Cheshire Cat ay. The fairytale continues against that Wade fella who I SWEAR looks like Boofhead the Tiler from back home, who we give ALL SORTS of shit to for looking like that Alf character from the tele back in the day. So we’ve got this cat versin’ this sitcom space puppet and I haven’t even farken sparked up me morning scoob yet. It’s farken MENTAL what these guys are doing on these waves – especially on the shorey.

Ya know, maybe one or two of these pros might come over as sheltered, entitled caarnts, but they’re remarkably skilled sheltered, entitled caarnts. An’ I’m just farken jealous is all.

Yeah, look, I’m not sure about this next heat. Two farken bean pole goofies. I reckon if Owen’s two scores had come in the back end of the heat, rather than right at the start, those sixes woulda been higher, and the result a lot closer. But that R-Cal, geez, did a layback coverup at the end that brought a tear to me farken eye. Shoulda been a ten not a mid three. Like to see those judge caarnts go out and do that. 

Always looks a bit clubbed, does that R-Cal fella. Check his Newy promo piece to camera, you’d swear he’d been hanging with … me!

Fucken Italo or Eetalo or EEEEEEEtalo. Sure, his whizzies were sick AF, but did ya catch his crotch grab? Comes into the shorey, whizzes it up, lands it, points to the judges, then grabs his balls, right in front of everyone. I thought, there it is, there’s that WozCast Bingo ‘Italo Injury ‘Box ticked off, but nah, he’s just ruling. I’d fucken KILL to get this caarnt up to Toona for next Sunday’s presso night at the Bowlo. He’d fit right in with the boys.

On the drive down to Newy last night, pulled into Maccas for the first time in ages and copped the full up-sell. Thought I was back in the Maccas drive-through again hearing the WozCast commentators relentlessly upselling the farken Trestles final series today. Those Elo or Arty Ziff Caarnts definitely sent a memo out to all staff to sell the fark out of the format, and just like Maccas, some staff are better at turning on the enthusiasm. “Sell, you caarnts!”

Gotta admit, I kinda take me eye off the farkin’ ball when Deivid Silva and Kanoa Igarashi go at it. Had Igarashi pegged for the win, he’s captain consistent ay, but that Zilla earns the win with his drydock reo, and much as I dig Kanoa, it’s a bit of poetic justice in light of what’s going on with those poor Uighur batsards in the Xinjiang province.

There’s this little farken moment in that heat that shows how good these caarnts are. It’s not even a scoring wave of Kanoa’s. At exactly 8:17 before the end of the heat, Igarashi does this little flickout, just ollies over the lip. It’s not a big deal, a blink-and-you-miss-it kinda thing, but check it out on the (full heat) replay. These caarnts are so dialled, makes me sick.

Ya can see how the Newy crew love this little wave hey. The dropping tide’s making these fun double ups, reminds me of Rockbreak up at Burleigh, where the local caarnts are caarnts after me own heart. But on a day like today, there’d have to be a hundred corners all doing their thing. East Coast. April. Sub-farken-lime.

So Big Dog Jordy’s been in third gear all event and loses the drag race with Conner Coffin. That Murdoch prick reckons CC looks like an extra from Orange Is The New Black, but I reckon he looks like that caarnt who went off-grid. That Jon Krakauer caarnt wrote a book about him  – what’s his name – Alexander Supertramp. Garn, Google Image search ‘Alexander Supertramp’ and tell me that’s not farken Conner. Dunno exactly why, but I’m stoked to see this Seppo caarnt get through. Good Caarnt. Into the Wild, into the quarters.

By the time the last heat – Yago versus ToldYaSo is on. I’m in me car headin’ home to Toona, via Macca’s. Me money’s on the Brazillian.

Thanks for havin’ me Newy. I felt truly welcomed and embraced as a visitor. If ever you’re up Toona way, don’t farken expect the same ya blowin.

Nah, you’re alright.

// BAZ CORNELL

Editor’s note: Baz is driving north while the Gal’s go back out for the Quarters. He sends his apologies, but Friday night’s Parma Night at the Toona Tavern and some things cannot be missed.