The Outsider - Epilogue
Steve Shearer April 12, 2009
Coming back to the Northern Rivers was liking awakening to a world of light. Approaching Melbourne airport through an endless landscape of grey, Soviet-style industry consolidated my emotional photograph of Victoria. When a security lady asked me in a thick Russian accent if I, "hed eny eggzplosuve meterial on me?" I had to reply, "Only the thoughts in my mind concerning professional surfing in Victoria."
Luckily she didn't speak English so well or I might have been confined to a grimy gulag somewhere in Melbourne's outer suburbs.
My comrades in arms, the brethren bus drivers and cabbies of Ballina airport, recognised me better than my eight month old son - two weeks can seem like an eternity sometime. To be amongst equals and honest men, after the relentlessly hierarchical world of Pro Surfing, where the instinct for rank and status is the only common denominator, was joyous. Big Pete, Benny, Bruce - diamonds of men every last one of 'em - all wanted to know the score and how the future of o-ten was shaping up.
"Listen up gents," I began, "a tenth title for Old Baldy is beginning to take on an Homeric Hue". Poets to a man these bus drivers, they understand this kind of language. "This is a man who is moving leisurely in the amplitude of forgotten time" Bruce farted loudly and yelled "Eh, bus to Byron!" to a group of pole-axed looking backpackers. "Go on, go on", he said, turning back to me. "If we analyse the omens: the broken foot, the opening heat at Snapper Rocks, the fact that his titles have come on a 'year on, year off' basis, the overwhelming force of inertia of a Slater title run etcetera. If we consider all this and the dominance at the Pipeline then....." Pete had put his hand up and moved in conspiratorially. "Mate, I have to tell you now.....you've been....um....sacked" "Oh", I said. "Yeah. Easter and all.....you just weren't here." "No, no I wasn't."
My daughter was tugging on my shirt, "Come on Dad, lets go home" A momentary cloud of despair passed by like an eclipse, and now a sudden and almost overwhelming illuminating surge of joy flooded my soul.
Slater and a tenth title....hahahhahahhahaa.
A quote from famous American NFL coach Vince Lombardi seems to sum up the philosophical framework of Pro Surfing: 'You have to be smart enough to understand how the game works, and dumb enough to think it is important'.
Time for The Outsider to go surfing. Thanks for reading.
Comments
In my opinion there are few things worse when on the road than having the misfortune to meet someone who eternally whines about how great it is where they live and how bloody awful it is 'here'. The writing part you can manage, but the travelling bit you should leave to someone else. I guess you should hope Rip Curl bring their search event to Lennox Steve, then you can file your event reports from the world of light.
I'm all for the humanity, but i'd like to see your reaction to a contest somewhere less salubrious than southern victoria - just off the tundra in arctic russia, or a wave pool on the gaza strip or some shit.
maybe we could introduce those chinese masses (through one-on-ones with the leaders) you spoke of to wave riding? maybe they'd then allow bob dylan to play before the contest at the great wall and the dalai lama to judge?
maybe instead of curren v occy it could be rasta teaching the japanese military to gut slide or cross-step depending on hegemonic rank. perhaps i go to far. surfing has lost its essence within the commodification and image making of the pros. you should check out Guy debords the society of the spectacle. but what a spectacle.
keeping in mind the Brave New World spirit of the column and the constraints/simplicities/complexities/possibilities of the act of surfing, i'll continue to posit improbable and ridiculuous possibilities. rip curl should be busy corresponding with governments to create artificial reefs as good as bells that harness wave energy. or at the very least "sponsor" engineers so they don't fuck shit up like over here at the proposed port of oakajee.
anyway, its been a good read, you've kept the reigns on the wild horse of irreverence, leaving it unbroken but still within the corral of fathomable references (thanks to a trusty set of the encyclopeadia brittanica i've been leafing through). i was surprised to see in other areas of the site youre adept with the old scientific meteorological hoo-ha. Creativity and Structure. Now thats art.
Listen
Steve, I grew up in Melbourne so being a surfer who hooned in and out of Melbourne several times a week to catch waves I am familiar with that intense Western Suburbs view you get as you drive out of Melbourne towards Geelong over the West Gate. Very often grey and cold, dismal. Yes, Victoria is a dry state as well, particularly west of Melbourne - it lacks the lushness of the NSW coastline. But don't confuse your experience of pro surfing over Easter with the quality of the Victorian surfing experience, the waves, or the raw beauty of the coastline. Actually, now I live in Brunswick Heads, not far from you, and I miss those all-day offshores, high period groundswells, and perfectly clean, dry conditions, and fresh clean water (no brown river sharky muck) that Victoria has to offer. So I don't appreciate your East Coast bias towards the Victorian landscape. If you're emotional view of Victoria is "consolidated", then you are just another closed-minded surf-industry sucker. Try hanging out on the Morning Peninsula in February with a dry north-easter and a 3-4 ft swell. Try spending a week in Fairhaven in the the middle of winter, lighting the fire after a perfect all day dry winter glass off in empty waves. Or hang out in Torquay in September/October, the most underrated months there are that still cop perfect winter storms while the east coast is bathed in northerly hell - that is if you can deal with the cold. Victoria is still raw, lacks the polished and overcrowded surf culture of the East Coast, and has great groundswells and perfect days, all year, at least once a fortnight.