International Womens Day today. You'd prolly never know that listening to the Roxy Pro, but there you go. You should know. Wimmins in the Middle East are being shot, stabbed, stoned and having their noses and ears cut off for the heinous crimes of refusing to marry a 70-year-old sheikh in the desert.

Meanwhile, on the Gold Coast the local rag ran with a lead story detailing the massive discrepancy in pay between men and women surfers on tour. Weird old world, huh. Based purely on the entertainment value provided today the women would have a solid argument to up the pay scales to match their male counterpart.

Round 4 of the mens came and went and as Bruce Lee noted, "the Quarter Finals are smeared with the blood of rookies." Bit of a bad metaphor Bruce but we get the pikcha. The morning high tide heats were a continuing graveyard for locals and top seeds. The top seeds looked somnolent and disinterested.

Small fact which runs counter to the prevailing myth: high tide heats are actually disadvantageous to locals who are ingrained with a behind-the-rocks mentality. The best waves are nuggets which slip wide and grow down the middle section. Results from the rest of this contest will rest on this fact and how surfers adapt to it. In the morning the rookies adapted best. The equation now depends on the tidal phase of the sandbar and brutal commercial realities with respect to daily news headlines. They must run on the afternoon low tide or consign the finals to inconsistent slop.

I was kicking it on the boardwalk, cattle class, with a curly-head local named Russ. I mean real local, Bundjalung fella. A native blackfella brother man of Australia. We were sharing a Gudang Garam and chewing the fat. Russ had a beautiful painting of dolphin dreaming he wanted to gift to Slater. He was trying to broach the strict apartheid of access. A tattooed guy with 'If you can't rock and roll, don't fucken come' on his tee, wandered into the competitors tent, full access. Here's the original brother man wanting to share the love with the Champ: how much more rock 'n roll can you fucken get?

"Thanks fer having us on your country Russ", I said.

"No worries bruz, we love having youse here, hey. We bless this land for youse, hey. This special country and we all saltwater people." He drew a wide arc around with his hand from one end of the horizon to the other and for a blissful second the crowds, the noise and the corporate apartheid which so ruthlessly lets a tattooed carpetbagger through while a loving soul like Russ gets excluded disappeared.

What happened today with the womans comp was witnessed worldwide. In terms of technique, approach and excitement the game changed; the rate of progression dwarfed the men tour. And let us be ruthlessly honest here: the standard minus Dane has stagnated or regressed amongst the men, despite the adrenalin and bad judgment calls flowing through internet connections after this afternoons epic match-ups.

There will be those Islamists of the spirit and intellect who will still insist the womens tour is nothing but an excuse for grown men to receive vicarious thrills through the medium of scantily clad buttocks atop a surfboard. To those reprobates I say: blow a goat. The world changed today and along with the brother man, the wimmins struck a blow for dignity, freedom of expression and equality for young girls everywhere as long as they wear branded surfwear from cradle to grave.

I got out in the blazing sunshine to watch Lennox homegirl Tyler Wright, who quite simply laid down the most vicious buried rail hacks of the day, man woman or Middle Eastern goat, to defeat Laura Enever in the first semi.

Wading through thigh deep surges I got out on the rocks next to Little Marley. Carissa got out of jail against a late charging Sally Fitz by blowing tail on a small grower caught on the buzzer. As sport/performance art it was as good as it gets.

Carissa has a bottom turn/top turn combo and completion rate that would blow away half the mens tour. In the final she had Wright on the ropes after the opening ride. Wright suddenly looked leg weary and mentally distant, making bad decisions. After a small wave she rode the ski back to behind the rock. The lowering tide was opening up some drainers and Wright got deep-throated on the wave of the day...I mean, she travelled for a distance with Carissa having priority. Did Carissa even see her in there? Wright came flying out of the tube as Carissa dropped in and took the wave, forcing Wright to straighten out on a certain ten point ride. Words don't do this justice. It was a moment of pure sport, the likes of which the mens tour seems to have precious few of. That was game set and match.

One more salient point on the womens World Tour. Last year they had a winning formula for locations: Taranaki, Peru, Honolua. This year has lightened up but still, who the fuck do I talk to to get on this tour?

Out on the rock the crowd was growing exponetially as Slater took the stage. He blamed a crook gut for his insipid morning performance but my belief is he threw the heat so he could surf again in low tide Snapper. A second surf against a goofy (even one as technically accomplished as Ace) on low tide was a low risk bet for Slater and more conducive to momentum on the final day than a crowded freesurf after the contest ended for the day.

Of course that is pure speculation, but I discussed it with my viewing partners on the rock, Sebastien from Chile and Hiro from Japan. We all agreed it made excellent tactical sense. Sebastien cruises the Chilean coast, loosely based in Pichilemu, spending summers working at Macaronis land camp. In other word, no donkey. Surf fans come global nowadays despite the internet hegemony of the US and Australia.

Sebastien had an uncanny knack for judging, which despite the protestations of the commentators, isn't rocket science. It is subjective and any experienced surfer can quickly learn to interpret the criteria and how it is being applied. Ace tore it up but lacked a killer punch, he must embrace risk to progress on his backhand. His forehand in barrelling lefts is as good as it gets. Unfortunately, save Chopes that skill is as valuable as tits on a bull in 2011. No, I'm not suggesting a sex change for Ace. Well, not at this stage of his career anyhow.

Slater did what he had to in the crunch moment at the end of the heat.

Slater has based his career on rivalry so I asked him this: "Now that Jordy has Beschen in his corner does that change the mental calculus for you?"

He looked surprised, "Beschen is in his corner?"

"Yeah, didn't you know?"

"Oh, he'll get second again then."

He's toying with this.

After De Souza's second ride, Sebastien said 9.7. Judges gave it 9.67. This left Taj needing a 9.3. He took a medium set and went straight up and smashed it, then again. Straight away I said, "He's got it, he's fucking got it. They always overscore Taj, you watch." Sebastien said "8.93". They gave him a 9.43. De Souza will replay this heat and he will not be happy but he will have to suck it up because that is the stance required.

For Joel Parkinson fans, and I am among the most tragic, the final heat continued the pain that we have come to know so well. The painful voluptuousness of this tragedy has, I believe, infiltrated into the highest reaches of our sport, at times infecting judges and commentators with a maudlin sorrow like that produced by a Greek play.

Hard truths now lie waiting for Parko like thieves in the night. He must update his fast twitch response, turn speed and attack combinations. Something should be done with equipment. Lessons need rapid learning and implementation if he is to stay current outside of his favoured venues. Parko's first wave lacked verve and speed but it earned a mid-six. "Generous", said Sebastien.

Jordy's power hack came on strong and he looked the stronger when it came to repertoire and power. Parko's below sea level drainer would've been scored a ten in the pre-Reynolds era. Jordy's answering wave seemed to exceed it but was judged less. Even to these blinded-by-Parko-love eyes a hometown decision seemed to be beckoning. Unbelieveably, Parko gifted Jordy a wave with 30 seconds to go ('Why? Why for chrissakes?') and Jordy easily got the score.

It was beautiful and it was painful.

On a memorable day of sport certain truths became evident. In an Age of Information, control of the narrative equals power. As it is for nation-states, epochs and grand style thus is it so for individuals and even whole genders. Women seized power today.

Jordy and Taj must seize it tomorrow. Not just seize it but control it for a year. There is no pressure on Slater. A Quarter Final finish puts him in ideal position off the shoulder of a hard-charging front runner who can wear all the heat while he can wear away at them with sustained pressure, waiting until Pipeline if necessary. A win at Snapper has in the past almost guaranteed a Slater title.

Just the facts.