Monday, July 19, 2010
Wed 21st July 2010 – An already tumultuous year in professional surfing has taken a further twist with the ÄSP announcing that from today it will now have an umlaut – those two cool, slightly germanic dot things that perform no discernible function – hovering over its initial letter.
Those inside the organisation say grammatical shake-ups have been on the drawing board for a considerable time.
“When the rebel-tour shitstorm was brewing back in late 2009, we looked at a number of options to give us some edge” says a source,“focus groups saw ÅSP and ÆSP testing strongly for us, but the whole thing lost momentum.”
Now, though, it appears ASP bigwigs have seen the looming cull of the top 45 surfers back to 32 amid the slabs of Teahupo’o as ripe time to breathe a cold air of Germanic steel into its corporate paintwork.
“It’s good enough for Mötley Crüe and Mödern Collective then it’s good enough for us” reads a release on the ÄSP’s website. “We want the backmarkers, the poor schmucks who haven’t made it through a heat yet this year, those soon-to-be also-rans, to behold the ÄSP’s authority with awe as it dispatches them into neverland.”
The ÄSP commissioned in-demand designer and DJ Stefan Swoopmeister to come up with its bold new look. The friendly, blue flowing swooshes of the old logotype have been replaced with a look Swoopmeister describes as “striking, in a neo-militaristic kind of way.”
“Fittingly, for a grammatical mark comprised of two dots, the benefits for our über organisation are two-fold”, barked CEO Brodie Carr. “First up, we’re tapping into that whole Mödcol skinny jean bohemian thing, which is where it’s at right now, and secondly, well, just look at it: ÄSP, we're now officially not to be fucked with.”
Sunday, April 11, 2010
By Guest Goldminer Enrique.
My God? What are you doing? Take your hands off that pristine new surfboard this very moment! Stand back, and give the wax to Enrique.
My accent intrigues you. I can tell. No-one knows where Enrique is from, not even Enrique. There is certainly italian in his husky voice, there may well be some french, and perhaps some russian. All you need to know is that Enrique is a citizen of the globe, and Enrique speaks the international langauge of love.
Now, this wax you use, I spit on it... Enrique is seething with rage.
Why do you insult this princess of a surfboard with such tacky muck.
Here, a gift, not for you, for her. A precious ingot of wax made for the candles of the shrine of Casanova himself, smuggled to Persia by a virginal Joan of Arc, and perfumed under the pillow of the slightly less virginal Queen Of Sheba. Is the finest wax in the world, and your surfboard, she deserves nothing less than such a gift, no?
Never forget my friend, that a new board, she is like a beautiful woman, and applying the base coat of wax is like making love to her for the first time.
Let Enrique ask you, my clueless chump of a friend: when you make love, do you start jackhammering immediately once the helmet has stormed the barricades as fast as your pasty anglo saxon buttocks can clench and release?
No, Of course not, for it is obvious to Enrique that even one as inept in the art of love as yourself will know to begin slowly.
Let Enrique tell you something: When it comes to love, Rule number one, make as little physical contact as you can, for the first half hour. Only undressing, admiring, the lightest of caresses. Maybe a little singing if Enrique is feeling in voice. You may only engage in the stink-finger after 40 minutes or so.
So too it must be with your new surfboard. Run the back of your hands lightly along the rails. If you had Enrique's silky locks your hair could cascade over her driving her crazy, but alas, you most certainly do not have Enrique's midnight black mane.
And set the mood for christ's sake: Some candles and music: Enrique does his best work to George Benson, Kenny G, Foreigner “I want to know what love is.... I want you to show me...." Enrique is in fine voice uh?
Now, to begin the waxing. Like this. long, slow circular motions. Light as a feather, as if you do not care if any wax transfers on to the deck. Sometimes a little faster, sometimes a little slower, talking softly, complimenting her on her rails, the subtle single to double concave, give her your word that you will screw her fcs fins in tightly but not too tightly.
If she has only recently been glassed you will need to be extra gentle, for she is a delicate flower.
So, take your time with the long, the slow, the circular motions, and look! slowly, gradually the first beads of traction appear on the deck. at this moment, it's tempting for a monkey unschooled in the art of love as yourself to speed up, but no, slow, slowly, gently, aaaaaahhhhhhh....
After an hour of this, your princess is ready, and if the conditions are favorable, she will be surfed for the first time. Good luck my friend, I believe you can do justice to such a beautiful creation.
What's that? How does one approach the next wax job on the same board once she has been broken in? Maybe with a compression dent where you place your knee to assist with the duckdiving?
Now that is a different matter altogether my friend. Once you have romanced the base coat of wax onto a board, well, put it this way, your board is still a beautiful woman, but now it is the type you can hit doggy style in the toilets at a party.
Feel the love. Enrique
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Wed 3rd March, Snapper Rocks, Gold Coast, Australia – A series of puzzling scores and baffling judging decisions at the Quiksilver Pro has been traced to the behaviour of an increasingly aggressive stray ferret loose in the Judges' tower, sources confirmed today.
It isn't clear how the ferret gained entry into the enclosure. Locals say recent heavy rains in the Coolangatta region may have forced the possibly abandoned domestic pet to seek refuge in the elevated judging infrastructure at Snapper rocks.
“Initially, having the little guy around was a bit of fun,” says a judge who agreed to speak to The Goldmine on degree of anonymity. “He was pretty freaked out when we found him, cowering in the corner under some towels, seemed harmless enough, so we left food out for him and let him have the run of the place.”
“He was a well-behaved mascot through the first round, we even christened him Felix, but soon as round two kicked in, things started falling apart.”
Bystanders report screams emanating (in a number of languages) from the judging tower midway through Neco Padaratz and Damien Hobgood's second-round heat.
“Forget 'White LIghtning' said a shocked onlooker, “I didn't know an animal could run up the a judge's leg and into his shorts so quickly.
“One second Felix was curled up on the floor sleeping, the next he's wrapped around a judge's testes, right when Neco was on what looked like a really good scoring wave.”
“How the judge managed to remain impartial and lock in an accurate score I'll never know.”
The rogue ferret's behaviour has not only impacted the occupants of the tower, there are also reports of cables being gnawed through. The $100,000 instant replay system is damaged beyond repair with nesting debris and feces overheating the circuit boards.
According to insiders, key members of the judging staff were 'trying to corner Felix with a broom' as a particularly close heat between Jeremy Flores and Dane Reynolds was unfolding.
Unable to view the replay to scrutinise the ride, judges were forced to fall back on their backup device, the 'Applause-o-meter 2000', which gauges the audio levels of gasps and cheers from the beach and award the scores “pretty fairly to the favourites” it is claimed.
Sources report that the Ferret – described as fawn-coloured with a cream underbelly, black markings across its eyes, and razor sharp claws and teeth – grew increasingly agitated through the afternoon, becoming particularly crazed when the horn blew to signal the start of the day's final heat between Portugese surfer Tiago Peres and South African child-giant Jordy Smith.
“Felix went ballistic, literally leaping from one judge's face to the next,” reports a photographer stationed adjacent to the tower, “by this stage every judge was armed with anything they could get their hands on – dustbin lids, pieces of wood, makeshift body armour, and they're all smashing eachother trying to nail the little fucker.”
With the replay system down and their attention anywhere but the ocean, and the Applause-o-meter in smithereens, judges were apparently forced to stick their heads outside the door and ask bystanders if surfer in red's last wave was 'like, innovative or not'.
Late last night, new head judge Richie Porta was reportedly trying in vain to track down predecessor Perry Hatchett, who single-handedly captured and released a rabid Weasel unharmed from the judges' tower at Trestles in California in 2003. Perry couldn't be raised.
STOP PRESS: In breaking news Felix has been reported heading south towards the Webcast commentary booth.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
MON FEB 15TH 2010 – Surf blog enthusiasts worldwide have been driven to rage by the fact that Dane Reynolds has failed to blow their minds with a downright freaky online clip for the second week in a row.
Several surf sites have had their servers jammed by a torrent of bitter personal attacks on all facets of Reynolds' character, his surfing and sexual orientation.
“I'm angry, confused and let down by this prick Reynolds” writes Bugalugs72 in a tirade typical of many on primesurf.com. “So much for cutting edge surfing... the latest Dane Reynolds clip is weeks old. I've viewed it half a dozen times now and am no longer impressed.”
It's a sentiment echoed by DaneSux on the futuristically groovy site spitesurf.com,“Safety turn after safety turn – I don't care if they're performed above the lip – It's all just just so PREDICTABLE after four or five views. Reynolds is a joke and I hold him personally responsible for dragging surfing kicking and screaming back into the dark ages.
“In no way is my unfocused and ignorant rage a clear reflection of the bitterness I feel towards my own mediocre talents in the water and the drudgery of my own life, which stretches before me as a sad, increasingly grey wasteland of anonymity” writes YouseCanAllGetStuffed on critically lauded failsurffail.com “Lord no, It's not about me, it's about someone calling it like they see it, and quite frankly, way I see it, the whole thing stinks.
“Take Mick Fanning. Biggest joke of the lot. Without question holding surfing back. I don't think I've ever been less impressed with a so-called world champion.
“I mean, put aside his exquisite repertoire of moves, a top turn that will make you weep with its sheer speed, power, timing and beauty; forget for a moment the astounding completeness of his waveriding in any conditions; ignore the personal tragedies, the crippling injuries, the almighty focus and steel will of the man; dismiss if you will the fact he'll be first out every morning such is his sheer love for surfing and the ocean; put to the back of your mind his humility, patience and approachability and what do you get?
“That's right, a pathetic joke of a contest machine.”
Barely pausing for breath, YouseCanAllGetStuffed continued, “Seriously. if I have to sit on front of my computer anywhere I want and watch a free, three-camera-angle webcast to see the world's best surfers stumble through heats with staggeringly beautiful highwire shredding I can't tell you how upset I might become, and how I'll bombard the world's message boards with my stinking vitriol.
“Thank christ for Dane Reynolds. Now there's the future right there.
“What's that? We're over Dane now?
“Riiiight. Yep, Thought as much. Honestly, Dane Reynolds – what a letdown that conservo-boy-homo is. Sad to think back, all the way back to January, how he was the real deal. These days? Two thumbs down.
“Without question, holding surfing back.”
Not only is the former poster boy for avante-garde performance now universally loathed for the recent drought of mind-blowing freakiness, Surf media analysts have noticed an online trend towards pre-emptive hating, and cite dangerously renegade sexmysurf.com, where the hapless Reynolds is acting as springboard in a discussion that's officially attracting a gazillion new posts per minute.
“Fuck EVERYONE,” writes self-described 'maverick' blog commenter BlinkyBalls on sexmysurf.com “in particular, fuck the ASP tour, the rebel tour, the judges, the caterers, the security staff, the mags, the locals, the tourists, the blow-ins, Mum, Dad, my little sister, Fanning, Slater, Reynolds. Fuck em ALL.
“But most of all, FUCK the bloke who's gonna surpass Dane Reynolds. Whoever comes along in a blaze of glory, doing things we never imagined, well, I'm over him and his late-2011-style conservatism already.
As the goldmine goes to press with this story, Dane Reynolds' management has offered an emotional apology to the entire surfing world for “Dane's disappointing inability to blow minds with something crazy and new over the last couple of weeks.”
“Dane knows he has a lot of soul searching to do” reads the press release, “and personally feels he deserves every well-considered barb his online supporters have skewered him with.”
Sunday, January 31, 2010
By Nick Carroll
Vast fish capable of devouring human flesh at will are roaming the world's oceans, possibly in huge numbers, according to a study released today by the renowned activist group, Friends of the Surfing Environment.
The fish, estimated to be between two and five metres in length and equipped with rows upon rows of huge triangular-shaped teeth, are yet to be identified by any other ocean biological institute. But the FSE study claims they may have been lying in wait in the ocean depths for millions of years.
"At last now we have some explanation for why people -- including surfers -- very occasionally go missing from beaches around the world, or are washed up onto the sands with dreadful wounds which science has never been able to account for," said Jeffrey Beachhead, FSE's director of research.
Beachhead and his crew had spent years searching for proof of the gigantic, vicious predators' existence, capturing only fleeting glimpses of their disturbingly sharp-edged pectoral fins, cold assassin-like black eyes, and vast, gaping, fang-filled jaws.
Rumours of a blood-chilling bycatch of the deadly fish in the Gold Coast dolphin nets - designed to protect Japanese tourists from being irritated by the sight of live dolphins - have circulated for decades, while officials have refused to comment.
But recent discoveries - including a dead whale, washed up on a South Australian beach with huge chunks of blubber torn from its sides - have added weight to what was once just a mad theory bandied about by conspiracy nutters and wackjob environmentalists.
Surfers and fishermen alike reacted to the shocking revelation with a mixture of horror, relief and outright scepticism.
"I knew this wasn't a figment of my imagination," wept NSW North Coast surfer Johnny Dickson, showing off a deep crescent-shaped "bite-mark" in his upper thigh. Dickson had claimed for years that the injury was due to a large, terrifying fish having seized upon him "like some sort of tiger" and shaking like a mad dog before inexplicably releasing him from its grip.
But friends, doctors, local police and others had dismissed the claims, saying Dickson was "always trying to get attention" and that he'd probably inflicted the wounds himself with a pocket knife.
"They'll be eating their words now," muttered Dickson, sporting an ironic grin.
Nonsense, says Felix Thurston, of the Florida-based Institute for People Disappearing off Beaches For No Apparent Reason. According to Thurston: "This farcical theory about massive ravenous killer fish has been proffered before, and has always been found wanting. Until the FSE truly satisfies the burden of proof, we will continue to assume that people are being abducted by deep-space aliens for their own unknowable purposes.
"For God's sake, if the ocean really was full of these terrible grey beasts, how could Mankind ever have colonised the globe?"
Asked if he had any advice for surfers and beachgoers in general, Beachhead shrugged his shoulders. "Frankly, I don't know what to tell anyone," he said. "We all thought the ocean was a safe place. It's hard to get your head around the fact that an entire sub-family of death-dealing fish the size of Stand-Up Paddleboards have been out there since before humans walked the planet, just waiting for the right moment to strike."
Monday, January 18, 2010
Toonalook backbeach, January 18, 2010. – Local soul surfer Carl Reid's annoying air of superiority took a well-deserved setback today thanks to a number of tiring swims to retrieve his retro twin-fin fish.
Reid, 23, met two friends, John Mcphee and Wayne Tanner at Toonalook backbeach lookout at 3.00pm whereupon they agreed on a quick surf despite the marginal windswell on offer and rapidly dropping tide.
“We were getting changed and straight away Reidy was on our case for how lame we were for using a legrope on a two foot beachie.” recalls Tanner.
“Thing is, I kinda agree with him but there's something about the way the smug prick comes over all fucken-holier-than-thou that makes me want to punch him in that goateed face of his.”
Reid, who adorns his boards with Sea Shepherd stickers, continued to lecture his friends about their 'infantile dependence' on the legrope as they made their way down to the water's edge.
Onlookers observed Reid’s legrope-free posturing and body language with distaste.
Bea Smith, 78, a long term Toonalook resident, walking her beagles along the beach at the time, commented to reporters. “Look at 'im, like a strutting peacock that boy is. Poser is what I reckon.”
Disdain soon turned to joy for the eyewitnesses as Reid lost his board four times in half an hour.
On each occasion he was forced to swim all the way to the beach.
“It was magic” claimed a clearly elated Mcphee, “the first time he swam in he was all like 'it's a good workout' and 'I'm feeling the flow' and stuff, but you could see him getting more and more pissed off. By the fourth swim he was fully losing his shit, swearing and carrying on.
“He'd be madly swimming after his board and every time he'd almost get to it, a little whitewater'd come through and take it out of his reach.”
Mcphee continued: “Kinda makes me believe that there might be some kind of karmic force behind the ways of the ocean after all., 'Cos anything that wipes that smug fucken I'm-more-in-tune-with-the-great-mysteries-of-the-ocean-than-you-look off his face has got to be good.”
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Sunday 20th December 2009. Graeme Murdoch, of Burleigh Heads Queensland today called off the search for the energy and motivation required to post entries on sporadically humorous blog 'inside the goldmine'.
“I thought if I spent some time away from the blog, you know, bludging for a while, then after a while I'd turn around and Bam!.... there it'd be, staring me in the face and urging me to get stuck into the next soft target that blundered into my field of vision.” said the 42-year-old.
“But weirdly, the opposite happened: the longer the absence, the less necessary it felt to continue, blogging became increasingly less vital to my sense of vindication. It was oddly liberating to let the time between entries lapse from days to weeks to months.”
Witnesses report that the signal emitting from Murdoch's 'give-a-fuck-about-anything' beacon has become so weak that any prospect of locating the drive and passion to continue the goldmine, – indeed, to approach any creative endeavour with rigour and professionalism – would be nothing short of a Christmas Miracle.
“I dunno” said Murdoch, scratching his arse, “I might have another look behind the couch or in the car under the seats in the new year sometime. Maybe there'll be some remnants of desire or commitment I can scrape up and cobble together, but I wouldn't count on it.
“For now all I'm good for is to lie around and eat chocolates and watch entire series of Dexter in one go.”
Friends express fears that Murdoch's standards of personal cleanliness will wane along with his creative mojo. “It's scary to think he might actually pay less attention to grooming and hygiene than he does already,” says one.