If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I know the horror of ending up right in someone’s projected track. I think we all do. To ensure that embarrassment entwines itself with guilt in that instance, the person whose wave you’ve bungled is sure to be utterly ripping, if not Joel Parkinson. That being said, I still can’t fathom the headspace of beginners who paddle out at Snapper and I’d like to think that none of my lineup f*ck-ups have caused anyone bodily harm. And that being said, it is so. hard. not to get a bit aggro when, amidst your late drop, you look down and realize (at the last second) that a man and his enormous longboard are caught up in the whitewater, only to skid off your board and join him in multiple sub-surface somersaults, resulting in an actual lump on your arm. When you find the air, he manages to be swept into you by the next wave (which is notably smaller), and this time, his fin slashes your leg. He goes, “That’s just my leg.” As in, “Don’t be alarmed; that thing you may have just kicked (HA) is my leg. Not a creature of the sea.” Yeah, cheers, bud!
Okay, enough whinging. Check out my story on ESPN today about the idea of paid webcast subscriptions. Many kind thanks in advance for your cooperation.
February 27th, 2011
Coolangatta
8:45 a.m. NSW
7:45 a.m. QLD
A piece of overripe fruit just fell from a tree and splattered on my leg, from which I also occasionally flick a renegade ant. I am sitting on a filthy bench at a bus stop, having a $1 cappuccino from 7-11 and feeling triumphant because a moment ago, I won a battle of wills with a seagull—over my apple walnut scroll. That fucker got pretty close, but I held my ground.
I’m wearing yesterday’s denim skirt and white tank—and bikini bottoms. I think I have been spending a lot of–possibly too much–time in the sun. At least that crater in my foot is no longer packed with sand.