The Crystal Bong: The Life Cycle Of A Modern Pro Surfer
From the womb to the pro tour, on the marketing gig to the grave, and repeat...
Life, as we know it, is all about luck. I mean take the modern pro surfer. What a charmed life. But how do they get there? By tracing their lives back to the very start, back to the womb even, you’ll find that to get the stickers and the sex, the drugs and the trophies, the Audis and the frequent flyer points, it’s all a matter of just plain, dumb luck.
The start of the life cycle of a modern pro surfer starts, of course, with a water birth. Ideally the young sprog, after a nine-month incubation period featuring his mother being endlessly badgered into watching the Taylor Steele Box Set by the father, will pop out of the womb into the pool and straight on to a custom-made 1’5” made by grandpop, one of the first surfers in the area.
The first three years tend to be critical. More Taylor Steele vids, bodybashing by age one, finished with the boogie board by age two, back on the custom 3’4” by age three. At bathtime the child is held underwater for extended periods of time while mum teaches the child to carry sinkers and dad turns the high-powered jet ski hose cleaner on full. You just can’t be a small wave rider these days you know.
By age five, the kid should have won his first local competition. More importantly, he should have also scored a second and smashed up his brand new custom 3”9” at the injustice of it all. But what the heck, the boards are coming free now anyway.
Ages 5 through to 10 are a steep learning curve. It’s difficult to decide on the various offers from QuikBong, RipCom and Nikeley. In the end, well you just gotta go for the contract featuring the most noughts. Surfing-wise, sheer talent, state-of-the-art equipment and the four hours a day of intense training and coaching should see the grom dominating his own break and the 20 surrounding ones. A garage will be added for the trophies, the surfing mag shots will be routine, a pro surfing future is destiny and the teenage years beckon.
The first half of the teenage years is all about expanding the horizons. In any interview by the age of 15 they should be able to call Pipeline, G-land, Jeffreys Bay and Teahupoo as their favourite waves. They must have been towed into Jaws by an ex-world champion and have done a few ad campaigns featuring ridiculously long-legged models, of which one, will steal his virginity.
The very idea of school and work, for most an inexorable part of life, are now all but a distant memory. By the late teens, the purchase of a third flat, while a distraction for the surfer’s newly appointed manager, shouldn’t stop the final ascent to the big-time.
The 20s are good, real good. These years are spent going to the same places, surfing the same waves and accumulating four garages worth of expensive motor vehicles, large and small motorboats. The main deal is to stay grounded. It’s just kinda hard whilst travelling in a limousine having sex with the latest French pop starlet.
It’s a good ten years, but the ‘30s creep up. The drive and commitment start to wane and the pro surfer will question his own existence. Overlooking his local beach from the jacuzzi in his penthouse, with his gorgeous wife and two kids, he will question his choices. The travel, the grind, why surfing isn’t fun anymore, the glare, the gossip, the young kids that have it all these days. Mind you, there’s a trip to the Mentawais next week and the free surfing then soul surfing option is nothing to be sneezed at. And you have that 51 % share in the local surf school.
Finally, inevitably the late 30s bring a sense of reality. The marketing job at QuikBong ain’t so bad, if a little boring. The legends dinners at the comps provide an outlet… and free beer. The banks at the local are pretty good; especially with the new 4-stroke jet ski. Plus the missus is having another grom. Dad’s making the new 1’3” custom. The water birth in the new backyard wavepool should be fun. With a bit of luck he, or she, might be a pro surfer. And on it goes...