Guess Who Is The New President Of The Kelly Slater Wave Company
Hint: he is indirectly responsible for the laughs (and occasional tears) of hundreds of thousands of children.
The WSL has a new hire and excitement in the surf industry is running rampant!
No longer can we “hater” surf “journalists” bitch and moan about the direction in which our sport is being guided by a group of business-minded brilliants. No sir! Now that owner Dirk Ziff has been declared the Waterman of the Year it’s time to sit down, shut up, and applaud. Loudly. Mindlessly. For ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.
Because the label ‘waterman’ means something. It’s a term of respect only granted to those who have put their lives on the line, sacrificed endlessly, in a never ending quest to master the glorious aquatic beast which covers the majority of the hunk of rock on which humanity is destined to die. A mere hobbyist, I must now bow to your all-encompassing expertise.
The WSL knows the truth. The oceans, with their constant state of flux and complete lack of cooperation within the confines of a holding period, are passe. Worthless. A sad atavistic vestige of a sport that clings to its past out of fear of the future. The ability to read a wave, to react on an instinctual level to its ever changing form, is pointless. Totally without merit. Finally dead of a long term illness born of shared delusion. It’s horse and buggy nonsense loved only by a small group of curmudgeonly failures doomed to irrelevancy by the blinders they don daily prior to parking fat asses in front of keyboards.
The rest of the world wants life in a bottle. Delivered on order without fail or ripple or complication.
And what better mind to serve up that prepackaged fair, to hit start on the proverbial microwave dinner which we all ravenously crave, than a man who earned his bones working for Anaheim’s favorite mouse?
Former Disney executive Nick Franklin has been named President of the Kelly Slater Wave Company and the future has never looked so bright.
Who better to transform Lemoore, California into the epic surf destination it has always been fated to become? Fiberglass and airbrush and strictly regimented corporate policy will soon mold the windy inland wasteland into a tropical paradise which, as yet, exists only within the realm of imagination. Why fly halfway around the world in search of a mirage which will soon materialize only four hours north of Los Angeles?
Will there be rides? Hula skirt automatons swaying gracefully in the dusty bluster? Costumed locals, always in character, playing legendary roles out of our history?
Will visitors be greeted by the late in life yoga addict devotee? The crusty local drywall hanger? The home-schooled photo incentive with a rap sheet kept clean by his parents’ attorneys?
The possibilities are endless and our minds ooze anticipation.
Sophie Goldschmidt, WSL CEO, a woman who has worked tirelessly to demonstrate that no one knows surf culture better than she, a person who can be trusted to always speak the unvarnished truth, had the following to say about the appointment:
“It’s a time of unprecedented opportunity for the company with so many exciting aspects to develop, so Nick’s incredible experience, stellar reputation and proven track record will make him vital to the successful future of KSWC and the WSL. Surf Ranch is transformational to surfing and for all those that have experienced its unique stoke, and Nick will push the boundaries of exceptional customer experience even further.”
I’m in! I’m on board. I love it so much that I’d leave my wife if only our parochial standards of matrimony allowed for sacred bonds with parcels of land located one hundred miles inland.
Watch me weep on bended knee! My heart for you, World Surf League! Forgive me for everything I’ve written in the past, I beg of you! My resolve is firmly broken. I’m yours, without reservation, for all eternity.
This is destined to change our sport, for the better, for ever. If I failed to see it in the past, it was only because I was blinded by a pointless obsession brought on by dedicating my life to the sport you now own. But it isn’t mine. I have no claim. It belongs to you and no amount of rage will every wrest it from your grasp.
The scales have dropped from my eyes. I’m yours for the taking. I’ll ask you to please use lube or at least spit.
But that isn’t a deal breaker.
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