Triple Crown Went Digital, Nice

It’s windy in San Francisco, now it’s rainy too. An “atmospheric river” is rushing overhead and drowning everything beneath it with a wet, grey cloak. For the first time this winter, the surf kind of sucks. There are waves, of course, but the period is shorter than my attention span and the wind seems to blow in every direction except offshore. 

This week or so out of the water has finally given me the chance to step back, take a deep breath, and overthink everything in my life. Ha! That, and journaling to a whole lot of Hendrix. By now you can tell I’m suffering from seasonal something. I won’t go as far as saying seasonal depression, but let’s just call it seasonal angst. 

Luckily for all of you, I’m going to stop myself here, before I slip down some self-loathing spiral, where I compare my uncertain feelings to the turmoil out at sea, or explain how raindrops on my windowpane reflect an inverted, yet symbolic image of myself, or reflect on how daylight doesn’t last long enough despite t— sorry. 

Oh yeah. How about that Triple Crown? I’m stoked for John, sweeping the boards to the surprise of absolutely no one. I’m even more stoked for Carissa for laying down the law and solidifying her place as one of the best in Hawaiian surf. Congrats again. Now go spend your $50k earnings on GameStop stock like the rest of us. 

Thanks to Vans and their collaboration with Stab, we, the sad mainland folk, were able to catch most of the highlights on The Pickup. Regardless of the countless closeups of Harry Bryant’s beautiful face, I just couldn’t get myself as invested in the Triple Crown as in years past. 

I know we still live in Miller time– sorry, Corona time– and changes have to be made in order to ensure the safety of competitors, officials, and, most importantly, residents of Hawai’i. However, the digital competition just missed the mark a bit. At least for me. 

The lack of structure, the open playing field, and the month-long competition period turned the world’s most prestigious surfing event into an Instagram feed. The novelty of Hale’iwa, Sunset, and Pipeline were techno-washed by 100 clips a day, lost in an endless scroll until professionally judged, and then lost again. 

This isn’t to say that plenty, if not the majority, of rides in any given competition don’t immediately disappear from memory. Because they do. But there was just something so much less personal about this year’s Triple Crown that left me feeling more empty than before. Where was the triumph? The drama? The underdog scraping their way through a few heats only to get beaten by goddamn Kelly Slater? 

I want to emphasize that I totally understand the necessity to shut down in-person competition venues, and that Vans took these last minute changes in full stride, ultimately creating a one-of-a-kind event with some absolutely insane waves ridden in it. John’s turn at Hale’iwa, for example. Mind blowing. We get it. But even without the Triple Crown, we would have seen that clip all over Instagram just the same.

Rather than elevate free surfing to the excitement of competition, I believe that the virtual Triple Crown brought down the excitement of competition to the mindlessness of a social media feed. 

Let me know your thoughts in the comments below. Is there a future in digital surfing competitions? Is this yet another example of social media’s world dominance? I’m all ears.