Claimer, defamer, Waka Flocka Flamer. Brazilians are known for two things in our miniature surf world: their women and their post-wave claims. And both live up to expectation. Their women are gorgeous and full of vim. They sun all day, dance all night, drink caipirinhas like sweet sugar water and drink young coconuts like caipirinhas. Their post-wave claims punctuate all that is good in surfing. Wild abandon. Super-fly fist pumping whoop whoop.
They are often derided for their post-wave claims. Our miniature surf world, for unknown reasons, prefers an austere German sensibility when the wave ends. It demands the surfer pretend that what he just accomplished was not, in fact magic, but rather mundane. It prefers dull. But Brazilians refuse to succumb. Even when they are poked at, even when fun is made, they kick out of anything from a knee-high sloppy closeout to soul-chewing barrel and pump their fists, holler Portuguese epitaphs to the sun, shoot finger pistols toward the beach. They know that what was just accomplished was, in fact, magic.
The Brazilian post-wave claim is why they will soon take over the entire miniature surf world. They worship surfing the way it deserves to be worshipped. They leave the austere and Germanic far behind and nature appreciates the gesture. Nature will continue to bless Gabriel Medina and Adriano de Souza and Neco Padaratz with nine-point floater rides, amazingly good pirate looks and the ability to land any air.
Brazil’s national motto may be “order and progress” but their national surf motto is “let’s party, motherf–kers.” And party they do and party they will, all the way to Miguel Pupo winning a world title in 2014. Austerity be damned. Super-fly fist pump whoop whoop. —Chas Smith