Pesquei isso la no Swellnet, saite australiano de previsão que tem bom conteudo.
O autor, Steve Shearer, tem feito uma cobertura brutalmente honesta e sem as frescuras de estilo que assolam a Stab, Surfing e outros menos recomendaveis.
Sua ponderação sobre Andy Irons é perturbadora - e reveladora até certo ponto.
Andy, Andy, Andy...God, where do you start with this performance? This clowning, semi-serious and painfully public ritual self-humiliation that he seems to be subjecting himself to. He belongs in the Middle Ages, wearing a sackcloth and publicly whipping himself for the crime of being human. Actually the highlights of his heat with Bobby Martinez were in the post heat interviews. Martinez, suitably contrite and showing pity for the former champ, and Andy, bizarrely happy, almost manic in his rapid fire delivery, which contained gems like "the time is now" and "I'm taking this all the way" and as Luke Steds was getting pasted by Dooma Hopgood "Brah, this could be heavy Brah".
I feel a certain connection with Andy right now, which isn't something grown men usually admit to over the innernet. A desire to drink Gin on a Beneteau Oceanis racing yacht with walnut interiors and some really sad music playing with lyrics like "My life's a vain pursuit of meaningless smiles. Why can't God give me a sign", before watching Andy paddle off into the sunset like Eddie Aikau in the full flower of his youth. There is till hope but Andy is running out of options as the tour contracts after Chopes. He needs to find the sneering arrogance and something like hatred to resurrect a flailing career.
