The "Goop Surf Wax International Wave and Kite Classic" was a very longwinded title for a competition. Local wavekiters simply referred to the annual kiting contest as the Goop Classic. On competition day at the event site, there was a buzz in the air. Also floating in the breeze was the sweet smell of coconut. The same agreeable fragrance that was mixed and blended into the wax formula was being vented throughout the venue by mechanical odourisers. The sponsor's kiosk that stood adjacent to the judge's station was fully stocked with Goop wax and various other products.
Man helped himself to a free block and removed the cardboard packet. His shiny, new strapless board needed a thorough wax job. He was already wearing a bright red, competition shirt despite his heat being delayed due to lack of suitable wind. He dropped the wrapper onto the beach like a thoughtless smoker discarding an unwanted cigarette butt.
"The waves are killer, but what's the forecast for wind?" asked the competitor. The rep working the kiosk glanced at the sponsorship flags sagging in the light breeze. She looked across at the judge's station and then back to Man.
"Team riders should do well I reckon," answered the sponsor's rep with a wink of her eye."
The attractive female worker wore a very brief bikini bearing the sponsor's product name. 'Goop' was printed on her lefthand cup of her top and 'wax' was displayed on the front of her bikini bottom. The rep's uniform caused Man to blush. His rosy cheeks matched in nicely with the colour of his contest rashie. They high-fived each other and he nervously laughed at their private joke.
A coolness was felt across the beach. The seabreeze had freshened considerably. The wind picked up the discarded wax packet and tumbled it down the beach like a little square wheel rotating on a bent axle. It finally came to rest and settled on the cold nostrils of a salty black Labrador. The dog snipped the wrapper with his cool wet nose. His tongue drenched in saliva licked the glossy package. Printed on the packet was a health warning by the manufacturer. "Do not eat this wax," cautioned the maker. The dog instantly spat out the wrapper as if it understood the words.
"Good boy Mutley," said the owner. "Clever doggie." Dude grabbed the litter in one hand and affectionately patted his pet with the other. The local kiter looked at the packet and read the following; "Destroy the waves, not the environment. Please dispose of trash properly." Having been awarded a wildcard entry into the contest, Dude was now on a mission -- a mission to fulfill these written instructions. He clipped the leash to the dog's collar and headed for the nearest rubbish bin.
The yellow competition shirt with the sponsor's logo printed on the back looked quite smart on the wildcard entrant. The harness hook on the spreader-bar fitted neatly through the slit in the front.
"Do you need a loan of a screwdriver?" asked the girl in the kiosk.
"No thanks, said Dude. "My straps are screwed on tight enough."
"Actually, I was thinking that you might want to remove them for your heat," advised the female rep.
"I'm good," replied the local. Dude hesitated for a moment so he could finish listening to the advertising jingle that was playing in the background ........
goop surf wax grips your feet
like bubble-gum stuck to your shoe
wax for the chill, wax for the heat
goop surf wax sticks with you
with you
with you
High up in the judge's stand, the head judge addressed his staff prior to the commencement of the contest.
"This event is not a kitesurfing comp. This contest is all about surfing with a kite." The head judge continued with his interpretation.
"For competitors to do well, they need to look like real surfers," he explained. He looked out at the long formation of flags that flapped in the fresh breeze. 'Surf with a Kite' was the slogan that was printed on every one. Rigidly standing to attention like a row of soldiers, scores of flagpoles carried and signalled the sponsor's mantra. A message in corporate uniform was being waved frantically in the wind.
"Our main sponsor KITEFREAK doesn't sell straps. It sells wax. Goop wax. It sells legropes, wetsuits, boardshorts, and clothing apparel. It doesn't sell straps. It will never sell straps! There's a principle at stake here. Do I make myself abundantly clear?" explained the judge.
"Does KITEFREAK sell kites?" asked a junior judge. His boss ignored the question.
At the commencement of the competition, a loud hooter emitted a high-pitched trumpet call that echoed across the sea. Both contestants in the dude-on-man heat entered the water and sped out through the heavy breakers in a blaze of yellow and a flash of red.
"Listen up people. That's the team-rider Man in the red rashie. Please stay focused." The head judge had taken command.
"The yellow guy is a wildcard. Did anyone see if he's using straps?" asked one of the judges. Presently, it was impossible to tell. At the very moment that the hooter had signalled the start of the competition, the 'Kitefreak Girls' had begun their beach parade glamour act. The whole judging panel had been somewhat distracted from their job.
Way out the back, Dude had latched onto a filthy wall which was shaping up to be a hell-pit.
"When yellow finally takes the drop on this incoming wave, we'll know if he's strapped," predicted the boss-judge. The wildcard entrant suddenly arced into a high turn throwing a torrent of spray into the air. Through the thick mist, he speed-lined across the top of the wall.
"Damn," said one of the judges. "He didn't drop and bottom-turn. He's entering the backdoor instead."
"Someone grab the binoculars," ordered the boss. "I want a resolution on the straps issue." The junior judge quickly pressed the large pair of binoculars to his small round face.
"All I can see is a yellow blur inside a mountain of water," described the young man.
"The barrel is going to close-out. When he gets drilled, check for straps," instructed the head man.
In an explosion of whitewater, Dude doggie-doored the sucking tube and busted out through the curtain. He was in total control.
"I still can't see his board properly," said the large pair of binoculars. "The deck is covered in froth and bubbles."
"Very soon, all will be revealed," announced the main umpire.
Barely escaping the clutches of the giant foamball, Dude laid down a cranking bottom-turn. His body stretched almost horizontally across the surface of the water. The board raced around a 25 metre section of broken wave; angled high and edged hard on the inside rail. The judges were silent, all eyes were eager for clarification. Dude was now aiming for the smooth green wall and composing himself for a vertical climb up the steep face.
"When yellow stalls on the top-turn, the question about straps will be answered," thought the judges.
Dude rocketed vertically up the clean face and snapped a maching top-turn. He whipped the tail around into a fins-first lip floater and completed the ride in a flawless fashion.
"I knew it! The kook is using straps," proclaimed one of the judges. It was now plainly obvious.
"It's a real shame. He could have done so much better," sympathized the boss.
"Not to worry, he'll get a second chance in the loser's round," consoled the junior judge.
THE END
