Big stories. It’s what we chase, it’s what we
like to think defines this stinking magazine. First, we gave you the
Angle of God – Taj Burrow’s world-first air sequences shot from a
chopper. This issue, Stab plays host to the two most talked-about men
in surfing, Koby Abberton and Bruce Irons. One, shouldering as much
expectation for his debut year on tour as Slater did in ‘92; the other
facing jail as an accessory to murder. Both, the best of friends. We
figured it’d be real interesting to leave the questions at home, join
‘em for dinner, roll tapes, see what gets spat out. Koby and Bruce
didn’t disappoint. Red wine flowed; the room spun 720 degrees; the pair
talked gambling, jail, pro surfing, women, cars and high times in Vegas
and Kauai. The four-hundred skin restaurant bill (including seven
souvenir photos) hurt; the story, unedited, uncensored, unguided, shows
two good young men trying to make sense of, and work their way through,
the minefield of life.
Speaking of which, track back a few weeks to a casino bar on the Gold Coast – hot March night. Luke Munro, sharing his crib with the six-time champion of the world and therefore an authority on his moods, paws his way through the crowd, bends over our table, and says with surprising relish: “Kelly wants to fight you guys.”
“Why, we love the kid?”
“The cartoon.”
Cartoon? Flash to the two pages from issue one. Birth, family, loves, children, successes, death, failure. A necessarily simplified story told in 16 frames. A story culled from Slater’s book, Pipe Dreams.
The story spreads. The various media parasites who feed off the pro tour and its performers enjoy the blackening of Stab’s name. I see red. For once, the criticism isn’t justified. Ironically, there were aspects of his story, perfect to be illustrated, I’d steered away from to avoid offence. If Slater felt the cartoon was out of line, he must’ve been suicidal over his book. My thoughts soften, however, when I hear exactly how upset the kid has been. I can handle never getting a quote from Kelly again; pretty rank-shank to hurt a man.
Three weeks later, post Maroubra and Newcastle wins,
I see Kelly at a mainstream B-list celebrity bash. To get his attention
away from the TV blonde occupying his space, I slap him on the leg,
say: “I hear you want to fight me.”
Calmly: “I don’t want to talk to you, Derek.”
“Everything in that cartoon came from your book.”
Calmly: “I don’t even want to talk to you.”
“So… do you want to fight me?”
Calmly: “I will fight if you don’t leave.”
How can you fight a man you don’t hate? Whose performances kept you at least partly interested in pro surfing during the black hole of the nineties? A man whose insane competitiveness and relentless psychological warfare drove Andy Irons to the zenith of performance surfing?
To Slater: sorry for the hurt. To readers: what do you think? Read the book, read the cartoon. Contrast, compare and write to: STAB magazine, Level 1, 158 Bondi Rd, Bondi, NSW 2026.
Elsewhere in the magazine is a rack of unnamed, almost never-surfed rivermouths and reefs going off in Bali. Cyclone came, blew ’em to life. We were there with a camera and some kids who could surf. – Derek Rielly.
