BRAZIL has gone surf crazy.
In
December, when a 20-year-old Brazilian named Gabriel Medina won the
world’s premier surfing title, becoming the first South American man to
do so, the country erupted in celebration. Mr. Medina’s path to the
championship had been followed closely in Brazil throughout 2014, each
victory celebrated in typically boisterous Brazilian fashion by
flag-waving, often teary, always emotional fans. His arrival at the
airport in São Paulo after winning the title was a mob scene and a media
frenzy.
But
Mr. Medina is only the most visible exponent of a rising generation of
surfers known by the collective moniker “the Brazilian Storm.” This
year, seven of the 34 male contenders on the championship tour are
Brazilian — a striking percentage in a sport long dominated by
Australians, Americans and South Africans. The first event of the year,
which ended earlier this month in Australia, was won by a 19-year-old
Brazilian named Filipe Toledo. Four of the final eight contenders were
Brazilian.
Brazil
has more than 4,000 miles of coastline, and Brazilians have been
surfing its waves at least since the Australian surfer Peter Troy gave a
demonstration in Rio de Janeiro in 1964. So why the sudden dominance?
The
answer is that the country itself has changed. Following the rocky
decades of the 1980s and ’90s, when financial shocks and political
instability battered the economy and inflation reached peaks of more
than 2,000 percent a year, Brazil in the 2000s experienced more than a
decade of stability and growth. The abysmal gap between rich and poor
narrowed a little, and the middle class ballooned from about 15 percent
of the population in the early ’80s to nearly a third by 2012.
What did this have to do with surfing? Everything.
As
the sport’s popularity rose in the 1970s and ’80s, Brazilians became
serious about surfing, but with a few exceptions they didn’t make it
big. A large continental shelf in the Atlantic means that there is not a
single first-rate “break” along Brazil’s coastline. To be really good, a
Brazilian surfer needs to develop proficiency on more than those
gutless waves; he needs the storied breaks of Hawaii, Indonesia or
Tahiti, which produce large and powerful surf. For decades, it was the
rare Brazilian who could afford to travel to such places.
When
Brazilian surfers did travel abroad, they usually went without much
support, money or technical assistance. They spoke broken English and
had little international experience. And there was a culture clash: They
developed a reputation as loud, obnoxious and aggressive, heedless of
surfing etiquette. This stereotype (still the subject of heated debate)
kept them out of favor with dominant surfers, foreign fans and
specialized media.
As
a country, too, Brazil played fast and loose with the rules. When the
demand for surf gear grew in the ’80s, pirated T-shirts, board shorts
and wet suits became ubiquitous. Little was done in Brazil to combat
this, leaving some of the most powerful chief executives in the business
feeling cheated — and less likely to sponsor a Brazilian surfer.
But
today’s generation of Brazilian surfers came up during Brazil’s decade
of growth, and they have had support along the way. They’ve been going
to places like Hawaii regularly and developing into more complete
athletes. Someone like Mr. Medina is very much the face of the new
Brazilian middle class. His mother worked as a waitress and a maid,
among other jobs; his stepfather, a former triathlete, was his coach.
The Medinas lived off the income of a surfing goods store. They were
Gabriel’s main source of support — financial, emotional and technical —
until he signed his first sponsorship deal at 13.
Mr.
Medina’s success will presumably help the next generation of young
surfers more easily get sponsors. This would be good for Brazil, but it
would also be good for the insular, overwhelmingly white world of
professional surfing; Brazilian surfing has brought black faces into the
sport’s elite circles.
But
Brazil has hit a rough patch. Inflation is back up, the gross domestic
product has been middling for years and corruption scandals are rampant.
This economic downturn is already hurting Brazilians, and seems to have
reached Brazilian surfing as well. Brazil had a national surfing
championship called Super Surf, from 2000 to 2009. Over the next few
years there were changes in sponsors and in name. By 2014 there was not
enough support to stage a national competition, and the national
champion was decided merely by adding up the points from state
competitions.
Mr.
Medina’s victory at the end of 2014 seems to have helped momentarily
re-establish the national championship, for a trial period of two years.
But no single athlete — or even an entire Brazilian Storm — can counter
the overall lack of support for professional athletes (excluding soccer
players) that has been endemic to Brazil and that will most likely
increase following any serious economic decline.
If
the economy does continue to suffer, however, there may be a higher
power to which Brazilian surfers can still appeal. In January, the
Vatican allowed priests in Rio de Janeiro to gather evidence of the
holiness of Guido Schaffer, a popular young priest-in-training and avid
surfer who drowned in a surfing accident in 2009. This is an early step
in the sainthood process, and Mr. Schaffer, now referred to by locals as
the “surfer angel,” has been credited with miraculous deeds. Perhaps
preserving the greatness of Brazilian surfing will one day be counted
among them.
