DRAG’S TRAD RELAPSE
Bodyboarding’s Middle Finger to the Mainstream
Thursday night at The Oak, Tighes Hill, Newcastle. Drag drops: Trad Relapse and the room erupts.
While the pro surf circuit’s busy making vlogs and selling protein waters, boogers are still out there hurling themselves over dry reef to Parkway Drive, laughing at the idea of “image.” Trad Relapse is that rebellion on film: raw, ridiculous, and unapologetic. Inside jokes fly thick, shit only the faithful understand.
And now? The tide’s turning. Even the stand-up elite are sneaking over the fence for a sniff. Harry Bryant, grabbing a lid and having a crack. NOA Dean, Shaun Manners, more coming. They’re not “trying” bodyboarding. They’ve had a full lapse
Crowd lost it from the opening wave. Gmac, as always, the chaos conductor, winding everyone up. It was church for the unhinged.
Crew bolted early (Thursday’s a school night, apparently), so we only nabbed a handful of shots of the core crew. But the ones we got? Mental.
Trad Relapse is everything my 16-year-old self scrawled in the margins of his book, and everything my 30-year-old self needed to hear. “surfing’s just not that fuckin’ serious.” Bodyboarding never was.
It was always about how many blokes can fit into a hatchback and chase uncrowded death slabs for the fun of it.
The rebellion is alive, the converts are joining, and Drag just lit the fuse.
