By Matt Pruett
Photos by Pete Taras and Tom Carey
Long ago, Chris Ward was the best 16-year-old surfer in the world. These days, if you believe the press, he’s a washed-up thirty-something surfer who likes to pound hillbilly gals for fun. The truth is a little more complex, perhaps…
Accounts vary. But the most fantastic version goes something like this: During the wee hours of last call on Tuesday morning, January 8th, 2008 outside the Whiskey Creek in Mammoth Lakes, California, 29-year-old Chris Ward – flushed and puffy-faced and full of booze and testosterone and god knows what else – is out of his element. He’s on land.
Confronted by three mouthy women over a jacket while their brooding male escorts crack their knuckles in intimidating disdain, Ward grips a large piece of ice beside him.
This is where things get hazy: for the courts, the media and anyone else who’s followed the Californian’s bizarre proclivities over the years. “Fuck you bitches!” he screams. “Gimme that goddamn jacket!” Ward lifts the weapon over his head, roars and hurls the missile at the females. Naturally, they all go down at once like some extreme sports parody of the Three Stooges. Their valiant avengers proceed to beat Ward to a bloody pulp before the coppers come and drag him off to jail and unchecked online circuits everywhere start firing, confirming that the 17th ranked surfer in the world has achieved a whole new zenith of douche-baggery. Read more