Hispanic-American surfing, wrongly called Latin American, has been very lively, a lot of water has passed under the bridge.

So many, so many, so many surfers, so many moments, so many joys, anecdotes, so many tubes, so many small waves, so many misfortunes, tragedies, so many things.

True sacrifice is common among all Hispanic Americans who want to excel at a world level, whatever the discipline, there is a barrier that must be broken that Europeans, Australians and Americans do not have.

Maybe when the first non-South African surfer qualifies for the tour, everything will be better understood. We share that similar barrier. We come from the mud, but the raw material, our spirit, does not sink and fights.

The Lucca and Cali thing is great, because one is calm and quiet and the other is passionate and entertaining. They are both tremendous surfers, giant athletes, both Olympians, both friends and in some ways they are related.

They have so many ties of connection as friends of friends, coaches of coaches, thousands of shared experiences since they were teenagers that, you know, these two are going to travel the planet together as companions.

Cali's performance is exciting because he broke his back to get there, he suffered a thousand times, including when he misbehaved. But, despite all this, he persevered and achieved it. He set the example that to be Latino you have to suffer, and in his classification we all suffered.

Lucca's story is exciting, because in this world of so much noise, followers and all that nonsense, there was a Peruvian who, quietly, they call him "Mudo", did his homework, without a tremor. I will never forget that day when Stab said that nobody knew him, now surely everyone knows him.

And yes, you could also say that both of them had a shaky pulse in Haleiwa, but well, of course they are also human, right?