Dear Gabriel Medina,
On Sunday, I sat on the softest sand in the world and watched you surf in the Billabong Pipeline Masters. You manufactured the best heat of the day and you did so boldly. On one wave, you took off deep, backdoored a roomy barrel, came out and stuck a monstrous alley-oop. It was poetry, but like any good poem, it made me wonder. Why are you not the face of cool? Why do the adolescents of Newport Beach not strive to be reflections of Gabriel Medina? You seem to lack a certain intangible factor, but that's OK because I know how you can gain it. See below:
The first step is apathy. Pure, shrugging apathy. The first thing you need to do in order to make it big is pretend like you never wanted to in the first place. Desire is for streetcars and you Gabe, you should be driving a Chevrolet from the 1970s. Stop training and start waking up late. You might get a little bit fat but, again, that's OK. Can you imagine how great it would have been if a chubster stomped that alley-oop? Like a meatball flying through the blue sky, rotating and spraying Ragu four-cheese sauce all over the sullen faces of your foes.
Once you've mastered the art of not caring, there are a few lifestyle changes I'd like to see you take up. Grow your hair long, real long, at least to your shoulders. And get some facial hair. If you can't grow any, then have your father massage Roagaine into your cheeks, chin and neck. I bet his hands are so soft. Smoke cigarettes, too — but not real cigarettes. Roll your own fake ones. Use hawthorn and skullcap herbs and light those bad boys up er'y day. Smoke them with angst and if someone is taking your photograph, make sure it's grainy or, at the very least, black and white.
Lastly, don't worry so much about the ASP. Seriously, Gabe, if the WCT is so important then how come Thom Pringle isn't on it? You get what I'm saying? Go on more trips and see if you can sustain a serious injury (this would really help with getting fat).
Gabe, if you heed my call, I promise you great things. I promise you the biggest contract in the history of professional surfing and the key to Venice Beach. I promise you'll be everyone's hero. But, if none of this sounds enticing to you — though I don't understand why it wouldn't— then you can just win the world title next year. You kind of seem like you're due.