I wasn’t so sure about Yadin heading into West Oz. Mainly, because my wife has a crush on him. A few years ago at the Hurley Lowers Pro, he was a wild card at the event. There were large portraits of every competitor in the Top 34 (plus wild cards), pasted on the fence heading into the comp tents on the beach, so my friend, who was also with his girlfriend, and I decided to test our girls.
“Let’s say we died. And you could pick any one of these guys — who would it be?” we asked, pointing to the array of suitable males. They looked at each other, then at the larger-than-life photos for a moment, scanning over Slater, Wilson, Andino, Florence…
Simultaneously, as if on cue, they pointed to the portrait of Yadin and mispronounced, very assuredly: “Yah-deen.”
So since then I’ve had a bit of a sore spot for the guy. He’s been on my shit list, really. Even to this day, whenever my wife sees me watching the webcast, she asks me with a shit-eating grin, “How’s Yah-deen doing?”
“He’s not on tour,” I snap back.