"The only way to adequately describe Gabe's performance on this refi is through a metaphor:
Close your eyes...
You're in high school and you're the kicker of the football team. It's the last game of ...The only way to adequately describe Gabe's performance on this refi is through a metaphor:
Close your eyes...
You're in high school and you're the kicker of the football team. It's the last game of the regular season. Your team is losing by 2, and there are only a couple seconds left. Your team has the ball, and you're on the 3 yard line. Rumor has it that college football scouts are in attendance, but I digress. You just used your last timeout to stop the clock, so there's time for 1 play. Your coach, instead of deciding to go for it and get the touchdown, calls on you to kick a game-winning field goal.
Oh and by the way, if you make this kick, your team will go to the state playoffs for the first time in 17 years. If you miss it, the season is over.
Needless to say, you're nervous. As you walk on the field under those Friday night lights and feel the weight of the world on your back, a figure enters your peripheral. He's a giant of a man, strong as an ox, and he'll be on the field goal team with you, protecting you from oncoming rushers from the other team. His name is Gabe Munoz. He's a friend to all and a defender of the helpless (like you, the kicker). He's the kind of guy who everybody knows and loves because he's so friendly and happy-go-lucky. But don't kid yourself, he means business on the football field. A calming aura emanates from his very presence. You suddenly feel reassured because you know Gabe is going to war for you.
When everybody lines up for the field goal attempt, it almost seems like the opposing team has 3x the correct number of players. You hope your line can blocks these guys, who are frothing at the mouth like a pack of rabid wolves. You look up at Gabe in the trenches, and he turns around to give you a confident and dramatic nod, as if to say "Let's end this. For Glory".
You do your steps to prepare for the kick and let the holder know that you're ready. The sweat running down his face and his shaking hands show how terrified he is of the ensuing blitzkrieg. You just hope he can hold the ball upright. He looks forward to the long snapper, gives the signal, and the ball is shot backward between the snapper's legs directly into the holder's hands. His shaky hands put the ball on the tee as fast as they can, but you can't help but notice the bloodthirsty savages that are attacking your blockers and closing in on you at a rapid pace. They've already decapitated at least 3 of your players. You quickly begin your approach. You can see the whites of the savages' eyes, and they're going to rip you into pieces and feed you to their tarantulas. You take your final step and right before you kick the ball, you can't help but notice Gabe, the man among boys, grabbing fools by the 4 and throwing them one-handed back into the fiery inferno from whence they came. You'd think he was wielding the Ring of Power. After single-handedly blocking 35 savages, he turns back to you, and right before you are about to be swallowed by impending doom, he gives you another dramatic nod. Your foot hits the ball. It escapes the outstretched fingers of your foes by mere millimeters. It sails up and through the uprights. The kick is good. The savages screech and fall to the ground like melting wicked witches of the west. Though bruised and battered, Gabe survives the melee and was the entire reason you were able to get the job done.
Bravo, Mr. Munoz."
