Cameras follow world number five through Bali and Western Australia. Layers slowly peeled off, personality revealed…
To know Kanoa Igarashi is to, necessarily, love him, it seems.
In this twelve-and-a-half minute hit from his masters at Red Bull, we become grafted to the Japanese-American as he, first, wipes his ass with the world’s best at Keramas, Bali, before being guillotined in round four at Margaret River.
Two nights ago at J-Bay, Kanoa, a man ever so easy to spot with his dyed yellow balaclava helmet, was like a movie pig broken out of its cage.
Determined and impossible to catch.
He had the speed, the flamboyance to loose the fins or carve the arc and a faux-aggro mojo so ostentatious that in spite of its tendency to alienate we are now learning to love. He freely admits this mojo is not his but a product of his coach Jake Patterson and after donning this cape so many times it’s starting to fit. Iggy in the yellow jersey.
Iggy winning Pipeline.
Iggy taking the World Title.
All these things could happen.
Is there a weakness in Kanoa’s game?
Apart from his roundhouse, he’s as perfect as a gorgeous pansexual carrying a sign that reads: Orgasms for Sale or Trade.