Sunny Garcia and I hadn't talked for 20 years. In the late '80s we'd been friendly. I did a SURFER profile on Sunny when he was a skinny 17-year-old, and caddied for him in a contest or two at Sunset; we'd have dinner when he was in town for the Op Pro. Then I did one of those Top 44 articles for SURFER and said Sunny wasn't much looking like a world title contender; he went on record saying he wanted to "bitch-slap" me—and of course went on to win the championship. 

Last week, out of the blue, Sunny friend-requested me on Facebook, and yesterday we talked on the phone. It was bizarre, in some ways, how much he'd changed. One marriage, some kids, divorce, a second marriage, more kids, jail time, another marriage, two grandchildren.

More bizarre, though, was how much Sunny hadn't changed. He is still a power-surfing Triple Crown threat, of course. But I'm thinking more of Sunny as a person. If you're in his good graces, as I had been long ago (and apparently was again), he's warm and sincere and easy to connect with in conversation. There is an empathy in Sunny that never comes through in interviews or profiles. He loves talking about family. He is open about struggles he's been through, and others that he still going through. 

But that can all turn, and quickly. We weren't three minutes into our conversation before Sunny casually told me about how he'd stood down a half-dozen surfers not too long ago after what sounded like a petty drop-in incident at Trestles. That part of him is unchanged too. He is easily frustrated and uick to anger. And once angry, it is a very short step to violence, or at least the threat of violence. If you saw Boarding House: North Shore a few years back, you know what I'm talking about. He goes from sweet to scary in the blink of an eye.

Sunny turns 44 today. I'd hoped to find that he'd mellowed some. Or mellowed a lot. Then I went back and read the 1988 profile I did on him and remembered that he'd been born and raised in a place where violence was an fast option for almost any problem, big or small: a drop-in, an insult, a rumor.

The Westside was hard and it made Sunny hard. His parents split up with he was five. He got kicked out of school for the first time at age six. In 9th grade, a huge older kid walked into Sunny's photography class and, while the teacher stood by too scared to act, pushed Sunny up against a corner and beat the hell out him. Broken nose, two black eyes. Sunny, 15, walked out of the class and never went back to school. Surfing, he told me, was the only thing that kept him from jail.

So do I wish that Sunny, today, at 44, had moved past the anger? I do, sure. Do I have any real understanding of what it would actually make that happen? No. Not even close. Childhood didn't break Sunny, but it bent him, and I can't imagine what it takes to unbend that shit, or if it's even possible. Even with a world title and a big close-knit family to your advantage. My guess is that just keeping himself in check to the degree Sunny does takes some work.

Sunny also told me yesterday (and said the same thing during our first interview, when he was 17), that his achievements in surfing were fueled by anger and he didn't surf as well when he's happy. He also said he wouldn't change. Which, it seems like, is another way of saying that even if Sunny could let go of the anger, by doing so he'd probably lose a huge part of himself.

It's complicated. Middle age does it to all of us.

We met almost 30 years ago! You were 15 or 16. What do you remember about being that young?

Surfing-wise, one of the things I remember best was winning everything I could possibly win and still feeling like I was getting the short end of the stick as far as sponsors and things like that. Guys like Jeff Booth and Doug Silva, anybody from Orange County—if you lived there, if you surfed Salt Creek and knew the guys in the industry, you were taken care of, even if you were just—you know. Where if you were from Hawaii, you were going to get the short end, almost every time. I had a huge chip on my shoulder because of that.

What I remember best about you at that time was the footage from 

, when you're riding a longer board and doing those big rail turns in kind of so-so head-high waves at Makaha. How big was that board?

That was a 7'0" Town and Country. Can't remember who shaped it.

I used to borrow Brian Keaulana’s boards; he had all these cool longer boards. As a little kid, I'd ride whatever I could borrow, you know? Mostly I liked longer boards because I could catch more waves. But I also ended up learning how to turn maybe a little differently than other kids. At that time, around 1985, I think I actually surfed better on a 7’ 0” than a 5’ 10” or whatever I was riding back then. Also, Tom Curren used to do that a lot too, ride longer boards, a 6’ 6” or a 6’ 9”, and I loved how he looked on those boards. You learn how to hold an edge, how to keep the board on edge. Curren did that so good. I wanted to do it, too.

My other strong memory from around then, or a little later, was the 1987 Op Pro final, which you lost to Barton Lynch. You were up on the podium afterward looking so pissed off.

That was just—I thought I won. It was a best-of-three final. Barton won the first, I won the second. The third heat I kind of just fell apart. But the first heat, I really thought I had it, and they gave it to Barton.

Any other 17-year-old rookie would have been so stoked to get second.

To me, there was never any point to being on the world tour except to win a world title. Second place wasn’t going to do it. So I was unhappy unless I won.

I loved it when Derek Hynd called you "a modern-day Cassius Clay, come to whup some ass." That seemed appropriate.

You know who Sonny Liston is? You had a bit of that going on too.

Was Derek Hynd coaching you then? As part of the Billabong team?

He was, and I hated it. He was a dick. Not just to me, to everybody. But looking back, you know, I pretty much got all my best results when I was pissed off. And Derek always gave me a reason to be pissed.

Like I couldn't sleep before events, so I'd go out to clubs and listen to music. Not drinking, not partying, no drugs, just trying to get my mind off the contest. And I'd come back to the hotel where all us Billabong guys were staying, and Derek's locked me out of the room, so I'd have to sleep in the hallway. Stuff like that. Mind games. But it worked. It was maybe a weird way to do it, but it worked. It was good for me. Even after Derek, I always found a way to take bad feelings and turn them into something that worked for me. When I was happy, I never got good results.

Does it bother you now, or seem kind of messed up, that you had to be angry to win?

No. Not at all. It was fine; it was how I needed to be.

SUNNY GARCIA INTERVIEW: "I GOT ALL MY BEST RESULTS WHEN I WAS PISSED OFF."

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