There are two kinds of judges in this old world, one prods and attacks with malice and personal envy and jealousy, and reeks of hate. The other works to convince and correct from a heart full of compassion and concern, and grace. Goob is the later of the two. His approach trys to conceal the fact that he truly cares for everyone on both sides of an issue, and does his best to show the error in one's position without demonstrating loathing. Even when Goob is dangerously moved with passion, his arguments flow with opportunity for at least neutral ground to be reached. That approach is like a caring grandparent whose years of experience have taught him better and without skin in the game is able to teach a misdirected child the error of her ways. The scorn of a loving grandparent is altogether a blessing in disguise and the child feels it and says thank you even though she doesn't understand why she does.
He reminds me of the coaches we had back in the '70s whose feelings about his players and teams were made evident usually by yelling and screaming at us. Sounds sick I know, but if you were a part of that generation who was coached by these guys you always felt strangely special if and when the coach directed his scornful tirades at you personally for some mistake or infraction committed. As a freshman I must have unwittingly shown my downtrodden countenance as we walked off the practice field one day early in two-a-days, coach called me in for a dreaded one-on-one discussion. He chided me again briefly and followed with his reasons why he did so. One of the statements he made stuck with me. He said, "Ethridge, I only yell and correct guys I believe have what it takes to be a dandy for our team. And if I don't scream and challenge you verbally it means one of two things...either I have accepted the fact that you have zero talent or ability, or you are already perfect in every way. And son there has been only one perfect man in this world's history".
I call it warped affection and it was a great motivator for many of us. I cant count the number of times he grabbed us by the face mask, kicked our butts or slapped our helmets while the whole time reteaching a skill with a cigarette or cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. Afterwards he always concluded with some kind of praise that uplifted us and expressed how proud he was of whomever he just tore in to. Goob, you would make a great teacher and coach.
51eleven, having said that, I would be surprised to see the Goob in a moment like you describe, which sounds a little too close to being the expression of a man-crush not quite sanctioned by the Kim Davises of the world.