Sometimes there is a man

A way out west there is a fella,fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Tim Self.  I only mention it 'cause sometimes there's a man - I won't say a hee-ro, 'cause what's a hee-ro? - but sometimes there's a man. Sometimes there's a man who, wal, he's the man for his time'n'place, he fits right in there.
(The Stranger, rephrased) 

You know, I met many of them trainers. There are some decent folks among them, though. Those who know shit and can do shit. But there are just a few. Most are all time losers having no clue what they’re blathering about. They call themselves business gurus. Business gurus, gandapas-kiss-my-ass! There are them cocksucking hipsters teaching a bunch of cocksucking hipsters to sell crap to another bunch of cocksucking hipsters. There are some good lookin’ but dumb as fuck chicks pretending they have the ultimate knowledge ‘bout stuff. But I ain’t talking about them here.

I’m talking about Tim Self. I met him in May, I was appointed to  assist Tim to give some Russian linemen a training down there in Zainsk. You ask me what is it, Zainsk? I tell you buddy it is a nice little town out there in Russia, where cute gals are friendly and responsive to a good man’s need, where hooch is strong and a decent beer is worth less than two bucks a gallon. Some call it heaven, wal, it ain't all that wrong.
But let's get back to Tim. He served his country well in U.S. Marine Corps. And then over 20 years he worked as a lineman. And now he trains them linemen. Y'all think that linemen are these funny boys in strange outfits having that easy work of fixing a wire with their plyers, kinda pole dancers. Hell no! It's a hard and, I can tell ya, hell of a dangerous work. Tim himself saw a lot of good buddies electrocuted, fallen and killed. And you have to be a good man and thorough to be a good lineman. Assholes do not stand this job, says Tim.
When you meet new teams to train, the first thing is to do is to gain trust. No problem for Tim. He knows stuff and he means it. He ain't here to preach bullshit. And you see from the start, how 'the boys', this newly assembled team puts Tim in a position of trust. And they're not the boys, they're craftsmen with a lot of things done and achieved. But our buddy Tim immediately gains authority - they all now that the things he tells them are not the product of some nerd in the cubicle. It is lifelong experience, sometimes a history of tragedies occurred to good men here and there. 
And it's another important thing. It ain't about the money and reaching a higher position in the cubicle hierarchy. If a hipster fails, wal, he gets less dough for smoothies for his boyfriend. If a lineman fails, it is literally a matter of life and death, of getting home safe and intact everyday to your wife, kids, girlfriends or favorite hookers (c) Tim Self.

And our friend Tim is damn good at that. He does not only gains respect, he shows respect. He does not show off, he does not pretend. If it's time to get to the bucket - he gets to the friggin' bucket and shows the boys how things are done, never being bossy or having this 'guru' attitude. He is one of them linemen, he just knows more and shares with no reservation.
And one more thing - I dunno how he does it. I mean, really. It's a bunch of folks from all over that part of Russia. Nerdy Anvar, zinger Ilsur, peasant type brothers-in-law Ramis and Diman (nicknamed Chicken and Hooch for the stuff they bring back here from their village Mommas), pedantic Sergey, war veteran Halim and others. 

They're so different, but in one week these fellas scream 'we're the teeeaaam!' as if they worked together for ages. And they're ready to kick ass big time, fight any disaster out there on the line together.  And they will follow The Corporal, as they call Tim, up to the gates of hell where they will change a live crossarm at million kV right at Devil's headquarters.
I don't know, maybe he's got some hotline connection with the Higher Power being a pastor's son, but if he says 'No, we won't do it', you'd better abort the mission. 'Cause he just knows. Is it intuition? Knowledge? Experience? Maybe all the above, but it sure works.
And all that is what makes a man a man. Not a frigging sissie needing a safe zone 'cause he is offended, but a real, 100%, old-school man. So rare these days, fellas.
So, ladies and gentlemen, all hail U.S. M.C. Cprl. Timothy Dean Self. You go, Devil Dog! You rock! God bless you and your family.