What is it about extended follicles draped in sweat? Is there some mystical power in them that the Mayans never got around to sharing with us? Does the length of a players’ basebeard prolong the ability for a suicide squeeze play or even a bases-clearing triple with three men on base?
Perhaps, in baseball, it’s the other way around — the beard grows the man. There is no room for even the best double-edge razor blades for the men in baseball. I realize with a great beard comes a great responsibility but what is going on 2013 playoff baseball is something unlike we have ever seen before.
Oh sure, many of the ladies in stands call what the Boston Red Sox are doing “sexy facial hair,” but if I was a postseason basebeard player, I would just spread the word that it is dazzling awesomeness oozing from my face. My guess, I would get more numbers lobbed to me from the bleachers that way.
And it’s not just the Boston Red Sox either, although the branding and social media marketing of their brave and virile exploits, such as purchasing real facebook likes, have been fairly ingenious.
Have you seen Athletics’ stud Josh Reddick lately with his Paul Bunyan-esque self? Jason Molte of the Cardinals looks like a stunt double from ‘Duck Dynasty.’ Bryce Harper with the Nationals is simply enhancing his stud appeal by shaving and reshaving because — let’s admit it — the only reason you shave is the ecstasy of growing the beard again. Josh Collmenter of the Diamondbacks is helping him grow was his father gave him.
And then, there is that faux-Halloween beard on Brian Wilson‘s face, only it’s not faux as much as it is ridiculously scary opposite of whatever the hell Rogaine is supposed to combat in your aging hormones. I mean, damn, who needs an 18-wheeler when he could smuggle a family of five from Mexico across the border into Los Angeles in that thing exuded muy machismo from his face.
Blood, sweat and beards for the great American pastime. And leave it that way. Asking a basebeard player to shave after their default into the off season robs him of his sheer individuality and forces him into a poverty of worldly conformity. And no, a hipster soul patch doesn’t count when you approach the batter’s box. They are silly, and not to mention, fascist.
These are a bunch of schoolyard boys who are giddy to bond over the phrase to wives, girlfriends (or both) “Excuse me, miss. My eyes are up here.” Maybe it’s a competition to see who will become the “Hair Apparent” to the aforementioned psychopathic closer from the Dodgers? (See what I did there?)
You know this season is magically (and folically) beloved is the majestic Joe Buck will go all haven’t-bathed-in-a-month on us. I mean, I realize he is trying to keep it sexy, but going Appalachian on FOX is going to probably create a sea of Hillbillies. I mean, if people can watch ‘Duck Dynasty’ and think Si should be president, you know there are oodles of sheep out there who are bound to do anything and make a cult out of it.
From Spaghetti Westerns to gangly scruff, Chess grand champion to the great Rasputin look-a-like, baseball has really shown us all what it means to be burly and beefcake. Thank you, one and all for your Old Spice, rustic charm and desire to reach the Quan of Awesome.
So, chins up, basebeard players. Enjoy the postseason. This has been a great year. Show the MLB fans your character. We know the beard — that heinous, just-walked-out-of-an-apocalyptic-trailer-park-beard — is simply the exclamation point. And what a point it is, gentlemen.