I know the world’s going to hell in twelve different directions–Syria, NSA spying, Obamacare, unlabeled GMOs–but I’m on the warpath about something else right now: beards in baseball.
Yes, I know I’m going to piss off a few of you, but who is the Beard Zero that started this bumper crop of unkempt, mountain man whiskers? I suspect it might be Brian Wilson, now of the Dodgers, who grew that forest of dyed-shoe-polish-black chin shrubbery when he was with the Giants. I like Brian because he seems to be a true original, but I wish the Johnny-come-latelys to beard cultivation would find a new hobby. Apparently the beard growing fad caught on like a brush fire, because these days the benches of many major league teams look bushier than a nudist colony on a summer day.
Which brings me to another question: isn’t all that facial hair hot—especially in a summertime sport? Isn’t there a lot of sweating going on under there? Never mind, I don’t want to know.
I suppose there are many women who think beards are somehow sexy, but I’m not among them. I recall hearing that French women consider a kiss without a mustache to be like an egg without salt, so whatever tickles your fancy, I suppose. I just never found the pictures on the Smith Brothers cough drops packages a turn on.
I’m willing to give a pass to Dusty Hill and Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top. I run into Billy at parties in Hollywood and he’s a really lovely, sweet guy. And to Charles Darwin and George Bernard Shaw and Walt Whitman. But to the Boys of Summer—come on guys, trim that hedge a little.