The Moustache Follies

For those unaware, we here at TN-D are, for the most part, a bearded lot, and have been for the past several years. The beard was a part of me, providing comfort, protection from the elements, as well as a rugged handsomeness that sends the hearts of women aflutter.

That all changed last night.

The lip sweater has been making a comeback in both sports and popular culture. Brad Pitt has been seen sporting one. The St. Louis Cardinals pitching staff(along with select position players) donned them to break out of some mid-season doldrums. Not surprisingly, by the power of the moustache the Redbirds are now leading their division. Several years ago Jason Giambi used the help of a nose neighbor to help him bust out of a slump(although, it seems Giambi will do just about anything to hit a baseball).

With the Cardinals and 2-3 pints of beer as my guide I crafted a plan to help propel my recreational league softball team, The Jackpots, to our first league championship. The plan was simple: moustaches. We would all adorn our visages with the push-brooms of yesteryear. The plan was infallible, and we had two full weeks to grow them.

My ladyfriend, The Gige(pronouced "Jeeej") expressed concern over the power the 'stache might have on me. We both knew that women would throw themselves at me, that men would regard me as their natural leader. I explained to her that she knew the deal when she got mixed up with a part-time recreational league softball player and occasional upper lip facial hair enthusiast.

So last night, just before our scheduled 9:30 p.m. start, I put razor to skin and crafted the finest flaxxen flavor saver this side of Alan Jackson. I was prepared for battle.

As fate would have it, I was the only one. My moustachioed comrades fell one by one, each having his own excuse to stand down in the face of excellence("my boss won't let me," "those things look pervy," "I'm a girl...this is a coed team"). I remained unfettered--I would carry the whisker banner for us all.

In the end, The 'Pots got crushed, and the 'stache will fade into softball-league bolivion. My lip pelt did have its moment in the sun, however. In the top of the second inning I attempted to score from second on a single, and as the throw beat me to the plate it appeared there would be a collision with the pitcher who was covering home. I lowered my shoulder and braced for impact, hoping to disrupt the play...only I felt nothing. One can only presume that the pitcher was thrown onto his backside by the sheer awesomeness of my mouth brow. An MVP moment for my 'stache, for sure.