Fear the beard: a playoff addition

Hockey tradition dictates thou must’n shave thy beard until thy team is eliminated from the playoffs. I’m not much of a fan of hockey, but I certainly like the tradition (one of many hockey traditions I enjoy including hitting guys with sticks and dating women way too hot for you). Since I am a proponent of tradition, I adopted that philosophy towards a sport I actually care about: baseball.

I don’t talk about it much, but I’m a huge Yankee fan. It’s one of the traits I inherited from my father. I grew hearing stories about Mickey Mantle and how much my father wanted to change my first name to Bucky Dent. When I was five and started playing t-ball, I was thrilled to be on the Yankees (although, three of the four teams in the league were named Yankees). Interests come and go. People drift in and out of your life. Seasons change. People get older. Life goes on. The one thing that remains my consistent is my Yankee fan love (and an unhealthy Derek Jeter obsession).

That’s why every October I wear a playoff beard. Some years, the Yanks go deep and I go a month without shaving. Back in 2001 the Yankees played into November. Things got really itchy and I looked a bit like a homeless guy. But it was totally worth it because the Yankees won the World Series that year, and–even though I didn’t take a single at bat or throw a single pitch–I’d like to believe me and my beard played a small part in that happening. Other years were easy breezy like in 2006 when the Yankees lost in four games to the Tigers. The Yankee playoff run lasted all of five days. I didn’t get a chance to call it a playoff beard since I regularly go five days without shaving. The playoff beard is part of me–part of my tradition. I’ve grown a playoff beard pretty much as far back as I can remember (which is more of a testament to the Yankees making the playoffs 16 out of the last 17 years than it is my actual manhood).

Which brings me to the point of this tale. At my job, I’m a semi-professional (which means the work is real; the pay is not). I have to dress clean and look nice. The Wife gets a real kick out of because when I come home she gets 30 seconds of a clean, well-dress man (the 30 seconds being the time it takes me to shed my clothes and slip into something a little more sloppy…and stained). The playoff beard might be a bit of an issue since I need to pretend to be a clean-cut, properly groomed, (semi) professional. I’m not use to working affecting the playoff beard. This is the first October in four years where I’ve had a job. Prior to that, I worked at a job where nobody cared what I looked like. Prior to that I was a college student. Prior to that I couldn’t shave. Like I said: the playoff beard is a part of me (…and has it really been that long since I had a job: I am a deadbeat like my friends tell me).

I’ll be faced with some tough choices this year. I gotta support the team. If I prematurely shave, I’m fairly certain the Yankees will get prematurely eliminated. The thing is, I like my job: I can’t go around looking like a slob. I fear that can have negative consequences on my career. It’s never good to be called into the principal’s office for not wearing the school uniform–especially when you boss is an actual principal.

There’s an unfortunate reality here. Jobs come and go, but flags fly forever. I just hope my boss will understand that.