I hear the snickers. I read your signs.
You pick on me and you pick on Sidney because I don’t live up to your lofty expectations.
You have this notion in your head that playoff beards have to be wild and unruly. Where does it say a “true” playoff beard has to look like the Cookie Monster’s back hair?
A “beard,” according to my Large-Type Whisker-Friendly Dictionary, is “hair growing on the chin or lower cheek of the face.” Nowhere does it have a thread count or a topographical map.
Sure, you’d love for me to be all furry and stuff, but I’m nobody’s Chia Pet. I just can’t do that. I mean literally, I just can’t do that.
The Crosby family, historically, has had very little facial hair (except for Great Aunt Verna). Way back when, our descendants knew facial hair translated to a steady diet of razors and shaving cream – which had to be shipped in from San Francisco twice a year – at great cost. I guess you could say we just learned to live without (except, of course, shaggy Aunt Verna, who almost bankrupted the family).
Somehow you morons think the Penguins’ playoff success hinges on whatever hair manages to amass itself on Sidney’s chin. Well, we’ve got this far with sparse coverage, which has to be one of the highest facial-shag-to-wins ratio in league history (aside from the Sedins’ record, which is just sick).
But I’m here now to finally defend Sidney against all these unwarranted and unfair criticisms leveled at him from all you insolent media people, heartless fans and snobby barbers. Sid is too much of a leader and too classy of an individual to stoop to your level (or at least, bend slightly, being “compact” and all).
Sidney has given me explicit instructions not to do this, but the man has to sleep sometime (seriously – like three hours a night – the man’s a machine). Frankly, I worry about his emotional stability – having this kind of pressure at this point in his life when he should be out ravaging Dad’s college fund and making bad career/dating/drinking choices.
I can’t keep silent about this any longer. Sorry Sid, but I have to spill the beans (metaphorically – I’m (we’re) actually allergic to legumes of any sort).
I hope you all realize how much of a cultural icon Sidney Crosby is. When the man sneezes, a good portion of the public wants to wipe his nose. He is the conduit between hockey royalty and the great unwashed.
These whiskers aren’t just haphazard. I’m not just an ill-conceived pattern on the face of a boy-wonder. I’m here for a reason. Every hair is here for a reason. It’s just taking a little longer than expected and, to be honest, people are getting really nervous.
It’s all part of a big plan, a bigger plan. Not mine. Not Sidney’s.
No, the roots of this particular playoff beard run much deeper than that.
Sid, please forgive me…