playoff beard-ish

Evenkeel tries to rally his teammates to hirsute victory.

The playoffs for my hockey league started about two or three weeks ago, and in true hockey tradition, I've been letting the facial hair grow. Or at least grow as best I can. I trimmed off the scruff on the sides to just allow the scruff that makes up a goatee. A goatee that is the envy of eighth graders everywhere, but scoffed at by most sophomores (and my wife).


Evenkeel ponders what it means to be called "peach fuzz" by a 14-year-old.

I know it doesn't look good, hell, it doesn't feel very good, but who am I to go against such a noble hockey tradition? I suffer for my slap shot, so to speak.


Kenny hopes this kind of sad facial hair growth isn't genetic.

Tonight is the championship game, so win or lose, it's coming off*. Here's hoping I shave it with a smile and not a tear. And here's hoping those mean kids on the schoolyard stop snickering at me as well.


"Seriously, Daddy, Mommy says you need to shave."



*[ed note] Even with a shorthanded, breakaway goal from Evenkeel, the Phantoms came up short 4-3 and were forced to settle for second place. If history has taught me anything, it's that Overboard will look at me and say, "So this [circling her finger around my mouth] wasn't working for ya, eh?" Sigh.