I have to admit it. There was one thing about the Yankees I could not bring myself to hate, not in a million cliches.
Jason Giambi's mustache.
Even when Giambi's weak glove rode the bench, that 'stache could never take a day off. It was business all over. All the time.
But now, alas, it's gone. Giambi, in a bit of superstition, has shaved off that gruff, solid 'stache, and gone back to his plain old thong-wearing self.
As a philosopher, I have a special affection for mustaches. Here's me around two years ago, being all wisdomy, broody and mysterious-looking at a Barnes N Noble cafe, where all the world's serious thinking gets done.
Notice how in touch with the profound truths of the universe I am? Can't you tell I'm cogitating nature's most abstract secrets?
And here's me, sans 'stache, more recently, a normal, not especially philosophical regular guy, still in front of books, but now less sure he comprehends them, and mostly thinking about which dry cleaner to go to.
I didn't treat my mustache with the respect it deserved, and now it's gone. And now I have even more reason to hope Giambi's slump continues; he lost faith in the power of the mustache, and the cosmos should let him know this is no small transgression, as it did with me.
I'm sad now. I'll leave you with two great philosopher mustaches- Nietzsche and a young Bertrand Russell.
And a ballplayer.