The great Canadian playoff beard - a sight to see and some hockey history too.
My friends, I stand here before you willing to bear my face, in all its ghastly glory.
"It's like a man-child, struggling to show his masculine side," I have been told.
"Hasn't your boss said anything to you yet?" others have questioned.
And even more directly - "What is that?"
The reason for the questions and comments - presumably, the patchy growth that has appeared in and around my facial area since late April.
You see, I am currently carrying out a spring tradition, held among many hockey players and Canadian men. I am growing the mystical playoff beard.
For those uncertain about hockey history and Canadian culture, the story of the playoff beard began in the late 1970s. Hippie culture had really sunk in and the beard became something hockey players occasionally donned.
But some players could not or would not grow a beard during the hockey season. So, the usual growers waited until playoff time, when team camaraderie was at its peak, to request more beards.
Those with beards persuaded smooth-faced teammates to grow their whiskers out of superstition and as a sign of solidarity going forth together into the playoffs.
The beard's mysterious powers really came to light when the New York Islanders and their beard master Butch Goring won four consecutive Stanley Cups from 1980 to 1983.
For a massive modern version, check out the beastly beard that carried Shea Weber and the Nashville Predators into the second round of the playoffs this season.
Since the 80s, the playoff beard has been a mainstay in hockey, and thus central to Canadian culture.
Now I am carrying on this tradition.
But, as pointed out in the preamble, many have not been impressed and some have even been frightened of the mess that is my playoff beard.
It's pretty bristly right above the upper lip. I think they call that a moustache. The chin also sees some growth - enough to be visible down a well-lit hallway or across the street during daylight.
Everywhere else on my face is anyone's guess as to what's taking place. All I can say is it's not a pretty sight.
But this year, despite its struggles to be full and a force of nature, my shaggy, sporadic and clearly unshaven face has done the only thing really required of it.
My furry face has passed on its playoff power to my NHL team of choice, which I don't want to name for fear of jinxing it.
The players have unwittingly taken in the power, using it in conjunction with other beards to advance this far into the playoff beard-growing season. And beards willing, they take it all the way.
