Though down and outright absolutely, Tom Brady, The Patriots and my pick got trounced at the AFC Championship last weekend, I still came out way ahead. Or abeard.   
Little did I know that I was really lured up to the White Mountains by a bunch of Sirens whose sole intention was shaving my very awesome man hair growth.  
It was a beard intervention of sorts.  Now I’ve been through some interventions before.  There was the Robinson Sisters-in-Law shampoo intervention after a live interview in Memphis back in 2008.  Then the great tick intervention of 2009 and then the wardrobe malfunction… uh, well, we won’t talk about that.  
But I believe 2014 is the year, nay the rise and return of spectacularly hirsute men.  
Isn’t it ironic that just after their failed attempt at shearing Yer Big Dog that this article about the historical importance of facial hair was posted?  Coincidence?  I think not.  Paid advertorial?  Maybe.  Trail Magic?  Definitely  
To paraphrase a quote from Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing…  “O, what hairy men dare do.  What hairy men daily do, not knowing what to do with their chin-do.”  
The White Mountain Sirens failed to shear my beautiful, big dog baby mutton chops.  But it got me thinking.  It shan’t be sheared.  It can’t be combed.  But maybe, just maybe, I’ll bead and braid it.  
For reasons beyond my understanding, I’ll wear it until it’s time to shave.  Until then…
Pats lose.  Bangs lose.  Beards win.