I apologize for my lack of communication. In the waning weeks of October, I shouldered my golf bag, plunked down the twilight fees and raged (often) against the dying of the light. Alas, the time change was inevitable and I find myself after-work nine holes thwarted by 5pm darkness.
No matter. Fall now hangs thick in the air. As does the mustaches that hang above the respective upper lips of my friends and coworkers. I speak, of course, of the masculine tradition of Movember. Ah, Movember. A celebration of Selleckian proportions, a Reynoldsyian regalia, a Bronsonesque bacchanal, this — okay, I could continue on this for a while.
Now, some of you may recall my fondness for the full beard, and I do not stray from my staunch position that a man’s face plumage in ultimate display is a glorious one indeed. And while I’ve long maintained that sideburns are like two sad tombstones to what might have been, the mustache is a bold foray into the arena of facial follicles. It makes a powerful statement, and that is: cancer sucks and must be defeated at all costs.
Yes, allow me to cut to the quick. Cancer sucks. And, indirectly or directly, it affects many of us. The fact that there’s a month where us gents can put aside our differences in football allegiances, single malt regions, and enforcement of USGA rules — and actually work together to raise money for men’s health issues — is nothing short of kick ass.
To whit, let’s keep the lip toupee going for another month. The first five lads to reach us on the socials at the end of December, with picture proof that they’ve kept the nostril curtains for an extra month, gets some free Criquet gear, our respect, and a $100 donation from us (in their name) to cancer research.
In closing, I’d like to point out two things.
1) Seriously. Free Criquet shirts and a $100 donation on your behalf to cancer research. Send us a pic on the socials on November 30 and another one on December 31st (or January 1st-ish — we know how it goes on New Years) with #movemberindecember. Not only is it more money going toward cancer’s demise, it’s the perfect excuse to give the womenfolk when they demand to know why you’re still going Groucho.
2) This might be the first post ever to feature a triple Elliott, a momentous feat rarely achieved by the clean-shaven set. And while it won’t break the Internet, it’s a helluva lot cooler than Kim Kardashian’s posterior. (Seriously, she’s out of ways to get attention — her next stunt will have to be something like eating her own offspring.)
Sigh. It drains my life force to have even typed the word “Kardashian.” Perhaps a head-clearing out on the course is in order. Along with a flask of Glenlivet Nádurra — it is a bit brisk out there. I’ll see you on 19.
Be the ball,
P.S. Hell with it. An extra $200 donation for the first person who goes full Connery too.