Things Are Getting Hairy

In my 10 years with the team, I've done lots of things -- and been affected in lots of ways -- in the name of Cyclones entertainment and promotions.  

I've worn way-too-tight tights (and pulled tarp in them) on Superhero Night.  I've been yelled at by Steve for having knights and horses joust in centerfield on Medieval Times Night (even though he's the one who approved it).  I've put on a pink ape costume and shot t-shirts into the crowd (and have been alternately cheered and booed because of it).  I've dressed up as a T-Bird for Grease Night.  I've gotten death threats because of our Baracklyn Cyclones Night.  I've shoved a dozen fried dumplings down my throat for a pre-game eating contest.  I've slid headfirst across the tarp in the pouring rain.  I've gotten angry emails because I used the term "barefoot and pregnant" for our Bellies & Baseball Night or "Cyclones Skin 'Cats" when talking about us beating Tri-City.  I've played baseball for 24 straight hours (and then gone to the hospital the next day).

You get the point.  I've been through quite a bit for Brooklyn baseball.

However, our current endeavor may be the toughest challenge yet.

If you don't know (and how could you not, at this point?) Wednesday, August 31st is Hamilton Bennett Mustache Mayhem Night, in honor of everyone's favorite mustachioed Brooklyn reliever.  There will be all kinds of mustache-related merriment, including free tickets, free stick-on 'staches, and more.  Read all about it.

Here's the hard part, though...my colleagues and I are all growing out our own mustaches to add to the mayhem.  Now, when we're all here at the ballpark together that's one thing.  It's sort of like a bad uniform -- if everyone's wearing it at the same time, you can kind of get away with it, or at least hide in the crowd.  Unlike my Batman costume or my Danny Zuko get-up, however, my mustache stays with me when I leave the ballpark.

When I meet new people, I can feel them zeroing in on my top lip.  Mothers pull their children just a little closer when I pass them on the street.  I find myself explaining by burgeoning Selleck-style 'stache the instant I greet anyone.

It's almost become an extension of my name ("Hi, I'm Daveidontusuallyhavethismustacheiworkforacrazyminorleaguebaseballteamandijusthavetodoituntilaugustthirtyfirst.  Nice to meet you.").

My wife hates it.  My daughter hates it.  My dog hates it.  I hate it.

But Hamilton Bennett likes it, so there's that, I guess.  

I do owe the guy for catching 2,117 ceremonial first pitches (so far) this year, working 348 kids/men's/women's/kosher camps, and for scaring the Lucky Charms out of him on Irish Night.  

Come August 31st, we're even.

-- Dave