The Blind Man Sees All: The Scruff that Dreams Are Made Of

The world of professional sports was once a bastion of facial hair. In fact, that era didn't end as long ago as it might seem. Except for Joe Montana, literally everyone - Bengal or 49er - whose player card appeared on TV during Super Bowl XVI was sporting a mustache, and it was only 35 years ago that the East German Women's Swim Team shocked the world with their roid-enhanced, visibly hairy upper lips. For decades, though, the system was on life support, scratching by on an abundance of personality-free goatees and the rare thin, Michael Jordan-style mustache - that is, until recently.

The true revival of facial hair in sports began in 1995, when hockey's New Jersey Devils usurped the trademark of the powerhouse New York Islander teams of the early 1980s: the playoff beard. Since then, the playoff beard has become one of the NHL's proudest traditions - a symbol of unity and sacrifice for players and fans alike, as teams battle through the long, arduous journey to earn Lord Stanley's Cup. Slowly, the allure of playoff pogonotrophy reached its way out through the rest of American sport, and devotees patiently awaited the day when a patron saint (athlete) would arrive and spread the gospel.

Sure enough, 2010 brought not one set of saviors, but two. The San Francisco Giants used "Fear the Beard" as their battle cry throughout their championship run, with players including NLCS MVP Cody Ross and virtually the entire bullpen sprouting beards to match. The most iconic of all belonged to the ever-eccentric closer Brian Wilson, whose laser-printer-toner black chin mask captured the attention of fans and the media as much for his refusal to admit it wasn't dyed ("We play a lot of day games... It's tanned.") as for its undeniable grandeur. Not to be outdone, the Pittsburgh Steelers independently adopted the same ethos. And just like the Giants, the Steelers feature plenty of facial hair (including the beard of star quarterback Ben Roethlisberger), but have one mug that stands out above the rest: the imperial majesty of the beard that belongs to defensive end Brett Keisel, who justifiably has referred to it in interviews as "the greatest beard of all time."

One can only hope that this is part of a growing trend (pun) - a return to the halcyon days of yore, when facial hair belonged to heroes of the court, diamond, and gridion, instead of perverts, hobos, and Scot Pollard. Until then, here's a few of the all-time great athelete beards, to show what we're missing out on.