It’s all playoff beard, all the time* this time of year. A subject so near and dear to people’s hockey hearts, I only dare to tread around the edges of it.
*except for the other 90% of the time when it’s all hits to the head and Shanabanning.
Hockey hair, on the other hand, is a year round thing. And even though the mullet has effectively been mocked out of existence, the follicles of NHLers all around the league still bless us with the occasional case of obsession-worthy flow.
Let’s start broad and work our way down my list of hockey hair that has stuck with me this season like a bad habit.
A couple of years ago, some fellow goaliephiles and I were trying to come up with a name for the wild tufts of hair that poke out of the ventilation holes in some goalies’ masks. The name that stuck was twisps.
Twisps are adorable, and I clap like a trained seal and giggle with glee every time I catch a goalie sporting really great twisp. I don’t know why. It’s just hair sticking out of a hole, but they were squee-worthy the first time I noticed them and have been ever since.
Steven Stamkos’ Disco Hair
Until recently, I’d really only appreciated young Stammer’s actual hockey skills. His pin-point accurate shot is an absolute goalie nightmare and the kid is just a rosy-cheeked beast.
But I guess he finally got enough face time during this year’s All Star festivities, and had the flow going just so, that he ended up being a bit of a revelation to me for non-hockey reasons.
I’m not even a fan of long hair on guys, but for months now, I’ve been swooning at his easy, laid-back, “Hey bunny, I’m an Aquarius. What’s your favorite BeeGees song? I’m a ‘Night Fever’ guy myself” flow.
Maybe it’s his baby-faced youth that lets him pull the look off so well, but whatever it is, stay foxy, Stammer. I dig it.
My Hair Twinkie, Hartsy
I spent the first 30 years of my life fighting my natural curls, but I would straighten, it would frizz in this Texas humidity, and I would look like a troll doll.
Now, I embrace it. I’m the curly red-head whose life is spent in pursuit of the perfect curl-defining potion. And I’m sad to admit that some days, I wake up after a particularly rough night, no makeup on, look in the mirror and think, “OMG, I look like Scotty Hartnell.”
*sigh* Not that he’s a bad looking man, but, well, you know… I’m aiming for woman.
Anyway, Scooter also caught my attention at the All Star game on draft night, when HIS ginger curls were absolute perfection – individual ringlets that made Shirley Temple look like a rank amateur.
Anybody who’s been to the locker room with me can tell you that I am an abysmal interviewer of hockey players. I get tongue tied and can’t think of any questions to ask, or if I do, I forget them as soon as the player walks up.
But I guarantee, given the chance, I could spend 15 minutes with Scotty talking hair and not miss a beat. Be forewarned: there would be fondling (of the hair variety, of course). I hope he’s up for it. I’m guessing he is. I feel like this needs to happen.
OooLaLa Letang Hair
As I mentioned earlier, not a big fan of the long hair. Especially when it’s kinda greasy looking. Enter Kris Letang.
The other night during one of the Pittsburgh/Philly Cage Fighting Death Matches we’re calling a playoff series, there was a time-out. Letang was standing by the net and someone skated by creating a bit of breeze that gently wafted his flowing locks.
And in that moment, angels sang, and I understood Letang Hair.
Motion is the key to Letang Hair, folks. Like windchimes, that mane sings best in a gentle breeze. If you want to say, “Sweet motherluvin’ mercy” about 5 times while looking at GIFs of Letang Hair in motion, this blog wrote the book on the subject.
Never stop moving, Tanger. Never. Stop. Moving.
Gellin’ Todd McLellan
My dog (and probably your dog, too) seems to need to lick anything to fully understand it. The floor, the couch, people, toys, pillows, people, other dogs, people.
It’s like, “I see that there, but I don’t really get it, so I’m going to run my tongue over it. *lick* Oh, okay. A bit dry, soft, probably not food. Moving on.”
Now, I don’t want to lick Big Mac’s hair, but I’m DYING to touch it.
It’s so dense and salt-and-peppery and thick. Is it course? Is it soft? Does it move in the wind or is it still like helmet hair? Does it snap back into that “strong wind from behind” stance if you brush it backward? Is it prickly? Is it a crap-ton of really fine hair or a regular amount of really thick hair?
Yeah, so I really want to touch your hair, Coach. I’m sorry if that’s weird.
Pure Bred MacLean
Venturing south a little bit, I’m throwing an honorable mention in the Obsession-Worthy Hair Olympics to Paul MacLean’s mustache.
I suspect his great-grandfather was a Kerry Blue Terrier.
I’m mesmerized by that stache. I wonder if he has to suppress an urge to chase cars. I double-dog dare someone to scratch him behind the ear to check for involuntary leg movements. Woof.
So, that’s probably enough — perhaps more than enough — hair obsession confession. Who’d I miss? Whose hair makes you double-take or swoon and why?