Douche Bag Report: Chris Duncan Edition

You might be saying to yourself, self, you might be saying, is the Librarian really going to kick Chris Duncan while he's down? And my answer: Of course I am. But I'm not here to pile on about Dunc's awkward stroke and limp bat, his defensive bumbles or his poor base-running. I'm here to complain about his face.

Each night after Lil' Dunc smokes a giant bowl and wanders out on the field in search of Cheetos and anime porn, we're treated to the dual horrors of his cheek o' chaw and creepy facial hair. The chew habit has been well-documented by the "real" media, and I'm not going to drone on about the health hazards. His end-stage tongue cancer, his problem (and from my own experience with grape Big League Chew, I know how hard it is to shake an addiction). But dude, you look like a chipmunk.

The facial hair is a much more serious offense. Shaving choices send a message. A giant beard says "I can fell trees." A goatee says "I think I'm the shiz, check out my sweet guns," while a soul patch says "I'm sensitive." The mustache is a bit more complex. It says "I want to sell you something" or "I want to lure your child into my conversion van" or "I am French." Duncan's look sends the message "I have the clap, and I want to be on you."

When you add in the Skoal ring, the tendency to throw big arms on the field, and the dry-humping, it comes down to this: If I had to choose between doing Chris Duncan or Brad Thompson, I'd risk the Dateline investigation and do Brad.