Contemplating the Combover

There’s this guy I used to work with whose combover was so preposterous that I was pretty sure it ranked among the most remarkable of all times. Yet, I saw it so often I wasn’t quite sure. After all, if the Grand Canyon were in your backyard, there’s no doubt you’d find the jaw-dropping beauty therein. But since you saw it every single day, would you really be 100% certain that it was the natural wonder that it actually is?

Likely not. For confirmation, you’d need to call in a fresh set of eyes. Someone whose backyard doesn’t overlook the Grand Canyon. Which is exactly what I did.

See, I’ve got a friend who fancies himself as a combover enthusiast (who isn’t?), and upon hearing my quandary, he quickly offered his help.

“You just tell me when and where I can see this clown’s pate,” he said. “Outdoor sightings, you’ll understand, are preferred. You get me a clean look, and I’ll get you a diagnosis.”

That very weekend, my daughter’s soccer team had a match against his daughter’s soccer team. So when the guy showed up, I relayed the intelligence to my friend via cell phone.

“The eagle has landed, and he’s wearing a white sweater.”

Not a single person gave the white F-250 parked at the very far end of the lot a second thought. Except for me. For I knew that inside said truck sat my friend with all his spy-dork, espionage equipment, (okay, just a hardcore zoom lens, but still…) and soon, I knew, I’d have my answer.

And the answer was this: the combover in question was no ordinary banjo. Nor was it your garden-variety Cinnabon, either. In fact, my friend assured me that what we had on our hands was, indeed, a Grand Canyon situation.

So much so that word spread quickly among my friends, two of whom happened to hit the combover lottery when they showed up at a basketball game only to find that they were seated directly behind the culprit. What ensued was an in-depth analysis of his technique (frontal swoop with a failed attempt at opposite-side integration, resulting in a “runaway wing”) conducted, naturally, via text, despite the fact my friends were sitting right next to each other. (You can never be too careful, you know.)

Which brings me to my ultimate point. Combovers are an attempt to conceal something. To detract attention. Yet this guy’s combover had a bunch of 30-somethings acting like total adolescents as they played MacGyver in the park and texted like BFFs during sporting events.

So to all you balding dudes out there (myself included). If you don’t want folks to notice your balding, quit trying to hide it.

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