A Taxonomy of Mustaches: The Forschadow

On October 28th of this year, longtime Cardinal right-hander Bob Forsch threw out the ceremonial first pitch for that team’s World Series-clinching Game Seven victory. Less than a week later, Forsch was dead, having suffered an aneurysm at his Tampa-area home. He was 61.

Though his corporeal form has passed, Forsch assuredly lives on in the memory part of the brain of the few Cardinal fans who’ve come equipped with that organ.

He also lives on for those of us who derive some pleasure from the growth and maintenance of superlative mustaches. The image which accompanies these words (courtesy Andy Gray of the SI Vault Twitter feed and clickable for ample embiggening) accounts for about a thousand of the words I would have composed on the matter.

The remaining words are these: Bob Forsch had a mustache… or did he?

To answer that question, follow these instructions:

1. Become a father.
2. Wait until such a time as your child, upon seeing fog for the first time, asks if the clouds have come down to earth.
3. Take note of your answer. It will reveal your feelings about The Forschadow.

Or, phrased differently: