Quite a weekend around these parts wasn’t it?  At least on the sporting scene that is.  I watched parts of the NFL Draft, the parts that I could make out on the screen after I put my remote through it Thursday night when Roger Goodell read the name “Kyle Long” but I digress.  As Saturday rolled around and the Bears began to come to terms with the word “value” I couldn’t help but notice the Twitter-verse had began turning its attention to the happenings at the United Center.

What unfolded on Saturday afternoon was one of the memorable playoff basketball games in recent memory.  While I think the hyperbole has gotten out of hand in the twenty-four hours since as I’ve heard it described as one of the best games since Naismith hung a bushel basket on a wall.  The fourth quarter and the overtime sessions were the “good” version of Nate Robinson, and trust me, it was as good as it gets for an hour and a half there, but by using the quotations it implies there’s a “bad” edition as well.  Not solely due to the negative Nate doppelganger, but certainly in part, I hate to be the bearer of bad news Bulls fans but this still isn’t your year.  In fact, I’ve made the case in this space that the Bulls truly won’t compete again until after next summer when Deng and inevitably Boozer come off the books and the team has a chance to reload.  Well thanks to Bill Simmons I like this plan he proposed last week a lot better to get the process in motion a little sooner.

Even with a fresh infusion of talent and the return of Mr. Rose, there is one obstacle that will inevitably prevent this team from reaching the top of the mountain.  That hurdle is the one that grows, or in this case the one that does not grow under Tom Thibodeau’s nose.  The Wife has a theory that the only coaches that win titles in Chicago as those that sport a health lip caterpillar, and you know what?  I think she’s right.

Dating back to the ’85 Bears and Da Coach, no boss of the bench in this city has been handed hardware after the last game of their respective league’s season without  a proper soup strainer firmly planted on their upper lip.  The Bulls in the late eighties went from this to this and you know what happened there.  Guess what’s different about those two guys – championships and cookie dusters.  In 2006 Ozzie Guillen sported a bit more of a fashionable take on his facial hair but it was there none the less.  Finally there is nothing to add about the work of Mr. Joel Quenneville and his facial fuzz.  Hell, Quenneville’s ‘stache has its own Twitter account (@CoachQMustache).

So if Thibs is serious about wanting to win an NBA championship it’s time that he goes all in and develops a snot broom of his own.  Since a short Google Images search retrieves zero pictures of Thibodeau ever having sported a hair snail I think it’s safe to say that the Chicago fanbase has a right to question his dedication.  As The Wife notes, it’s not so much that the coach just simply grows a mustache but rather he must embrace and embody the ‘stache to find the true path to the sporting holy grail.  What she means by this is if you were to be going to a Halloween party as Mike Ditka, what would be the key component of your costume?  You get the mustache right and the rest of the costume puts itself together on its own right? 

What Thibodeau needs to do whenever this playoff run comes to an end is go look himself in the mirror and give a good hard thought to growing a dirt squirrel of his own; because if he’s serious about reaching the apex of his craft during his Chicago tenure that’s the cost of doing business in this town.