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Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair.
Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen.
Give me down to there, hair, shoulder length or longer
Here baby, there momma, ev'rywhere, daddy, daddy.
Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair ... "
Lyrics from Hair, the Broadway musical and the Boston Red Sox theme song
It's difficult to picture Shane Hamman, the strongest man in the USA, making a fashion statement. After all, he stands 5-9, weighs 330 pounds and has a 22-inch neck, 22-inch biceps and 35-inch thighs.
Yet the two-time Olympic heavyweight weightlifter constantly turns heads, thanks in large part to his 8-inch goatee. He pulls it into a long rattail and scrunches it in rubber bands spread an inch or so apart.
His goatee landed Hamman high-profile Athens Olympics TV commercials and movie trailers for Gateway, All State and General Motors. When the 2004 U.S. Olympic and Paralympic teams visited the White House in mid-October, President Bush went out of his way to touch it.
"The president said, 'That looks tough. It's cool. I like it,' " Hamman recalls. "My goatee is who I am. It works because of my size and my sport. If I were just a regular guy, it wouldn't be nearly as cool."
Hamman is among a growing number of athletes using their hair as self-expression and to develop a unique and marketable persona. In a curious reversal of roles, it's the super macho men of sports who are primping and preening far more than the lady jocks. It's impossible to watch a sporting event these days without seeing male athletes with dreadlocks, Afros, cornrows, braids, ponytails, spikes, sweaty Tarzan tresses or shaggy skater boyz 'dos.
Not to mention mustaches, goatees, beards, soul patches, furry chins and faces full of I'm-too-lazy-to-shave stubble.
Who could have imagined that seven-time Cy Young Award winner Roger Clemens, one of the grittiest players in baseball, would paint blond highlights in his spiky hair?
Or that Boston Red Sox pitcher Bronson Arroyo, named for rugged actor Charles Bronson, would have his hair styled at an African shop and allow the hairdresser to add extensions to put his hair in cornrows?
Or that PGA European Tour golfer Ian Poulter would streak his hair red and white in celebration of the Arsenal soccer club winning England's 2003-04 Premiership?
Or that New Orleans Hornets forward Chris Andersen, who showed up for an NBA game with his hair molded into seven 8-inch spikes (his coach made him wash it out after warm-ups), would be plotting to grow his hair and beard to look like a Scandinavian viking?
Gymnast Carly Patterson, the Olympic all-around gold medalist, can't fathom expending that much energy on her hair. "Seven minutes," Patterson says is all it takes to do her hair for competition. "I wash it, brush it, spray it and add all my clips so the little hairs stay back." Then she sprinkles in cheap arts-and-crafts glitter. "Women are so much more practical about their hair than men," Patterson says.
Why are male athletes becoming such hair divas?
"They're the new rock stars," says world-renowned beauty expert Louis Licari, who has salons in New York and Beverly Hills and is nicknamed the "King of Color" because of his innovative hair colors and patterns of highlights. "They've reached superstar status, thanks to all the money they make from contracts and endorsements. In their uniforms, they basically all look alike. But their hair says, 'Hey, look at me in all my crowning glory!' "
Making hair work for them
Celebrity hairstylist Sally Hershberger, as well known for the heads she cuts (actresses Meg Ryan, Jennifer Aniston and Jane Fonda) as the price she charges ($600), believes the reason for the trend isn't financial. It's primal.
"Women like men with hair," says Hershberger, who recently snipped the long locks of Roger Federer, the world's No. 1 tennis player. "I think guys do it for the chicks."
Not so, Hamman says. "It hasn't worked for me yet," he laments.
Atlanta Hawks forward Josh Childress agrees, admitting his Afro is hit or miss with the ladies. "I wish I could read their minds," he says, shaking his head.
But hair has worked for Houston Texans quarterback David Carr and Red Sox center fielder Johnny Damon, whose locks brush their shoulders. They were featured in People's "Sexiest Men Alive" issue.
Carr, the first overall draft pick in 2002, came into the NFL with a buzz cut. Early last season, he and his father vowed not to cut their hair until the Texans won back-to-back games, which finally happened this October. A day later, Carr cut his hair in the Reliant Stadium auditorium at a news conference attended by nine TV cameras, including three local stations broadcasting live.
"There were 60 or 70 people in the room," Carr says. "It wasn't the most comfortable feeling."
It was worse for his hairstylist, Shaida Kootahi: "It was kind of shocking. I was very nervous."
Carr, who paid $28 for his haircut and left a $100 tip, has since grown back his hair because his wife, Melody, loves it long.
Damon came to spring training this year resembling a mix between Jesus Christ and Charles Manson. He had not cut his hair while recuperating from a concussion and had grown a beard for skiing thinking it would look cool.
In May he caused quite a commotion with Red Sox fans especially Damon's Disciples, who came to games wearing shaggy wigs and bushy beards when he opted to shave for charity. "Everyone's excited about change and newness. It's awesome," he says. The Gillette Co. donated money on his behalf to two public library programs.
Then Damon grew back the beard and he has no plans to shave or get a haircut because his fiancιe, Michelle Mangan, adores his caveman look.
"Why do people do anything? So they'll be more desirable," Licari says. "Guys can get a buzz cut, wear it extremely long, dye their hair blond or have dreadlocks. It's all so women will look at them, want them."
Adds Olympic gold medalist swimmer Amanda Beard, who experiments with her hair in length and color: "It's 'in' for today's male athletes to be metrosexuals."
Hair today, gone tomorrow
Throughout the years, sports hair has reflected society. In the conservative 1950s, the flattop buzz cut, made famous by Baltimore Colts quarterback Johnny Unitas, was all the rage.
During the rebellious '60s and '70s, athletes let their hair down. And put it up. Philadelphia 76er Julius "Dr. J" Erving wore an Afro. LSU's "Pistol" Pete Maravich had floppy locks that matched his floppy socks. Oakland Athletics reliever Rollie Fingers had a signature handlebar mustache. New York Jets running back John Riggins embraced the Mohawk, and shaggy-haired Jets quarterback "Broadway" Joe Namath shaved his Fu Manchu mustache (and modeled pantyhose) for TV ads.
In the boom-and-bust '80s, Chicago Bulls star Michael Jordan shaved his head bald. Jets defensive end Mark Gastineau let his Adonis tresses flow (and bragged about shaving his chest). New York Yankees reliever Goose Gossage grew a Fu Manchu to spite owner George Steinbrenner's policy against long hair or facial hair.
In the New Age '90s, tennis star Andre Agassi and Seattle Mariners pitcher Randy Johnson sported mullets. Bulls forward Dennis Rodman dyed his head every color of the rainbow. Dallas Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson liked his hair-sprayed helmet-head look so much that he married his hairdresser. Utah Jazz forward Karl Malone pitched Rogaine to men who were follicly challenged.
Damon then triggered the second coming of hair in sports. "When Johnny showed up in spring training looking like Jesus, all hell broke loose," Arroyo says. The Red Sox turned into instant chia pets.
Pitcher Pedro Martinez and left fielder Manny Ramirez stopped cutting their hair and sprouted jheri curls. First baseman Kevin Millar vacillated between a shaved noggin and a fuzzy yellow 'do that resembled an old tennis ball. Right fielder Trot Nixon tried a Mohawk.
The Red Sox adopted the Cowsills' 1969 multimillion selling hit Hair as one of their theme songs, and the team's public affairs department used it as background on a 90-second video montage of the players' hairstyles. "It's the perfect theme song for them," says Bob Cowsill, whose family originally is from Newport, R.I., and grew up huge Red Sox fans. "Their hair made them so not the New York Yankees. They looked like an American Legion team. They were real people playing baseball."
The Red Sox invited the Cowsills to sing the national anthem followed by Hair, of course before the third game of the 2004 American League Championship Series. Cowsill says he's still fielding requests for both songs in Los Angeles-area pubs.
"Hair symbolized the team's freestyle lifestyle," Damon says of his 2004 World Series champion Red Sox. "We're individuals here. We're not machines.
"The fun thing for me is going out to Little League games and seeing kids with long hair and different personalities. When I was growing up, we longhaired kids mostly skated or surfed. I'm not used to seeing longhaired kids in baseball. It's awesome."
Utah Jazz forward Andrei Kirilenko also understands the power of hair on kids. That's why he changes his hairstyle every two or three months.
"Sometimes it's conservative, old-school boy. Sometimes it's spiky highlights. Sometimes it's crazy Mohawk," Kirilenko says. "I'm just trying to bring a new energy to the game because basketball becomes so routine. If we are role models for young kids, it's better to mess with your hair than tattoos, piercing, smoking or drinking.
"Young kids want to prove their independence. I'm here to show them it's better to mess with your hair than anything else."
Getting a feeling for their hair
Some athletes say their hair provides inner strength, such as San Jose State junior defensive tackle Buick Tuua, whose hair falls below his waist. He hasn't cut it since the seventh grade.
"Back in the old days, it was one of the signs of being a warrior. My hair gives me power," Tuua says. "It's the tool that keeps my motor running."
Adds Pittsburgh Steelers safety Troy Polamalu, also Samoan: "If you look at all the great warriors, starting biblically with Samson, he had long hair. The American Indians, the Samurais, the Greeks, the Chinese everybody had long hair. I don't know of anything that says you have to have your hair short."
Some athletes say their hair teaches patience. Tennessee Titans free safety Lamont Thompson has dreadlocks to his shoulders to represent that virtue. He had a significant neck strain in his junior year at Washington State, and his coaches and trainers instructed him to be patient and not return too soon.
Thompson began growing his hair to symbolize his patience he missed the entire season and hasn't cut it in the five years since.
Some athletes say their hair signifies impatience. Apolo Anton Ohno, the Olympic gold medal-winning short-track speedskater, gets so consumed in training that he couldn't care less about his hair. "When I'm in the zone, physical appearance is second," he says.
It wouldn't be such a big deal except that his dad, Yuki, owns a salon in Seattle. "He tries all the time to make me more conscious of hair products. But I say, 'Dad, conditioner just doesn't matter to me.' "
But many athletes maintain their hair offers freedom to realize their potential, on and off the field. Just ask California senior linebacker Joe Maningo, who refuses to tie back his long, curly hair during games. Having it pulled hurts worse than being face-masked, but he says he feels no pain. Only joy.
"Football is fun for me," Maningo says. "It's a place where I can literally let down my hair. It's wild, and it's out there. I don't have a Samson deal. It's all about individuality. It's all about being me."
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Contributing: Erik Brady, Gary Mihoces and Tom Spousta
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