The Giants didn’t scare you when they walked off the bus. Their ace was too pale and skinny, their third baseman was too plump, and their closer was a 28-year-old eccentric with too much awesome on his feet and too much lumberjack on his face.
But this had become San Francisco’s band of misfits. And a new chant began to echo through Willie Mays Plaza.
Fear the Beard.
"A Band of Misfits", Andrew Baggarly, pg. 132