We don’t watch baseball together in my house. My wife doesn’t get it.

She gets football, boxing and auto racing. And hair.

That’s why this autumn, while staunchly defending her position that America’s embattled pastime is a silly symphony of spitting and scratching, she can’t completely ignore the game.

“Who is that? And does he think that looks good?”

It’s Sox center fielder Johnny Damon, and yes, you could argue that his ‘do looks like doo-doo. His shoulder-length mullet and bushy beard hint at an undersized Samoan professional wrestler. Others, inspired by “The Passion of the Christ,” say he resembles the Messiah.

After almost a century of what appears to be divine discontent directed at Our Team, perhaps they’re looking to the heavens for a happy sign.

Weird game, baseball. It can be so cerebral, so captivating. Yet, at its core, it’s one, gigantic male bonding ritual.

Think like a player

Last year, prior to Boston’s playoff push, a flurry of free-spirited players and coaches went with the Mr. Clean look.

Problem is, not everyone thought bald was beautiful. The since-traded Nomar Garciaparra avoided the clippers, thanks to his impending wedding. Damon, of all people, shied away from the shears, saying that his wife adored his dark locks.

See? Wives get it. And certainly when the Red Sox lost the American League Championship Series to the New York Yankees in heart-wrenching manner, most of them were intelligent enough to presume that the better team simply won.

Not me. I think like a ballplayer. I blamed the hair holdouts.

Sure enough, when Damon decided in spring training to turn his head into a Chia Pet, teammates jumped on the karma wagon.

Pitcher Pedro Martinez and slugger Manny Ramirez stopped visiting the barber for anything but a curl. They now resemble extras from “Starsky and Hutch.”

Follicly challenged first baseman Kevin Millar is doing his best to grow a Field of Dreams on his dome, and the growth protruding from his chin looks positively Pennsylvania Dutch.

Bronson Arroyo’s offering is a patch of cornrows that might look weak to an opposing hitter if Arroyo weren’t flinging 90-mile-per-hour fastballs a foot south of his chin.

What’s nutty is that once the team’s collective mane grew past the point of rescue, the Red Sox started winning at a percentage rivaling the Road Runner versus Wile E. Coyote.

Naturally, the fun-loving Sox credited their hair. No wonder Damon lovingly refers to his team as a bunch of “idiots.”

He should include the fans. I’ve avoided my barber since July as if he’s a tax collector.

“As a group, they are borderline nuts, but when they get out in the field, I think they try to play the game right,” said Red Sox manager Terry Francona as he described his team to The Associated Press last week. “I just want them to be themselves, because I think we are a good team like that.”

There’s something to be said for unity. I’ve watched entire high school teams adopt a bald look, or go for blond or even blue hairstyles before a tournament game.

And superstition is linked with baseball as closely as flat ballpark beer. Players on a streak are notorious for rituals like eating the same pre-game meal and wearing the same underwear in every game. Preferably washed.

It should be noted that the 26-time world champion Yankees have maintained a rule against facial hair for years. But you can bet if owner George Steinbrenner surmised that razors somehow took away his team’s edge, he’d allow his players to look like Grizzly Adams in no time.

Once luck goes south, baseball guys will do anything to spin it around.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see a guy about a crewcut. Just don’t tell my wife.

Kalle Oakes is the Sun Journal’s staff columnist. His e-mail is [email protected].