Here comes the King

October 7, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

Lance Armstrong says he's excited about his three-year association with Michelob Ultra, because it complements his active lifestyle by injecting it with a shitload of money.

Just think — if Bristol Brewing made worse beer and more money, they could have Lance Armstrong as their celebrity spokesperson.

Instead, the former Shiner Bock drinker will be pimping Michelob Ultra, one of the jillions of brands belonging to industry titan InBev, and a concoction described as “a great-tasting beer with lower carbohydrates and fewer calories.”

Uh huh. I haven’t sampled an Anheuser-Busch product in many a moon, since I discovered what actual beer tastes like. But I suppose that given the proper incentive — a Brinks truck full of greenbacks and free Michelob Ultra backing up to the house every Friday — I could learn to lower my standards, too.

As a much younger dog I would drink pretty much anything as long as it was cheap — Falstaff, Buckhorn, longneck Buds. But as it is written in 1 Corinthians 13:11: “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man I put away childish things.” Including watery beer.

In my dotage, I favor IPA from Bristol, Lagunitas or Second Street Brewing in Santa Fe, when I happen to be in town. Anchor Steam or Anchor Porter. Guinness, of course. And the Deschutes beers are all excellent, whether you’re talking ale, porter or stout. I’d recommend any of them for free.

In fact, I just did. No wonder I remain so distressingly unwealthy. I will never be smart.

• Extra-credit snark: This is not Anheuser-Busch’s first marketing coup, of course. More Americans can recognize the Budweiser Clydesdales than can find Afghanistan on a map. I recall enjoying a semantic analysis of the original Budweiser jingle in college. Don’t recall if it was in journalism class or semantics, but the gist of it was that the jingle said absolutely nothing about the beer — it was a series of empty statements punctuated with references to Anheuser-Busch trademarks.

Think about it for a second:

“When you say ‘Bud,” you’ve said a lot of things nobody else can say.” (That’s because ‘Bud” is a trademark.)

“When you say ‘Bud,’ you say you care enough to only drink the King of Beers.” (“King of Beers,” another trademark.)

“There is no other one.” (One what?)

“There’s only something less.” (Than what?)

“Because the King of Beers . . .” (That trademark again.)

“. . . is leading all the rest.” (Of what?)

“When you say Budweiser — you’ve said it all.” (The complete name, which is also a trademark.)

That’s not a summit, that’s a valley

July 30, 2009 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments

OK, I promise this is the last sniveling post for a while about how the weather sucks, but it’s either that or weigh in on the beer summit, and I think that if I did that, my head would explode. I mean, c’mon. Bud Light? Sam Adams Light? Blue Moon? If I had to choose between total sobriety or drinking this swill, I’d start shooting smack.

And Buckler? That’s a fake beer, f’chrissakes! A Heineken with even less balls than an actual Heineken! If you’re gonna pretend to drink, you might as well pretend to eat, and then see what happens to you.

Aw, goddamnit, now see what you’ve done? My head has exploded. And I haven’t even gotten around to bitching about the weather yet.

Paging Captain Nemo

May 24, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

Rain. Again. And plenty of it, too. All we need is the Nautilus and a giant squid and we’re good to go.

Big Jonny of DrunkCyclist torments me via Twitter, announcing, “Sea World’s got beer, son!” He then follows up with this photo of himself (well, one hand, anyway), the wife and kidlets in sunny San Diego, along with said beer — a pair of Bud Lights.

Now, if I have just wrapped up my first year of law school, and I am spending my vacation driving from Phoenix to San Diego and back with the tots and spouse in order to see a bunch of sushi on the hoof, there had better something more palatable than Bud Light on hand to take the edge off or there will be trouble. Stella Artois. Mirror Pond Pale Ale. Lagunitas IPA. A case of Pacifico and a few shots of Herradura. A jeroboam of Talisker. Maybe some smack, I dunno.

But Bud Light? Puh-leeze. If this is what living in Phoenix and going to law school does to a man, I’ll stay ignorant, right here in waterlogged Bibleburg. Maybe Captain Nemo will take me water skiing.

Beer gone flat?

January 15, 2009 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments

Say it ain’t so: The Associated Press says beer sales are going south along with the rest of the economy. Forget that check to Greenpeace, hon’, we got a real problem right here at home.

Could it be that this decision is based not a shrinking paycheck but expanding horizons? ‘Cause the “beers” mentioned in this article were ghastly rat-piss concoctions from über-brewers like SABMiller PLC, Molson Coors and Anheuser-Busch Inbev NV; nary a word was said about craft brewers like Deschutes Brewery or our own Bristol Brewing Co.

If people are guzzling less Coors Light and sipping more Mirror Pond Pale Ale, I’d view this development as a positive thing. In fact, I’ll drink to that.

Hot ‘cross buns

January 1, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment

The fabled Brown Stripe of Cyclo-cross, up the bag and onto the booty.

New Year’s Day. Late arising for some reason. Check the trash for dead soldiers. Christ, it looks like the Battle of Verdun in there. Thank God we had the good sense to leave the sparkling wine corked.

I am in the midst of preparing a massive American breakfast when Dr. Schenkenstein phones to propose cycling somewhere, on ‘cross bikes, within the hour. We can do that. We don’t even need a reason, though breaking fast with a skillet full of eggs, peppers, potatoes and ham after an evening’s debauchery certainly provides one.

Off we roll, me feeling mildly retarded and wildly overdressed. The computer said 47 but those things lie. It’s the usual route, north on the bike path into the Air Force Academy and back, and the warmish weather has yet to completely melt several sheets of ice coating this and that, which makes for some nervous moments, particularly on descents.

My neural network being slightly jangled, I actually walk one of these treacherous pitches, which proves even sketchier than trying to ride it. But I figure I’ll be much slower and closer to the ground if I spaz out, and thus won’t T-bone some iPlodder focused on his playlist in the blind corner at mid-descent.

The rest of the ride unfolds without incident, and once we are into the academy ice gives way to mud and damp sand. Now I have two ‘cross bikes in dire need of cleaning. Happily, I have three more in the rotation before it’s off to the car wash with a bucket, rags and brushes, pockets packed with quarters.