Weekend Of Big Games

This weekend I was thinking – as I lay around putting off the filing of my 2003 income tax moving expenses and writing out the letter explaining it all – how valuable it is to be a sports fan generally but how useful it is to have played when a lad the sports you follow as an older larger lump. I have played soccer (and still do) as well as some basketball, a little Canadian football and less baseball. They tried to make me a javelin thrower in junior high, even though I could shot put farther than anyone – if they could see me now, they would have known their error. My personal playing of hockey was limited to the pond, road, table, floor and bubble varieties. It is similar to beer appreciation and home brewing, even a little HTML and blogging. Learn the elements of anything a little, it is hard not to have an appreciation for when others do it well.

So it was with some appreciation that I entered the weekend emotionally invested in a few games. On this side of the Atlantic, the battle of the red uniforms is between the most favoured Boston Red Sox and the ok-but-not-my-favorites St. Louis Cardinals. On the other, the big game today was between the red of beloved Arsenal and the cursed red devils of Manchester United. Well, you win some, you lose some – and Mel was good enough to let me know in a 1500 km phone call with 2 minutes to go that Arsenal lost 2-0 to her beloved Manchester United, the New York Yankees of the English Premier League, stopping my Gunner’s record-breaking unbeaten streak in the League at 49 games. Rumour is that the blue away uniforms for Arsenal are a curse and any sensible supplier of strip would go with yellow. But we are, after all, talking about Nike.

In happier news, the Red Sox won game one of the World Series last night in fine style 11-9 after taking a lead in the eighth inning. Game two is close as we speak (ok, now it is 6-1 Boston) but it is nice to walk around town having people say “Hey, Sox!” when they see the hat. CBC TV news did a great piece on the Maritimers’ love of the Sox and its base in the early days of radio and TV. Red Sox pitcher Shilling is playing tonight with a jury rigged ankle staying relatively in one piece through some experimental sewing by the staff doctor – suffice it to say that Red Sox is particularly appropriate. All in the effort to overcome a curse far bigger than that of the Arsenal blue away uniform – the curse of Babe Ruth, one of the greatest players ever, made the day he was traded away from Boston. This year. At my cousin’s wedding in Cape Cod last May, three or four generations of my family spoke of this year being the year for the Sox: “Hi. Haven’t seen you for twenty years. How about those Sox?”

Even with only three of my four teams playing now – the Leafs being idled only by the NHL lockout – October is rich for the fan. Even the Morton won this weekend to pull into a tie for third. It is good being a fan these days…even if that means Mel gets to make that call.

Kingston Blogger Meet-up

Last night, we stopped off at the student union center at Queens to drop in on the inaugural Kingston bloggers get together. As it is homecoming weekend, the city is littered with guys my age and older in their own undergrad leather jackets looking for a keg party to crash so it was easy to inconspicuously hang out on campus for an hour with folks yet to make most of life’s mistakes. Except for the Red Sox’s hat. All of a sudden it is ok to shout “Hey! Go Sox!” at the guy with the Red Sox hat on across the street. Fine with me, I suppose, just as long as they don’t try to rub my belly for good luck.

Anyway, as I was taking herself out for dinner, we only had an hour or so to talk blog but we did get to meet the guys behind:

It was interesting to discuss how the move into blogging was something that was growing in part by word of mouth. John of Hypothesis knew, for example, Eve at The Swamp; Matther Matthew of Living in Society help introduced Blackhole of the View from In Here. We had to cut very early and missed the rumoured attendance of Queens alum Joey of the sideburns and yesterday’s Globe announcement. A good first gathering and we may suggest a few gather at the brew pub before Christmas. Still, I had a sense that this was as yet good geekery so my old fart advice was don’t mention if you are single that you blog until the engagement is confirmed.

After, we two ended up at the Toucan on Princess for supper – which was disappointing enough not to warrant a review at A Good Beer Blog. As portland says, the enemy of the good is the excellent and Guinness poured frosty and pot pie and chip that take one hour and fifteen minutes to materialize are no way to win anyone who has been attended to at the Kingston Brew Pub or Pilot House. As it was homecoming and the entire place was staffed by two just waiters, I would still go back as the gravy in the steak and kidley pie was kidleyesque. But re-route that Guiness line around the cooling unit, for heavens sake. The inhumanity of it all.

Arrogant Bastard Ale, Stone Brewing, California

This is a hot beer. Boozy. Good boozy.

But what would you expect from a beer who has its own URL at www.arrogantbastard.com and has “You Are Not Worthy” on the cap. Stone Brewing Company has a satanic theme going with its branding, too, that probably ensures that it will never be sold in the Liquor Commissions of Atlantic Canada. [Come to think of it, not unlike the third wave California ska band Mephiskaphelese, they of the skanking version of “Bumblebee Tuna”.] The webpage also includes personal oaths that you have to accept before it will let you in, including:

I acknowledge that the material contained herein may be contrary to the multi-million dollar ad campaigns conducted by large brewing companies I may or may not have been fool enough to believe in the past.

Attitude. Expected from a beer that also comes in double and oaked versions in 3 litre bottles with padlocks. I did not notice them being described as family sized.

The beer is loverly, ruby mahogany with none of the unbalanced hoppy excess of Stone’s Ruination IRA. No, this is pure balanced excess. Concentrate of ale. The hops are herbal and vegetative rather than floral, the water soft. It is a real showpiece of malt, big and rich but nothing tricky, no thread of chocolate or smoke. This is umami beer – not utterly dissimilar from miso if you think about it. If the Ruinator is raw garlic, Arrogant Bastard is it slow roasted. All the advocatonians, but for 2%, like it. One did not like the heat of the alcohol, one thought it was unfortunate that you could only have one or two. Deary me. The departed brewers of Belgium are rolling over in their graves.

$3.99 USD for one 22 oz bomber at the Party Source. With all the top ups at the border, probably something like $7.50 CND to get it to my sofa.

What Is Going On Here?

I have spent the last day transferring posts from our sister-station Gen X at 40 and I think I have most of the reviews, pub photos and book reviews. I am hoping I can attract a few other beer writers to join me here but for now it will be mainly me. Rumours are rife that my Server Lords over at silverorange are planning some kind of beery redesign here which, given the magnitude of their recent work, is quite an honour. Stay tuned.

Requests, comments and offers to write most welcome.

Quality

Somedays the hopes and dreams of those who sell on eBay just amaze me. This is for sale at a starting price of 45 pounds:


Glentoran Football Club Signed Postcard 1980

Hey! It is signed. And…ummm…its 24 years old and…its from a club in Northern Ireland who “won the Cup” in 1980. Nothing but respect for the team but, holy moly, over 100 bucks Canadian for a beat-up, creased to…wherever creases go…old postcard.

Maybe it is because of the haircuts…or the cheap hotel shorts.

Morning After

So in my world the Red Sox do beat the Yankees and get to the World Series. They got there when I was 23 and when I was 12. Last time when the Mets beat them there was the Gary Carter consolation, the slight measure of a victoy for the Expos. Since then, however, it seems that every winnign team must have the hand of Filipe Alou or perhaps a whisp of a steaméhovering over it – with Francona, Pedro and Orlando, this years Sox are no different. I woke up this morning right after dreaming of calling Chicken out east, a congenital Red Sox fan, apologizing for forgetting the time delay. He said it was ok.

Putting Pedro in in the 7th was either a masterstroke of a head game or the biggest placation of a fading star I have ever witnessed. I think it was the first. I think they wanted to crush the Yankees, let them know we can give you a couple of measley runs because there is high 90s heat to get you out anyway. That won’t happen in the World Series. Please no. You should only wake up Nils’s house once a fall, Mr. God and your Red Sox interests.