Some years ago I played in an old-time band. The musicians in the group were the most talented and fun group of people I’ve ever known. Our jams were loud, raucous and fun and our concerts and contra dances were equally so. What made our jams so much fun was the ever-present inclusion of beer. In fact, looking at these fine musicians, one would think that they were more of a vegan-granola crowd. Not so! Rather, they were a group of the hardest-core beer drinkers with whom I’ve ever had the pleasure of associating.
To give you a feel for what our jams were like, picture 20-30 musicians complete with guitars, mandolins, banjos, fiddles and other assorted stringed instruments. Along with their instruments were various sizes of coolers strewn about each containing various brands of beer.
There was one guitarist in the group who never brought any beer. Unfortunately, “Jim” would always select a spot next to me during our jams. Predictably he would ask me what brand of beer I happened to bring. At that time I was into the emerging IPA variety and would reveal the label of the bottle to him. He was quick to ask “Is it any good?” to which I would casually reply that I liked it. He would be put off by this response and would proceed to ask various detailed questions about the product such as where it was brewed, types of barley and hops used, water source, brewery employee relations, etc. One satisfied that the beer was up to his high standards he would reach into my cooler and help himself to a free beer. On an average night, of my six-pack he would consume four and I would get two.
After about four weeks of Jim’s grand larceny of my beer, I switched to the cheapest crap that I could buy. You know the kind - it’s usually at the end of the beer aisle in rusted cans that proudly proclaim that the beer was “aged in the truck”. Needless to say, Jim took umbrage to the fact that my beer selection was offensive to his refined palate. After several weeks of rejecting my cheap, disgusting and offensive beer, he selected another place to sit, far away from the perils of the nasty swill whose quality matched that of my guitar playing.
So, to both of my readers, I would like to leave you one small nugget of wisdom. If you happen to be sitting someplace with a cooler of beer next to you and should someone sit next to you and ask you if your brand of beer is any good, quickly respond:
“Oh hi, Jim. No, it’s pretty lousy stuff.”
Readers, enjoy your day.
