Primordial Tailgating

Ever since Milo of Croton reportedly carried an ox across the Olympic stadium, before killing, roasting and eating the thing in a single day, sports fans have been tailgating. As entertaining goes, tailgates are about the easiest there is – which is probably why men are allowed to throw them. The clothes are supposed to have logos on them, along with possibly someone else’s name. Crucially, small talk is erased by deep and unwieldy philosophical discussions on the cosmic implications of The Game.

Although, it should be pointed out that these primordial get-togethers aren’t as easy as they were Milo’s day. In less ancient history there were only about three major beers and they all tasted exactly alike. Budweiser was slightly more expensive than Miller, which inexplicably made it sophisticated. Don’t underestimate the value of Cheap Domestic Beer (CDB), plenty of people still like those brews for very legitimate reasons: Those are the flavors they are used to and subconsciously it takes them back to a care-free time when you could drink a beer without having to talk about it.

Never lose your taste for CDB because it’s the beer for those who waited until Sunday night to do our weekend homework, those who knew where the lake party was. And it’s not just because CDB is cheap, either, sometimes it’s not. On game day couple of Bud Lights can cost you $22. Granted, they were huge. Gigantic, lukewarm beers that were not getting any colder.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the good stuff.” Said one fan told Burnaby, “but really, here?” Craft beer may incite some wonderful beery navel gazing, but CDB is for people of action. Short bursts of it, at any rate. A lot of your more artisanal craft brews are just a bit too “precious” for that sort of work.

You know what you are getting with CDB. “I know what Budweiser does to me.” The fan continued. What Budweiser does to him, or Burnaby or anyone else, is… not much. That is kind of the point – Game Day is a marathon, not a sprint.

So get off your high horse and crack open a Miller High Life. Even the most terminal hipster will concede that there is a time and place for Pabst Blue Ribbon. They only say that they drink it ironically. If you aren’t making it to the Game, and are watching the game(s) on television the same rules apply. And whatever you do, don’t get all Milo of Croton with the host’s Golden Retriever.

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