Diaries of the Professor

To the Beer Snobs of the World...

What the hell? There you were, in my house, eating my sandwiches and watching my TV when I offered to get you one of my beers -- which, by the way, were in my refrigerator. You could have simply taken it, offered up some gratitude and nursed it like you did your mom's left one till you were nine.

But nooooooo...you had to bring down the party with your patronizing, self-aggrandizing nonsense.

"What is that, Miller Lite? No, thank you. I don't drink beers that aren't imported."

Slap yourself in the carotid...twice.

Sure, I love a good pale ale or stout every now and then, and there's nothing better than some fine German ales. Beer, after all, is beautiful for its many flavors and styles. Frankly, it's one of the most beautiful things in the world.

Especially if it arrives in a 12-pack that costs eight bucks and comes with a free neoprene bottle koozie.

I like you, and somewhat value our friendship. But if you think I'm going to drive thirty miles to the one liquor store in the region that carries Mooseknuckle Cherry Wheat Lambic, you're sorely frickin' mistaken.

There's something inherently great about modestly-priced (as you'd call them, "cheap") beers. They have enough body and flavor to make any sporting event or reality show better. Likewise, I don't have time to focus all of my attention on the specific attributes of the particular beer I'm throwing back, especially when my attention's supposed to be on the effing game.

I'm sure your beer is adequately hoppy. And, per your suggestion, I'll be sure to try it with a hearty grilled trout. But until then, please excuse me while I rewind the DVR so I can attempt to see that important touchdown...again.

I know that you know a lot about beer. And yes, your taste buds are superior to mine in every way possible -- advanced enough to tell the difference between a beer brewed in Germany and a beer brewed in western Germany.

Very impressive. A pair of goosesteps and golf claps for you.

But today, you're at my house, not singing "Edelweiss" at some pretentious suds parlor with long tables and comically tall mugs. Therefore, you don't get a choice. And there's absolutely no excuse for looking down your nose at a free beer being offered to you, even if it wasn't handcrafted by Aryan chemists.

In short, expect silver cans and/or clear bottles whenever you attempt to take advantage of my hospitality.

Today, your beer snobbery has permanently ruined the football game we were watching. I suggest that you go grab something to eat, before this gets any worse. What's that? Something wrong with the sandwiches?

Oh, you don't eat Oscar Mayer, huh?