Covering University of Colorado sports, mostly basketball, since 2010

Friday, September 2, 2016

2016 Gameday Beer-o-the-week - RMS Edition

Each week throughout the football season I'm going to suggest a good beer for the ubiquitous pre-game tailgate. Let's be honest, with tailgates it's not always top quality that you're looking for. To steal a phrase from the heinous beer terrorists at Budweiser, you want "drinkability." (or what a real beer connoisseur calls "a session beer") So, be warned, these may not be "the best" beers around. But, in the words of Dave Chappelle as Samuel L. Jackson "IT'LL GET YOU DRUNK!"

It's the RMS, so the honorary beer-o-the-week is, as always, Buff Gold.  Previously, I've talked about how you can spice up the standard golden ale by dropping in a shot of Buffalo Trace bourbon to make a 'Buffalo Maker.'  Advancing the concept further, why not make it a hybrid drop-shot of Trace and local agave spirit Tatanka?  Yeah, I know, that sounds rough, but football is meant for the tough of spirit, so you deserve a beverage to match.

The 'real' beer for this week is an old non-favorite.  Submitted for your approval, I present the offspring of a marketing machine with a plan.  A marketing machine who wantonly leeches on the consumer's cardboard palate, while simultaneously wrapping itself in whatever flavor of the American Dream once existed under the Eisenhower administration.  A marketing machine not of this continent that posits to speak for the beer drinkers of this great nation.  Yep, I'm of course talking about Budweiser 'heavy,' or, as it has bizarrely taken to call itself this summer, 'America,' and it's my gameday beer-o-the-week.
'America?'  But you're fucking Belgian!
Let me first say that I am offended.  If you're going to slap the flag on the side of your brew and call it America, then it better be damn good, worthy of the name itself.  This beer is not good, however.  It is lifeless piss-water, the kind of thing you would expect to come from years of industrialized corporate 'brewing.'  More to the point, the company making the swill isn't even American!  It's a Brazilian/Belgian behemoth, stretching it's devilish tentacles across the globe.  A testament to the might of multi-national business management, sure, but far from the homespun, hard working, blue-collar, patriotic company of the advertising campaign.  It's a sham, a put-on, a hateful ruse. Designed to ply willing rubes from their hard-earned cash while real-deal American brew is shuffled off to the dusty corners of shelves via distribution arrangements.

By now, I'm used to people of all ilks appropriating the Stars and Stripes for their own purposes; that in and of itself may be as American as the apple pie of legend.  However, this attempt is so brazen, so hilarious in its origin, as to piss me the hell off.  Fuck this beer, and fuck the company that put it on shelves.  Enjoy it at the peril of your very soul.

... on second thought, go with the Buff Gold.


Happy Friday!  Go Buffs, get that 'W!'

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