Extreme(treme)(reme)(eme) B-B-B-B-Beer Festival! [Session One]

Roughly 1/6th of this weekend was spent busting out the Randy 'Macho Man' Savage voice in reference to Extreme Beer Festival.

Notice the amount of money in my wallet. Coincidentally, it is the exact amount necessary to purchase a walk to the bus stop.

The line.
The line (again).

The venue looked 100x better during the day. For one, they jettisoned the hand-written signs and let the brewers actually put up their own works.


The one bad pour we got. (Is that you in the button-up, Pat Lynch?)

Founders, brewers of the Kentucky Breakfast Stout, pretty much summed it up.

"You only have one tongue... don't f#@# it up drinking junky beer"

Yes.

The dude from the Ithaca station knew about the Rongovian Embassy. Word.

Calling this "macaroni & cheese" is akin to calling Game 7 of the World Series "a baseball game".


The only person at the event with enough courage to represent the Vinny Testaverde era in Tampa Bay:

There are, indeed.


Up next: I'm going to start a wordless blog entitled "Pictures of People Taking Pictures".

You can't see him clearly, but the guy on the left, with the beer mug of a hat, throwing up the peace sign, was one of the true oddities at the show.


At about 4:00, the sun started going down.

Which of course melts craft brewers right in their shoes.

The Citgo sign is a lot cooler when you are in a cab, wasted after a beer festival, than when you are walking out Fenway. (Provided you are a Yankees fan)

There is another Character Collage coming down the pipeline, but it won't be up 'til sometime tomorrow, quite possibly after I get back to the cityadfafkjadnfmdaldfyalsdkjfhasdfal...

/passes out on the keyboard.

Night Of The (Bourbon) Barrels

I'm still drunk and Session One starts at 1:00, so this post is going to lean pretty heavily on the blurry pictures we took.


"You gotta keep the big bills on the outside, Jerry"


Waiting in-line outside Cyclorama, the worst-named venue in the history of scheduled events. It was 25 degrees but the windchill was approximately twelve below.

The room was large and round, with the stations set up along the perimeter.

For some reason, they didn't print up any signs and instead decided it would be a good idea to hand-draw them. The one on the left was the headliner, brewed by Dogfish Head exclusively for the event. Here are the ingredients:

- Maple Syrup (Grade A, Massachusetts)
- Chestnuts
- Green Peppercorns
- Korean Corn Tea "Oksusu-cha"
- Fawcett's Maris Otter Base Malt
- Dash of MFB Kiln Coffee Malt
- Liberty & Vanguard hops
- Dogfish Head's Raison D'Etre House Yeast Strain
- Aiming for 8% ABV

That's Sam from DFH in the black t-shirt. He was cool enough to chat with us for a little while after he stopped pouring and updated us as to the progress on the one of the beers discussed in the article in New York Magazine. It's almost 10,000 words, but if you like beer it is a must read.

This was when the "there is more of us than there are of them" mentality kicked in.

I snapped this shot just to prove that there were some "Yeses" in attendance.

This brew was concocted with cranberries among other things and was the color of grapefruit juice. With all due respect to the Kentucky Breakfast Stout, this is beer's answer to the Bloody Mary.

Brendan's note: These were Southern Tier's Oak Aged Cuvee #1 and #2. #1 was aged in French barrels and is the lighter of the two. #2 was aged in American barrels and is notably darker. Despite our allegiance to the star and stripes, the French was much cleaner)

For good measure (and to propagate the already existing stereotypes), here is a character collage of covert shots of some of the attendees.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get EXTREMEly drunk again.

Want To Get Vicariously Drunk?

All beeahs courtesy of Maaahty's in Newton. Well, not "courtesy" per se, but that's where we bought them.

[Left to right: Green Flash Grand Cru, Pretty Things Jack D'Or, Urthel Vlamese Bock, Karmeliet Tripel, Gulden Draak, Smuttynose Wheat Wine, Pretty Things Saint Botolph's Town]

Here are two very Pretty Things brewed by Dann Paquette, who is renting space at local breweries before he starts his own. Apparently he knows what he's doing.

[Left to right: Weyerbacher Blithering Idiot, Dogfish Head Chickory Stout, Dogfish Head Old School Barleywine (15%ABV!), Dolle Brouwers Delle Teve, Atomonium Premier Grand Cru, Founder's Double Trouble, Founders Imperial Stout, Founders Curmedgeon, AFA (North Coast) Grand Cru]

Live From Red Sox Nation

I didn't want to blow my cover by announcing this beforehand, but I have successfully infiltrated a dwelling inhabited by one or more Red Sox fans in Brighton, Massachusetts. Before I leave, I promise to steal something, or at least leave an upper-decker.

The one confirmed Sawx sympathizer is none other than Fack Youk contributor and resident Boston correspondent, Brendan. We are teaming up this weekend to bring you, loyal readers, tipsy dispatches from Extreme Beer Fest.

Getting here wasn't easy. In fact, it was one of the most hazardous, and dangerous, and greatest adventures, on which man has ever embarked.

If I were to tell you that I got pulled over driving from the Upper West Side of Manhattan to Brighton, where would you guess this happened?

1. On I-95 between NYC and New Haven (You have to speed to make up for the time you lost on the Cross Bronx Expressway!)
   
2. On I-91 between New Haven and Hartford (I didn't know there were cops in Connecticut...)
3. On I-84 between Hartford and Sturbridge (See above)
   
4. On the Mass Pike between Sturbridge and Natick (Got a little impatient, could see the light at the end of the tunnel)
   
5. Or on the Pike between exits 15 & 17 (Speed limit is 55, Officer? I'm sorry I thought it was still 65!)

If you said any of those, you would be wrong, because I got pulled over for not wearing my seatbelt in New York-fucking-City. I was crossing Broadway on 79th St., eating an oatmeal raisin cookie and scrolling through my iPod when the lights kicked on behind me. Sheeeeeiiiiiiitttttt...

The cop pulled me over at a bus stop, and two seconds later, a double length MTA bus pulls up right alongside and lets a good 15-20 people off right in front of me, each of whom steals a guilty glance at the asshole who just got pulled over in Manhattan.

He comes up to the to car and goes "Ipulledyouoverforfailuretowearyourseatbelt,canIhaveyourdriver'slicense,sir?" I kind of half-laughed and turned it over. While he was in his car, I fired off this picture over my shoulder to document the special moment.


It may have been the most efficient traffic stop ever. The copper came back to the car in under three minutes and goes "Sir,I'veissuedyouacitationforfailuretowearaseatbeltwhileoperatingamotorvehicle, itcarriesnopointsandtherearetwowaysyoucanrespondtoit...DriveSafely"

Odd choice of words there, my severely underpaid compatriot. I was driving safely until you pulled me over for something that has absolutely nothing to do with the well-being of the other drivers on the road. I would have put the damn thing on after I was done with my cookie, dick.

I would have more of right to be angry if it was the first seatbelt ticket I got in Manhattan...


Anyway, after that auspicious beginning, the drive didn't get a whole lot better. Did you know that the Cross-Bronx Expressway is the worst stretch of highway ever to have been covered in asphalt? It's true!

From the time I entered Connecticut until I got to Boston, it snowed.

And snowed.

What's that you say? Its dangerous to be taking pictures while operating a motor vehicle in a driving snow storm? Nonsense. I made it here unharmed, unlike some asshole in an Accord behind me who fishtailed into the median... shows what you know.

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Well folks, not sure about the amount of sports content today or the rest of this weekend, but we are going to Night of the Barrels tonight and Session One tomorrow, so you can expect at least one but probably two beer-geeky recaps complete with pictures and snarky comments. I'm also going to try to put up a music post with a New York-Boston connection that ties in the JFK quote above, before the weekend is over.

If you are going to be at Extreme Beer Fest, look out for Brendan and I. He'll be the tall guy and I'll be the one with the beard. You won't be able to miss us.

Asshats

In honor of the fact that Real Time with Bill Maher starts up again tomorrow night, I've got a New Rule:

New Rule: Team apparel can only be sold in team colors.

The above items are useful for exactly one day per year, which doesn't even fall during the baseball season. Have at it, Sox fans! Grab yourself a pair of those pajama pants, one of those hideous green shirts, and wave that "lucky" banner while you are jumping off the Prudential Center.

I'm not just picking on the Sox. Check out all of these acts against God:

If are wearing one of those right now, please ex-out of your browser and never read this blog again.

Are you a Mets fan but want to wear a Yankees hat for some odd fucking reason? Maybe you are a Yankees fan who just adores the combination of blue an orange. A lifelong David Cone/Doc Gooden/Darryl Strawberry fan?

No? Are you a straight gangsta from Oakland who ain't afraid to show some love for da Yanks? Or a colorblind nerd from New York attending Berkley?
Then you must like the Braves, Cubs or Pirates, and are dying to wear their colors on the hat of the most hated franchise in all of baseball, right?

Can someone please explain how buying a team's hat with another team's colors on it makes even one small bit of sense? Do you like both teams? Do you wear it only when the two teams play each other? What takes precedence, the logo or the colors?

Look, I understand the financial reasons a team has to bastardize their logo by sewing it onto a million different hats. More unique items translate into more sales. There are some very stupid people out there who probably want a Yankees hat to go with every outfit they own and are not ashamed to look like a complete and utter douchebag while doing it.

But here is a short message to those dummies and others who have bought branded merchandise in non-official team colors:

You are suckers.

At a certain point the following conversation happened somewhere in the MLB offices:

Executive: Our merchandise sales are stagnating, gentlemen. What can we do about it?

Sales guy #1: Well, we could make it cheaper, sir...

Executive: You're fired.

Sales guy #2: We could try to increase our global distrib-

Executive: Great idea! Just kidding, you're a moron. Next?

Sales guy #3: Well, we could make stuff in different colors...

Executive: Brilliant! We'll put out a never ending stream of new colors and some idiots are bound to buy them!

In closing: Don't be a sheep. If you don't like your team's official colors, don't buy the merchandise. If you are worried about the colors of your team's hat and whether or not they match with the rest of your clothing, rest assured that people will notice how ugly you are long before the fact that your hat clashes with your stupid jacket.

This Just In: Kobe Bryant Is A Dick

Last night around 1:00AM or so, I flipped on the end of the Lakers vs. Warriors game and there was about 2:20 left. I believe the Lakers were up by two when the following took place.

Kobe went it for a lay-up...


Clearly didn't get fouled...

But missed anyway...

And instead of attempting to get the rebound or play defense, he immediately started bitching right in the ref's face as soon as he saw that the ball didn't go in.

And continued waving his arms...

And looking back at the ref, despite the fact that it clearly wasn't a foul.

As he ran up the floor, he continuted to bitch and moan...

Until he committed this blatant foul (even though his team was leading at the time)...

And when he got called for it... you are never going to guess what happened!

He kept fucking complaining. Look at that freeze frame two pictures above. It couldn't have been a more obvious foul.

If you are going to bitch and moan like a fucking 12 year old girl your whole way up the court and then blatantly slap someone on the arm, you are going to get called for it. The refs knew you were pissed and you're lucky they didn't call it intentional. And you still whine about it.

Fuck you, Kobe. You are the reason people say basketball players are selfish prima donnas. You aren't exactly helping with the credibilty of the league's officiating, either.

So two or three possessions later, when the Lakers were already up by 6, Kobe drains this fadeaway...

And then shoots this look back across the court.

Congrats, Kobe. You were only 9-22 from the field and had just three rebounds, but you currently lead the league in Asshole Glares (AG) with 2,241. Keep up the meanacing sneers, fuckface, because you can't hold LeBron's jock.

Countdown To Opening Day: #45

For much of the 90's the number 45 was penciled into the Yankees' DH slot.

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Danilo Tartabull Mora originally came up as shortstop with the Royals. He only played 24 games in The Bigs at SS, and was quickly transitioned to a RF/DH. He had solid numbers with the Royals but nothing too impressive, especially for a corner OF/DH. Coming off a the best season of his career in 1991 (171OPS+), Tartabull became one of the five highest paid players in baseball when he signed a five year $25.5M deal with the Yankees.

He put up decent numbers when he was healthy, but Danny was plagued by injuries during his tenure, averaging only 122 games during the three full seasons he spent the Bronx before being traded to Oakland in 1995. He suffered from sprained wrists, pulled hamstrings, back spasms and bruised kidneys. Sound similar to another free agent acquisition to bear the #45? The Curse of Danny Tartabull(c) You heard it here first.

After he was traded to the A's for Ruben Sierra, Tartabull lashed out a George Steinbrenner for the comments The Boss has been making all season about him. Danny said:

If s a zoo there. No, I take that back; it's a joke. The sad part is that the only reason for that is the owner. He wants to be the center of attention so bad he just destroys that team. If s so hard for those guys to win because of that man. To win the division, you have to be twice as good as anyone else just to overcome all of the crap that goes on. The guys won't say it on the record, but they're just miserable there.

Some of that was probably warranted, but here's the kicker:

That team's going to be a disaster next year. You'll see. No one's going to want to play there.

See, you just change "disaster" to "dynasty" and "No one" to "Everyone" and that sentence makes perfect sense!

In one of the most fitting ends to a career possible, he retired seven games into the 1997 season after fouling a ball of his toe.



The Yanks acquired the ironically-named Cecil Fielder in 1996 by trading Ruben Sierra and Matt Drews to the Tigers. Fielder hit 13 HRs in 53 games to round out the regular season. On the way to the World Series, Big C hit .307 with 3HRs and 10RBIs. A portly chap, Fielder was almost exclusively a DH, appearing in only 17 games in the field in his two years with the Yankees, all at first base. Bill James once called Cecil, "a fat guy that hit a few home runs for a while."

In 1990 & 91, his first two full seasons as a pro, Fielder hit 51 then 44 HRs and finished second in the MVP voting to Rickey Henderson then Cal Ripken. His 1990 season was the first 50+HR in the American League since Mantle and Maris went at it in 1961. Big Daddy finished his career with 319 round-trippers and a line of .255/.345/.482.



Fielder left after the 1997 season and the Yankees acquired Charles Theodore "Chili" Davis to try and fill his shoes. Chili got his nickname from a bad haircut he cut when he was 12, growing up in Kingston, Jamaica. He injured his ankle in Spring Training in '98 and after playing in the first two games of the season, appeared in only 33 more coming down the stretch. He saw 27 ABs that postseason and drove in 7 runs.

He exclusively DH'ed during his time with the Yanks and wasn't particularly strong offensively, but is remembered fondly by most Yankee fans because his two years in the Bronx coincided with two World Series victories. When he retired, he had the third highest career HR total (350) as a switch hitter, behind only Mickey Mantle and Eddie Murray.