For the love of god, please stop serving beer in a frosted glass.
With the Beatles reference out of the way, the ninth installment of this wrestling extravaganza was once again a head scratcher. Held in Vegas for the first time, it was all Caesar and Cleopatra, camels, togas and everything in between. The event of the night was Bret Hart, reigning WWF champion, going up against the 505 pound Japan phenom, Yokozuna. Fun fact is that Yokozuna was from Hawaii the whole time, so… fuck me right?
Keeping with the sweetest of water theme is their flagship Pale Ale, 420. I have phases between 420 and the IPA and I just might be back on the Pale bandwagon.
I also had phases between smooth and crunchy peanut butter but that’s beside the point. I can go either way on pale ales but in this case, it’s right up there with the IPA. Weighing in at 5.7 ABV, it has a great hop kick, but with a smoother citrus finish. A green can with a blue top opener thingy, how can you go wrong.
Never expecting a wrestling lesson from a 500+ pounder, so moves were minimal and agility was basically non existent. I’ll give Bret Hart all the credit in the world for carrying (or not carrying) the big monster through this matchup. A missed corner splash lead to a second rope bulldog by the challenger but only a 1 count with an extreme kick out. Using all the brains he can, Hart exposes a turnbuckle, all the while throwing Yokozuna into it. The big man is down and the sharpshooter submission move is in!! Mr. Fuji has a substance in his hand…
Yokuna gets the 1…2…3 and the NEEEEW WWF CHAMPION…YOKOZUNA!!!
In the most shocking (meaning the most unshocking) moment ever, Hulk Hogan comes to the aide of the cheated ex-champion to avenge his loss. Fuji then sets a challenge to the Hulkster to fight Yoko with the title on the line. Spoiler Alert: Hogan gets in and foils the plans of the bad guys and heroingly (totally a word) wins the WWF Championship for the fifth time. The silver lining in this is that I will not utter the name Hogan till WrestleMania 18.
“I sell out arenas, I call that getting dome.” – Jay Z
April was once again upon us and WWF, much like Stella, got their groove back. With a crowd of 62,167 at the Hoosier Dome in Indiana, they righted the wrongs of yesteryear with not one, but…
TWO MAIN EVENTS!!!
The WWF Championship was on the line as Ric Flair (I know you just woo’ed in your head) was pitted against the Macho Man. The build for this match was sublime as Flair stated, and had doctored photo proof, of himself and Savage’s wife Elizabeth in compromised positions with a horse. No bullshit, I said a fucking horse.
Segueing from a horse to a fish, we go to one of my favorite southern breweries in Sweetwater out of Athens, GA. The flagship IPA is delicious and no, it’s not juicy. It’s just a great hop forward smooth drinking IPA that goes down fabulously. The 6.3% ABV is a little low for more modern IPA’s but if you have 8 at 6% or 6 at 8% then it all equals out right? Thought so.
Savage, who was retired the year before, was back because in wrestling not much can be taken seriously or literally. Macho came out in all gold, which I’m pretty sure always means that you win the championship. It’s taken me a while to come to this conclusion, but I think I’m on to something. As I’m blabbering on, Savage starts this fight on the outside and is a whirlwind of fisticuffs. As many title matches go, there are ebs and flows of momentum and now Flair is battering the back of Macho, literally from pillar to post. Mr.Perfect is running interference on the outside which just leads to more suplexes and of course plenty of chops from Flair. Savage catches the Nature Boy snoozing on the top rope and BAM, Flair is down & he is in a world of hurt, as seen below…
In just about every Flair match he dawns the crimson mask and this one is no different. Flair is down and seemingly out as Savage goes up for his patented elbow and he… HITS IT!! 1…2…NO!! Perfect makes the save and in a weasel move throws in brass knuckles and wallops the Macho one with them. The three count will not be had here and to try to preserve justice, as well as the voice of reason, is Miss Elizabeth. Some pelvic thrusts and air kisses from Ric to Liz can only boil the blood of his opponent. The writing was on the wall but just when you thought it was safe to air pelvic thrust, Savage rolls up (with a fistful of tights) and get the 1..2..3… AAND NEW WWF CHAMPION, MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE!!! This was one of my favorite bouts so far and remains to be to this day.
Well, I’ve nerded out long enough and still have some tasty Sweetwater IPA left, so I’ll give you the abridged version of the other main event that was touted as the potential last match of the Hulkster. Another snoozer of a match against Sid Justice was the true main event that went last on the card, which still bugs me. Hulk basically gets beat down, you think he’s out, but he no sells to kingdom come all while the mouthpiece of Sid causes a disqualification. The real rub of the post match beat down of Hogan, with a little help from Papa Shango, was the return of…THE ULTIMATE WARRIOR!!! HES BACK!! The newly mulleted Warrior cleaned house which lead to a pose off in the middle of the ring with all the adoring fans taking it all in.
So nice, I have to… watch another WrestleMania?? Pretty sure that’s how it goes. Here we go…
This ones going to be a deucey, get it?!
Deuce is two, meaning the second WrestleMania, meaning I used the expression doozy, mea- well you know what I mean…
Yes John, nuts isn’t it??
Hulk Hogan reprieves his role as the baby face in the main event against King Kong Bundy in a STEEEEEL CAGE MATCH!! Some said that Hogan was done and he was a dead man walking, which leads me to the wonderfully delicious brewski(s) I’m about to drink to my face. Walking Dead Blood Orange IPA by Terrapin Beer Co is a delightfully flavorful beer at 7.7% ABV. I can go either way on blood orange brews, as I had the 2016 version in a bomber, and was underwhelmed. I’m a sucker for beer in cans, so when they just recently canned it, I was intrigued and thought to myself, “Maybe 2017 will be better.” Luckily for me Terrapin came through and was a great accompaniment to this match up.
Fucking Elvira is filling in on announcing duties, Ricky Schroeder is the guest time keeper, and Tommy Lasorda came out to MC the whole goddamned thing, you can’t make this shit up. It’s wrestling and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
If you had these three in your office pool, congrats.
Hogan (with ribs heavily taped) looks simply outmatched to the ginormous Bundy as the only way to win is to escape the cage and both feet hit the floor. Attempted clothesline, Hulk ducks underneath, Hogan changes course and Bundy is thrown into the reinforced cage, and Bundy is busted open!! Bundy is busted open!! Hogan goes for the body slam but to no avail as the weight of Bundy is just too much. Hulk seems to be a sitting duck and about to lose his championship and…
Wait a minute, he got up??
He’s not feeling any pain??
Oh my god I can’t believe it, Hogan is back up. He hurls Bundy into the ropes and…
No fucking way…
BODYSLAM!!! BODYSLAM!! Bundy is down and then the ever powerful leg drop!!
A handful of tights and a weasel of a manager Bobby Heenan can’t stop the immortal one from capturing another victory. WrestleMania Deuce is in the books to match the two beers I just inhaled. What will WrestleMania 3 have to offer??
What just happened???
28-3 Falcons “We’re fucked…”
28-12 Falcons “Ok, that’s one….”
28-12 Falcons (Missed PAT) “Whhhhaaaatttt???!???”
28-18 Falcons “Ok, have to get a 2 here, lets go”
28-20 Falcons “One more score boys, COME ON!!!!!!”
28-26 Falcons “Holy shit, all we need is 2. Please fucking get 2.”
28-28 Tied Up “We got 2!!!!!!, Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!! We fucking got 2!!!!”
34-28 Patriots “!!!!!??????#####%%%%%%. Wwwhhhhhhaaaaatttt???!?!???! Wwweeee woooonnnnnn!!!! Holy shiiit…
This might be pretty much every weekend but this weekend in particular is a real doozy. Friday, my favorite local brewery River Dog (that I’ve referenced in “River Dog is also Man’s Best Friend“) is having a tap tap tapa-roo takeover at one of my favorite craft spots, Fat Patties. Along with the River Dog deliciousness will be the newly tapped Bells Hopslam, after that lineup will either be the voices in my head or Uber calling my name.
Saturday nights alright for fighting as well as heading up to Charleston, a burgeoning craft beer destination. After a lovely lunch with my gal and her parents we will magically whisk ourselves to Westbrook Brewing Company, which is a personal favorite of ours. From strong solid ass stouts to some of the greatest goses these lips have ever enjoyed, this a must stop. With breweries popping up everywhere our possibilities are endless and we’ll surely take our time and enjoy all the frothy goodness. This is just the warm up…
Yep, you heard me right. That will be the warmup to Sunday where a little game will commence at about sixish. The motha flippin Super Bowl is upon us and my Pats are vying for their 5th title in their last fifteen years. This will be an interesting year as I’m in so called “Falcons Country” and I’m the self proclaimed ECW of Patriots fans.
(For all you non wrestling nerds, ECW was hardcore wrestling, so I basically took the long and confusing way of calling myself a hardcore fan.)
Not only will I be watching it on a 16 foot video screen, surrounded by Patriots haters, but for $50 it’s all you can eat and drink. Oh lordy…
It’s safe to say I’m fucking pumped for this weekend…
Not so much.
Disclaimer: This idea has been brewing (get it?) for a while, so pardon my French.)
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just think the whole premise is a bit much. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some craft beer and would obviously prefer it over other beers, but if I hear something about a nail polish note again, I’m out.
(I’ve actually heard that exact statement on a craft beer podcast, I almost flipped my fucking car over.)
Beer is great.We are all here for the love of beer, so why do we have to discriminate certain types of this lovely beverage. I could be way off on this one, but can you call yourself a real beer lover when you only like one type? I love beer and that means all beer and I think every beer has some sort of purpose for something. Do I want to drink 10% ABV Dogfish Head “Beer for Breakfast” stouts all day during a Pats game? Nope. I’ll take the so called “crap beer” all day. That’s another another thing, this stupid #craftnotcrap hashtag, are you really above certain beers? You’re telling me if you grew up before this craft beer boom, you wouldn’t just drink it? Once again…
But I call bullshit. Speaking of, I’ve heard someone on another craft beer podcast, that there wasn’t any craft at a sporting event and that “they only had cheap beer” so he just didn’t drink anything…WHHHHAAATTT?!?!?! (Almost flipped my car again.) This is a prime example of a beer snob that I just can’t jive with. I know many people that love and prefer craft beer but when push comes to shove, they would drink a Bud Light, and they were fine with it. You know why?? Because it’s beer and beer is magnificent.
Moving on to the beer jargon portion of my bitching, where there is also varying degrees of douchebaggery. I’ll always take a whiff of a beer before drinking, to see what I’m getting into, and then just drink the fucking thing, that’s the jist of my process. I don’t want a thick head, which just equals less beer for me, and the “hard pour” the kids are doing nowadays (yes I said kids, I’m 34 so I’m allowed) just fucks it all up and makes no sense to me. I’m not looking for “mouthfeel” or whether I should use the #properglassware, or worrying about if the “note” is between two different kinds of cherries or a green fucking onion, I’m looking to see if the beer tastes good, thats it. I don’t agree with all of that but you do you boo boo and I’ll be over here like…
This isn’t about craft beer or crap beer, this is just about beer. This is one of the many reasons this isn’t a craft beer only blog, because that’s not fun to me and it’s been done to death. Plus, times can get tough and paying $12 for eighteen Rockdale Lights instead of a sixer of Ballast Point is always a-ok with me. Im not trying to demean anybody here and I’m sure I’ll piss off some people but I’m here to drink beer, have fun, and hopefully make you chuckle because some people just take it too damn seriously.
P.S. In hindsight, this probably should’ve been my introductory post to you. If this is your first time reading this then now you know, welcome aboard.
P.P.S. Just enjoy and drink all beer goddammit