I like craft beers to a point. At home I have a reasonably good understanding of the differences among the local brews. On the road it’s another story.
On a recent baseball trip to nearby Buffalo I was met by a wide selection of craft brews for sale at the ball park that I knew nothing about. Instead of easily finding a predictable, admittedly boring, cup of suds I was confronted with peculiar offerings like Sponge Candy Stout, Loganberry Wit or Conehead IPA, a beer named after an usher who wears a conehead.
At a baseball game the objective is to get your beer and return to your seat as quickly as possible. No one in the line behind you will be happy if you take the time to ask what the beers actually taste like even though some craft maker’s concept of perfection might be over-hopped, under-carbonated, fruity-tasting swill. Don’t even think of asking, “What do you have that is like Michelob?”
I go to baseball to watch the game not have a “beer experience.” All I want is a cold beer on a hot day to wash down my hotdog. Eventually I spotted the familiar blue and red tap handles. The line was short, the service was fast and I got back before play resumed. The King of Beers never tasted better.
