I find this analysis of the death of kings quite astute. Its final paragraph also inspires me to offer, with some trepidation, a confession I have been holding back since Thanksgiving Day. I am told this will make me feel better.
Late at night, 1AM or later, my son, a would-be Libertarian; my son-in-law, a devout Irish Catholic, and I, none of those things, were involved in a vigorous discussion of matters about which they were seriously misinformed. I had brought Broederlijke Liefde and Saison Vos to accompany dinner (there was some wine in there too, just because) and two of us had been drinking the house beers I had suggest my son-in-law have on hand, Yakima Glory and Headwaters Pale Ale, ever since while son-in-law did drafts of his beloved Coors Light off the tap in his lower level bar where all of this was taking place.
As I started pushing my glass forward for yet another Yakima from the cold box while preparing yet again to point out the absurdity of Libertarian orthodoxy or the concept of some loving mystical Being In The Sky who gives a rat’s about us, whichever, I shrugged, ran my tongue around my hops-satiated mouth and said, basically, “What the hell, give me a Coors.”
Here’s the thing. It. Did. Not. Totally. Suck.
More flavor than I’d expected (or ever remembered). Cold, palate-cleaning, refreshing in the wee hours of a long, long night. I had another. And yet another, before stumbling up three floors to bed carrying the scary Dog-Thing under my arm.
Maybe it was the late-night equivalent of post-cutting-the-lawn beer. Maybe I am losing my grip. Or maybe, you know, sometimes it’s just beer. And Beer Is Good.SHARE