Five years gone.

Busy I may be, but not too busy to take a moment here to remember the man who, more than anyone else, made gigs like this possible. I can still recall the absolute shock when Lew Bryson and then Tom Peters called with the news of his death. It was August 30, 2007, a Thursday, like today, and just over four months from when I’d last seen Michael Jackson. I hoisted a drink to him that night, truth to tell more than one, and will do so again tonight. In reality, I, and all the folks who eke out a living writing about beer, ought to do so pretty much every damned night of the year.

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