But wait there’s more...

I had written the preceding piece (or the one following piece if you haven’t read it yet) at the end of last week and set it to post over the weekend. This was partly to make up for being a bit slack the last month and because I knew I was in for a busy weekend.

Well, you wouldn’t believe it, but I was ‘talkin’ beers’ with some guests as I delivered their initial drink order – A little Creatures Pale Ale and a Cascade Light, for those playing at home – when I started talking up Matilda Bay Brewery in general and Fat Yak Pale Ale specifically when two of the group mentioned they knew one of the brewers.

“Not Neil Whittorn, is it?” I asked.
“Yes. It is! How do you know Neil?” they asked excitedly.
“Beer.” I offered matter of factly.

What a coincidence. Again. I’m genuinely talking up a beer, again, only to find that I’m ‘singing to the choir’, so to speak. Coincidence, or Beer Karma? Again. What are the chances of talking about a particular beer, only to find that you’re talking to the brewer’s sister-in-law?

And if you’re reading this, Neil, the photo that the group asked me to pose for shows a tray of Fat Yaks and Beez Neez but only Beez Neez glasses. I only had Beez Neez glasses. I don’t have any Matilda Bay or Fat Yak glasses. Yet.

Hmmmmm.

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

More Beer Karma

Isn’t it a funny thing. As we get older, we get wiser. At least, that’s the theory. At the very least, as we get older we should be making fewer mistakes. And learning from the ones we continue to make.

Almost exactly a year ago I was relating to you the story of a certain AFL champion player/shit bloke/dickhead. I suggested that his disrespect for his beer was directly related to his inability to achieve every forwards’ dream of kicking 100 goals in a season of football. Beer Karma saw to it that, despite several opportunities and numerous team mates’ efforts, he fell short of the target by a single straight kick in the last game of the home-and-away fixture. Welcome back to Beer Blokes, Brendan Fevola.

Well, he hasn’t learned a thing it would seem. After season’s end last year on his teams’ ‘Mad Monday’ celebrations, Fev was strutting around the centre of the city of Melbourne sporting a tutu, hat and large pink sex toy. As you do. His team mates went for the more traditional fancy dress gear; ie; Fancy Dress. See “common sense & Decency” in the dictionary.

His club’s officials were beginning to tire of Brendan’s unfailing ability to generate plenty of press column inches of bad publicity for the organisation and declared that “any more alcohol related indiscretions would result in Fevola’s contract being torn up”. {Insert sound effect of ripping paper ... here.}

Fev – in short – got rather shit-faced at the AFL’s premier awards night, the Brownlow Medal presentation for the leagues’ Best & Fairest player, and made a total tool of himself on national TV. As a result, Fev has been told that his services are no longer required. The bloke can play a bit of footy but, seriously, how many times should it take before you step back, take a good hard look at yourself and say, “ I need to reassess the way I treat my beer”?

Good luck for the future, Fev, wherever you end up.

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

Father’s Day Beer Karma

Father’s Day can be a great day, especially if you have kids. If you have three beautiful kids who love you very much then it’s even better.

I guess all this ‘being a good Dad stuff’ is a worthwhile adventure. Every year we’ve had kids at the local Primary School I have looked forward to the Father’s Day breakfast. It’s a great chance to catch up with all the other Dads and see them in the school environment with their kids. We also have a raffle – prizes include a tool box, a tape measure and a couple of six packs of Crownies.

Beer Karma must have been smiling on me this day. I must have been an especially good Dad this year as I just happened to snag the major raffle prize. Not the Crownies, but a beautiful, brand new Sherrin signed by 23 past and present AFL champions on various guest appearances on The Footy Show. Karma even let me collect the prize in front of a hundred other envious Dads while I was wearing my Melbourne Storm Rugby League cap!

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

Goats, Mates & Beer Karma

I don’t get many Wednesday nights off work, so when I do I want to make the most of it. And ‘the most of it’ turned out to be a visit to the Mountain Goat Brewery in Richmond – on a bit of a whim and a bit of a mission.

After sharing the Ale Stars floor with Dave on the night we did Belgian Blonds (*insert boyish snigger here*) I promised the Head Goat I would pay a visit to get some more info for a post I have been preparing for a while now. It was also a good excuse to have a nice beer.

Now, apart from the ability to consistently produce some damn fine ales, the Goat Guys are also known around the traps as folk who are prepared to have a bit of fun along the way. Traditional brewing methods? Check. Best available natural ingredients? Check. Naming your bottling machine ‘Maxine’ and petting her during operations so that she doesn’t chuck a wobbly? Check.

‘Maxine’ – whose name comes from a witty extension of the brand name, Framax – does work better with a kind word and gentle pat according to Dave and who am I to argue with that? And, apart from their beloved and valued two-legged staff, other ‘members of the Goat family have names. And the one I met on Wednesday was Randy. Or Randle Handle, to his friends. Randy may appear, to the uninitiated, as little more than a large glass tube at the end of the bar but he is far more than that.



Built for them by Richard Watkins of the Wig & Pen in the image of his own creation (known as The Modus Hoperandus) it sits in the beer line between the keg and the font. The beer is drawn from the keg, through Randy, then out and into the temprites (to chill the beer) before coming out at the tap and into your glass. The big deal is this – you can fill the glass tube section of Randy with a ‘flavour component’, like fresh hop flowers, to give the beer a last second kick of fresh aroma and taste. How cool is THAT?!?

What the Goat Guys have got right now is Randy stuffed full of a Coffee blend specially selected from 5 beans sourced from around the equatorial belt. I don’t know a lot about coffee beans and I’m just guessing it’s beans from 5 different places, not just 5 beans, given that I could smell the coffee as Meg was expertly pouring a beer for me. The Mountain Goat Surefoot Stout is running through the beans and the explosion of flavour, the punch of the aroma and the inexplicable and uninterpretable sensation that it gives you is an experience that you just have to experience yourself to know what I mean. If you know what I mean?

And here’s where the Beer Karma comes in. I’m sitting at the bar with Tom who looks after the sales side of things at Mountain Goat and he introduces me to his drinking mate. “This is Ben, “ “G’Day Ben – what do you do?” “I put the coffee blend together.” “This coffee blend that I am actually enjoying right now, this very minute as we very speak?” “Yes.”

Now where else could something like that collision of coincidences occur? That is what a wanker might call ‘serendipity’ – a beer drinker would just describe it as ‘sweet’. Good, handcrafted real beer, brewed with love, handled with care and then filtered through choice coffee beans, and drunk by me while sitting between the guy who brewed it and the guy who enhanced it ... that’s Beer Karma.

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

Some good beer blokes

Every now and then you get the opportunity to make a difference to the lives of some very needy and deserving people. And then, on other special occasions, you get to enrich the lives of those less fortunate. Then here are nights like last night where you just get to talk shit and beer with some really good blokes in a restaurant.

John, Rob and Geoff had booked a table for a ‘business meeting’ at the restaurant that I manage. See Beer Dinner post. I think they may have mentioned business a couple of times which will probably justify the expense claim to the desk-jockey over in accounts but, for all intents and purposes, they were having a very good social evening.

Rob is a Queenslander who was down from Queensland, John is a Melbournian who was born in FNQ* and Geoff is a local who is originally from New Zealand. Sounds like the start of a bar joke. And on that count, these boys would have fit right in.

From the start I knew we were in for a good night when Rob asked me to suggest a beer for him. I love this one, where some fear it. I asked him what he usually drank; “Crown Lager”, he offered. “Sorry, I meant what BEER do you normally drink”, I replied. TISH!! BOOM!! He was rapped to hear that we had around 70 beers available but also a little daunted to be jumping out of his mainstream lager comfort zone and into a veritable rainforest of choice.

Geoff was on the light beers as he was driving so the responsibility of getting his mate to drink some new and interesting beers naturally fell to him. A Grand Ridge Brewers Pilsner (a local Gippsland offering from a long standing craft beer survivor) started him on his new journey. We had our first winner.

John and Geoff were throwing suggestions at Rob and he settled on a Hoegaarden wit which I think he was surprised to enjoy as much as he did. We were two from two and Rob wasn’t slowing down. In fact he enjoyed the Hoegaarden so much he had another. Matched nicely with the entree as well. The boys then talked him into a Monteith’s Radler ad they asked me for my opinion. As you know from reading this rabble, I rarely ‘bag’ a beer (Carlton Cold and Corona don’t count – only just beers) but on this occasion I explained to the boys that I couldn’t recommend this one.

I recounted how Monteith’s parent company had recently taken expensive legal action against a small brewer for using the term ‘Radler’. Like you can claim copyright over the German word for cyclist! Bastards!! Undeterred by my moral stand and my repeated warnings of Beer Karma the boys got their beer. And you know what? Beer Karma is a bitch. Each had a sip, turned up their noses, had another sniff of the beer as if to make sure it wasn’t the beer, confirmed it WAS the beer, turned up their noses again, left the beer on the table and asked me to bring them whatever beer I WANTED TO BRING THEM from then on.

A Cascade First Harvest was chased by a Belgian Strawberry beer and three very satisfied guests were the last ones out as the night drew to a close. Some new experiences were had, some lessons learned and beer-friendships made. John made a booking for Saturday night as he left and I suspect I might be seeing more of Geoff as we discovered we share the same little corner of one of Victoria’s nicest holiday regions – holiday houses on adjoining roads, no less.

Another example of the Beer Blokes making the world a better place – one beer at a time!

Cheers
Prof. Pilsner

*FNQ is Queensland shorthand for Far North Queensland. XXXX is Queensland shorthand for beer flavoured fizzy drink.

It's a bit hot

It’s been a bit hot in Melbourne this week. Which is like saying that Maria Sharapova grunts a bit, or that Oprah is a bit fat, or that gay bloke who does the Hollywood reports on that morning TV show is a bit of a tool.

Not only has the mercury been pushing over 40 degrees but it has done it for four days in a row with the forecast for one or two more days of the same to come. So that’s about 104 in the F scale, or “Shit that’s hot!” in the Bloke Scale. The temperature topped out yesterday at just on 44 (110) degrees and the overnight ‘lows’ have been a rather chilly (by comparison) 30 (86).

Now, some might be tempted to put this down to Global Warming (Wooooo-ooo WE”RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!) and some may even attribute it to lack of faith in the almighty and his wrath made manifest but personally I look at the big picture. I see news reports of snowbound roads and airports in the States and blizzards and storms in Europe and say, well, that’s the pay-off. The ‘Ying’ to our ‘Yang’. And I see reports of rain and snow and gloomy shitty weather in the UK – sorry, my mistake, that was a British Tourism advert – but you get the idea? It is a message, but not of gloom and doom.

Maybe it is just nature’s way of ensuring that the Beer World stays balanced on its axis - that ales are ales and lagers are lagers and there is plenty of appropriate weather for every style? Maybe I have just found a lost appreciation for icy cold, easy drinking, no-thinking lagers. Maybe I’m regressing into a beer yob rather than a beer snob? Maybe the heat, the lack of sleep and the fact that people still crash their cars or have trees fall on their houses which makes me go out to assist and I have to wear overalls and a helmet has made me a bit ... melty?

Whatever the reason, relax, enjoy the seasons – whatever they present to you – and have a beer.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

A nice way to watch the cricket

The first one-day international of the season. A healthy rivalry between the Australian and South African teams. A sunny day that’s not too hot. A relaxing train trip into the MCG and a pocket full of free entry to the Cricket Victoria room in the Olympic stand with seats looking over the bowler’s arm. What could spoil THAT?

Well, if you are Dr Lager and you are moving house in a week and your wife is a chronic ‘de-clutterer’ at the best of times and she is also moving house in a week then ...

Dr Lager stands puzzled in front of his open wardrobe;
“Hey, Mrs Lager (not her real name) I have to wear a suit to the cricket, where is it?”
Mrs Lager;
“In that box.”
“What box?” (He appears more puzzled.)
“THE box.”
“WHAT box?!” (More puzzled and a little annoyed.)
“The box that I put all those other clothes in for the move.”
“The box that you packed clothes in that’s here in the wardrobe?” (Less puzzled, more annoyed simmering dread.)
“No. In the box that I put all those clothes in and that I got you to take to the storage garage which is half an hours drive away from here and which I asked you to label but I don’t think you did and so it would look the same as the twenty other boxes which are also in the storage garage. Why?”

*SCENE MISSING*

So I’m sitting on the train with Dr Lager and I’m admiring the suit jacket that ALMOST matched his semi-casual pants and I casually comment on the nice suit jacket. “That looks a lot like a suit jacket from the formal hire shop that we used to work in together, Dr Lager.”

“Yes, yes it is exactly like a suit jacket from the formal hire shop that we used to work in together, only back then I didn’t have to fork out SEVENTY #%ING BUCKS to hire it!!!!”

The Cricket Victoria room is a lovely spot from which to watch the cricket and the company includes many faces familiar to sports fans and cricket tragic alike. The beer is served with a smile from friendly staff and the meals and snacks are several standards above the over-priced fare on offer to the huddled masses. You can choose to sit inside and watch through the full length windows or make your way outside to the reserved-seating-very-nice-viewing area and contemplate just how lucky you are to be there.

Two things struck me that I will share with you. It is slightly unnerving, and at he same time oddly warming, to have the ordinary cricket fan (and some are very ordinary) look at you through squinted eyes from the other side of the glass wondering what sort of ‘suits’ are in there living it up large with the rich and famous. My eyes met one bloke who turned his nose slightly as if to say; ‘Cricket snobs’ and I returned a look that said; ‘Mate, I’m normally out there with you and I feel just a little like I’m a ‘cricket class traitor’, but, hey, free beer is free beer, so, you know, one-nil, mate.’

The second thing is; it is a really funny feeling to be served a light or mid-strength beer in a plastic cup from a suited bar attendant who calls you sir because that’s the only way to get a beer into the ‘outside’. And there is more than just a little Beer Karma returning when the same ordinary cricket fan walks past again and smirks to see the ‘suits’ drinking mid-strength from a plastic cup just the same as he has to. ‘Fair enough, I think to myself. One-all. What did you pay for yours? Hmmm. Two-One.’

At exactly that time, Beer Karma showed up again as the suited bloke next to us managed to let a full plastic cup of light beer drop dead-straight to the deck at his feet eliciting a crisp ’thunk’ akin to leather on willow but with the addition of aspirated lager showering his Armani trousers and those of his assembled guests. Now I know why they don’t let glass out of the room. Two-All.

A huge thank-you to Chris and Lazz for the invite as the day will hold many fond memories for many different reasons. From laughing at ‘over-refreshed’ ex test cricketers attempting to cough up a lung and launch a ‘ground strike’ from the other end at the same time in the gents toilets, to the almost surreal sight of seeing ex English test off spinner, John Emburey, graciously holding court with a large bloke called Scotty who plays in the fourths for a Geelong based team. The wily old bowler was so generous with his time for Scotty and his well-oiled mates and the scene was almost surreal with John offering advice on team success and Scotty following up with “A bloke once asked me what me ‘wagon wheel’ looks like and I told ‘im I ate it!! HAH!!”

The company was magnificent, the view of the game spectacular and the food and lager was very much appreciated.

And, as evidenced by Dr Lager’s suit jacket, there really is no such thing as a free lunch.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

I won’t find you, but Beer Karma will

I have written recently of my experiences with the mysterious and mystical entity known as Beer Karma. I have spoken of those who have respected her and found favour with her and have been thusly rewarded. I have also spoken of those who have tempted, teased or tormented her and have been thusly punished. This morning I bring to you a tale of both.

Whilst searching the shelves of my local beer purveyor for some Oktoberfest specials to fill up the beer crisper, I spotted an elderly lady wandering the aisles with a puzzled look. I sensed that Beer Karma was testing me and so I offered her my beer knowledge based assistance. By the way, I had already moved a poorly placed stock trolley left unattended out of the aisle and so I had a small Beer Karma Credit in hand. (Yes, there IS such a thing.)

“What are you after?” I ask politely.
“Ooh, I’m looking for some stout and they told me it was over there and I couldn’t find it and then they told me it was over here and I can’t find it,” she says. (The ‘Ooh’ was like a frustrated shrug, I don’t want you all to think it was an ‘Ooh’ Big Boy if only I was seventy years younger kind of ‘Ooh’. OK?)
“A particular stout?” I says.
“Yes, that Guinness in the tin” she replies.
“Well, those are back over the other side of the shop – what do you need it for?” (As in cooking or drinking – I wasn’t testing her faculties or her sobriety)
“For cooking” she says (See, glad I asked?)
“Well, for what it’s worth there’s a Cooper’s Best Extra Stout here and I’ve used it a bit in Beef & Stout pies and the like” I offer knowlegably. But not smugly.
“Oh, that’s not the price is it?” she says looking at the large print tag.
“No, that’s the price for a dozen, the ‘each’ price is here in micro fiche size print that Atom Ant would struggle to spot”. (She didn’t laugh. I guess she was too old to remember Atom Ant) (Or TV) (Or what I’d just said)
“Well’, she says, ‘that’s cheaper than the other stuff and it’s Australian, so that’s good”. (I didn’t tell her the Guinness was probably brewed under license in Laverton)
“Thank you so much, dear” and she was on her merry way.

Feeling well pleased, I moved on. It occurred to me that I should know the price of the Guinness in case it was on special or something and so, on my way out I made a quick detour. Passing by the slabs I spotted Oetinger Pils for $30 and popped one onto the trolley. I checked the Guinness and paid for my lot.

I loaded the beer into the back of the wagon and just gave a quick look around the car park in case my newly made beer friend was still around. I was going to give her the good news on the Guinness and invite her to the next Ale Stars. (Shandy, you’d love her)

Couldn’t see her so off I hop. And then I’m two minutes away and I thinks to meeself ... “Do you remember taking the slab from the bottom of the trolley before you put the trolley back in the trolley bay?” I ask myself. “No. No you don’t remember doing that” I reply. Bugger, I says. Loudly. I hang a U-bolt and head back. (Five points and a pick of the board for anyone who sees the end of this story coming) I take no more than two minutes to get back. No slab in the trolley bay. (Worked it out yet?) I go back into the shop. “I don’t suppose some honest soul just brought my slab back in here, did they?” (Last chance to guess) “No.”

So, dear friends, somewhere out there is a Beer Bastard. And I will never find you. But you are still a bastard. You knew that beer wasn’t yours. You probably stopped, looked around, reminded yourself that it wasn’t yours and then half-inched it. Yoooooou bastard. How very, very dare you!!!

I am a dickhead. Dickhead Dickhead Dickhead Dickhead Dickhead Dickhead Dickhead Dickhead. It was my fault and my fault alone that the slab was left behind. But you could have taken it back inside and asked that it be given to you if left unclaimed. Like a twenty dollar note you find on the street. But you didn’t. You made your choice. You had the chance to do the right thing. And you didn’t. And you made me angry. But only for a minute. Because I know something that you don’t know. I know Beer Karma.

Something will happen to you. You might go home and drink one of MY beers. And if you are the VB swilling, wife beating, swearing-in-front-of-the-children, nipple-pierced bogan Neanderthal that I think you are, you might spit out the first sip of MY fine German pilsner and proclaim something like; “Vat tastes loike shit!!” and I hope you choke on it or drop the bottle on your fat uneducated big toe.

Or, you might be all of the above but drink no-name boubon-and-essence-of-cola-flavoured-chemical out of 440ml cans, in which case you will find that there are no instructions on the label of MY beer to assist you in transferring the contents of MY beer bottles to your fag choofin’ toothless lips.

Or, if Beer Karma is in a particularly playful mood, you just might find that you absolutely, positively fall in beery love with the previously untried taste of MY beer and then something funny might happen. You may never want to drink a VB or a Knob Jockey Bourbon & Cola again. You might be swayed to the ‘Dark Side’ and decide that you will drink different and flavourful and imported and hand crafted lagers and ales and wheat beers and farmhouse beers and Marzens and Vienna lagers and APAs (get someone to spell that for you) and pale ales and pilsners. And that, me old dishonest mucker, will cost you more money than you will be capable of earning in seven lifetimes. And Centrelink won’t give you more in Idiot Benefits. I asked.

So, enjoy MY beers. Tell your mates how you came upon these fine beers. Which are MINE. Tell them all how some dickhead left them on a trolley in the car park of a beer shop. Tell them that you just thought that you would help yourself to them. MY beers. But remember this.

Beer Karma is a heartless and unforgiving bitch when crossed. Beware, the bitch bites.

And to the lady with whom I shared a good Beer Karma moment, I hope the casserole you make is the best that you’ve ever made and that the find folk at Cooper’s have gained a new fan of their beers. As for me, I have my Beer Karma credits and I’m just fine, thank you for asking.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

Two More Words

A while back I retold he tale of two blokes sitting in a pub and looking up at the silent screen of an old flickering TV in the corner. A face appeared and a comment was made. The comment was understood, reciprocated and accepted. The bloke on the telly was a shit bloke and nothing more need be said. This is the story of another.

Last Saturday saw my NRL team, the all conquering Melbourne Storm claim a place in their third consecutive Grand Final. They lost the big one in 06 and then whipped the Sea Eagles last year. This comes on top of their finishing top of the ladder for the third successive year as well. It follows years of building a strong team from young but promising talent coupled with giving second chances to unwanted, discarded and ‘has-been’ players from other clubs. For those who don’t know, the National Rugby League is a primarily northern states based code born in northern England at the turn of the century as a working man’s alternative to the private school, big business sponsored Rugby Union.

In Queensland and New South Wales the game is king – although the ‘fans’ are fickle, the crowds parochial and small and the game run by old men with too much self interest and not nearly enough forethought – and they are very protective of their patch. In Victoria, South Australia, Western Australia, Northern Territory and Tasmania the AFL rules. To the point where a parade of the Grand Final teams on the Friday before the game in Melbourne attracted over 100,000 people – that’s something like 5 times the number of fans who turned up to the NRL Preliminary final in Sydney the following night.

To put it simply, the League-Heads hate us. They envy our success, they are embarrassed by the support their own game gets in the enemy territory and they can’t get over the fact that the players of their own game love living and playing down here out of the Sydney media spotlight. In the last few years, as the Storm’s success has grown, so too has the campaign by the Sydney clubs and the Rugby League media to undermine and counteract it. In short it began after we won their precious trophy in just our second year and they accused us of unfairly using the interchange system – unfair in that we kept beating them. The rule was changed and a limited interchange introduced.

Fast forward a few years and with the Storm on the verge of new era of dominance the rival coaches, through their friends in the media, launched a series of attacks on the fact that the Storm were becoming too dominant in the ruck through the use of wrestling tactics. The fact that these were within the rules and nobody else was doing it half as well had nothing to do with their angst. Not. So the ‘Grapple Tackle’ controversy was born and while the league and its judiciary did nothing to stop the trend, the attacks on the team continued.

Last week the coach of the Storms opponent in the Grand Final qualifying game came out after the Storm’s captain and last year’s world’s best player was charged with a grapple tackle and called for him to be rubbed out by the tribunal. How you can pre-empt and influence a judiciary decision before it is handed down is beyond me. How the League’s head honchos and power brokers could allow him to get away with it is beyond any thinking person. Accusing the Melbourne coaching staff and football manager and CEO of being out of touch with the games ‘culture’ was just puerile and embarrassing for him.

Anyway, cutting to the chase, Ricky Stuart got his wish; Cam Smith became the first player to be made an example of and was suspended for two games – including the Grand Final. Stuart’s Sharks were installed as favourites to defeat the battered and judiciary crippled Storm and make it through to the Grand Final. The Melbourne Storm came out and handed the Sharks – and Stuart – their own arses on a platter to the tune of a 28 to nil shellacking. Stuart came out and attacked the Storm for being ‘flips’, ‘wallys’ and other childish names after his opposite number dared to criticise the comments he had made through the week. Stuart’s team, which has waited for all of its 41 years in the comp to win a flag would have to settle for a shit sandwich yet again and the Storm got to travel to Sydney again to battle the Sea Eagles again for the 2008 title.

Beer Karma strikes again. Ricky Stuart; shit bloke, no trophy.

Go Storm. See you all in Sydney on Sunday.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

Beer Karma strikes again!

Watching my beloved Hawthorn taking on Carlton in the last of the regular season games on Saturday night and all the attention and interest in the game centred on the Hawks’
magnificent young superstar Lance ‘Buddy’ Franklin and his quest to kick the two goals needed for his hundred for the season.

The Hawks were already assured of second spot on the ladder leading into the finals series so the media focus was all about Buddy and his ton. The sub plot to this sporting drama was the fact that, at the opposite end of the ground, Carlton’s enigmatic spearhead, Brendan Fevola was aiming to kick a hefty 8 goals to get his century. I say enigmatic because ‘The Fev’ has seen more than his share of trouble over the last few years.

Seemingly hard wired towards dickheadedness, Fevola has managed to upset fans of the game and fans of normal social behaviour by getting on the drink and then choosing one or more from the following list of ‘Dickhead Things To Do When You Are Pissed’; weeing in public, headlocking barmen in Ireland, conducting an SMS affair with a vacuous model famous for being well known, speeding twenty kilometres an hour over the limit in a school zone, being a pissed idiot – you get the picture?

Anyway, Buddy dobbed the two six pointers that he needed for the ton in the first ten minutes of the game. Mrs Pilsner was commenting on the AFL tradition of fans running on to the ground as the hundredth goal went through the sticks and mobbing their hero when she mused at the prospect of Fevola kicking the eight he needed for his milestone. The commentators had made mention of the fact that, while the ton had been reached by players in the same season and even in the same round before, it had never been achieved in the same game. Could it happen tonight? How would security cope with TWO ground rushes? Would it take some of the gloss off Buddy’s feat if Fev got his as well?

“Won’t happen” I said matter of factly to Mrs Pilsner’s enquiries. “Why not”, she pondered. “Beer Karma”, I replied. “He has a poor track record when it comes to disrespecting the beer and Beer Karma will say to him – shit bloke, no ton.”

She laughed and we watched as Fevola’s Blues were pumped to the tune of 78 points and despite a goalless first half, Fevola (ably assisted by every one of his generous team mates) kicked four third quarter goals and then three in the last to finish the game stranded on 99 goals for the year. You are Beer Karma’s bitch, Brendan.

And, as if to underline the point, this morning’s paper runs the story of an AFL footballer who has again run foul of decency and standards by participating in his team’s end of season celebrations on ‘Mad Monday’ by dressing in a pink nightie, matching hat and accessorised with a sex toy to the bemusement and disgust of several city bar patrons (pun unintended). Wonder what Beer Karma has in mind for her bitch next season?

Warning; if large pink rubber dongers offend, don’t look at the front of Brendan’s pants in the picture below.

Cheers and Thanks, Beer Karma,
Prof. Pilsner

Beer Karma

In the middle of this month I detailed the anniversary celebrations I shared with Mrs Pilsner.

No, not those details. I shared the story of dinner and drinks lists and I stated my surprise at the shallowness and outdatedness of the beer offerings at the restaurant of one of this county’s most charming and elegant hotels.

Well, yesterday I discovered the ‘Yang’ to this disappointing ‘Ying’. And it was not expected and it was not planned. We had just endured a fairly hectic week which culminated in Dr Lager and I hosting a fundraising Trivia night for the pre-school and Mrs Pilsner and I decided to take the family out for Sunday brunch. We decided on a restaurant tucked into a little shopping strip in the local suburbs that we had planned to check out anyway and packed the car with excite children and headed out.

Lunch done and we are heading back to the car. Mrs Pilsner spots a little Asian Grocer on the way back and decides to pop in for a look. Two of the little Pilsners are not in the mood for chicken’s feet and noodle nosing so I took them under my wing and went window shopping further on down the street.

Which is where I found it. Or, where Beer Karma led me. A little non-descript bottle shop at the end of the shops. No big signs or marketing fanfare of any kind, just a shop. I figured I had a minute or two before my two charges went postal and started to annoy each other to the point of enforced separation so I ventured in. At the very back of the shop, past the stacks of standard lager offerings were a couple of fridges, each bearing a hand drawn label. ‘Local’, ‘Imported’ and ‘Boutique’. I passed over the local, until a couple of bottles caught my eye. Here were beers from a West Australian brewer that I had not seen before, nor hear of. Nice surprise. What else have you got for me, Beer Karma?

A nice selection of craft/standard beers, including some seasonal limited releases! Nice! On to the ‘boutique’ section and there I found Salitos – a fairly hard to find Mexican Tequila beer – and while not a beer of any great pedigree, it is one that I have been trying to cross off my list of collectable beers! A Czech pilsner in a 500ml bottle and a low carb ‘idea beer’ joined the craft wheatie and a another local and the collection was capped off by a beer from Laos! The imaginatively named ‘BeerLao’ went down a treat with dinner that night.

A couple of spare minutes had just rewarded me with a very pleasant beery discovery. My faith in Beer Karma had been restored and Mrs Pilsner got what she needed as well.

I expect that the two kids I was responsible for will find their way home in the next two or three days.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner