I recently achieved Austin yuppie nirvana as I found myself at a brand new craft brewpub that features “elaborate pizzas” and a house brewery specializing in “hoppy beers.” Great spot. Above average pizza and a very solid beer selection that didn’t require me going East of Interstate 35 where my penchant for J Crew would be highly scrutinized by dudes in black beanies covering up man buns. Pretty nice little Sunday. And then they walked in.
Cyclists. Not trust fund hipsters on fixed gear bicycles, not 14-year-old dirt bags on Dynos with pegs, but real life cyclists that had all the swag of Derrick from Step Brothers minus the rad ass bluetooth. I remember thinking, “That’s interesting. I’m no cyclist, but I bet if I was, I wouldn’t cap off a Sunday morning ride with pizza and beer.” Then it hit me. Hard. I was an extra in a beer commercial.
I put down my perfectly folded slice and took a large sip of my lager. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Cyclists, at least 10 of them, male and female, all decked out in winter thermal riding gear and riding the wave of life right into a pizza and beer joint. Their confidence was palpable. It was as if they had sat in a circle mainlining serotonin before kicking down the doors and laughing in the faces of the undesirables whose metabolisms were not redlined prior to entering a beer and carb factory.
It was basically a big “fuck you.” It was a beer commercial.
They stood tall at a standup table awkwardly located next to the rows of tables that were filled with the common folks like myself, just eating and drinking with reckless abandon. Although I never heard the phrase uttered, I have to believe that a few “crushed its” were tossed around. You don’t just wake up early and ride bikes on a Sunday without being told you crushed it. It just doesn’t happen.
Back to me. I’m not a big on mixing drinking and sport. While I believe drinking is a sport, I’ve never been the type to mix the two aside from golf and the occasional softball game. And neither are my friends, which makes me wonder if I need more beer commercial friends. Friends that like to hike to remote locations and then crack open an ice cold beer, because, you know, you just hiked to a remote location. Friends that start a running club with a fun name slapped on a vintage tee shirt that pop a few tops after a nice weekend run. Friends that not only crush it, but tell you about it after doing so.
I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and the answer is no. I don’t. Because generally speaking, beer commercials are comprised of assholes and douche bags, and I’m not looking to add anymore asshole or douche bags to my team. There is no asshole or douche bag vacancy in my friend hotel. We’re completely booked. Plus, beer commercial assholes and douche bags are just a different breed of asshole and douche bag. I don’t think it’s wise to add that dynamic to the group as it could have dire consequences long term. I can’t jeopardize the group text with that. Can you imagine?
You: “What’s the deal tonight?”
Friend A: “Dinner then uptown. I’ll get a rezzy.”
Friend B: “Uptown again? That’s original, dude. Great call.”
Asshole Friend: “I’m probably out. Thinking about hitting the trail early then crushing some beers at Ice House. Who wants to join?”
That’s how it would go every weekend. And see what I mean about already having assholes and douche bags in the group? “I’ll get a rezzy?” That some classic baggery from Friend A, but it’s clearly in jest. And the response from Friend B? Vintage asshole. But that’s what you need, not the other guy.
If you’re like me, and you’ll never crack a Busch Light after hiking Everest, just remember there are others like you. .
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