I Like Coffee

But I'll never say the S Word

Just because. . .

I like coffee. More to the point, I need coffee. It’s the only thing I’m aware of that’s capable of killing the zombies that own me at dawn. Coffee is Top 5 in Things I Couldn’t Live Without.

I don’t go to Starbucks.

I don’t go to Starbucks because I don’t believe a cup of coffee should cost 4 bucks. I avoid Starbuck’s because I don’t need a bartender making my Joe. I don’t like the whole chi-chi, fru-fru deal.

My wife considers Starbucks to be holy (flavored) water. She averages $4 a day on iced tea. Excuse me: Grahn-day iced black tea. She could feed a family of 4 for a year just with her Rewards card.

Kerry has been brainwashed, same as you. Johnny Thinwallet does the math on her brainwashing and he wants to start robbing banks. $4/day X 365 days = This is a Stickup.

I am wholly impressed with the marketing aspect. It’s the bottled water phenomenon. Brilliant minds have manipulated gullible ones into believing life is not worth living without overpriced coffee.

But it’s not even that. Nor is it that I find the whole Starbuck’s experience a little precious.

It’s this:

I won’t say the names.

I can type them. Somehow, that’s less a violation of my sensibilities. I got no problem typing, Iced Grande triple nonfat latte with a pump of vanilla. I would let a wolverine bite my tongue off before I’d say it.

I don’t see it as an OG thing. I see it as not wasting my syllables on frivolous things thing. You’ll never hear an -ato or an -ino or a macchi- cross my lips. I mean, I’d rather slam a tall glass of Ohio River than actually use the word venti.

You don’t go to The Precinct and order a Steak Collinsw-ato with a quadruple shot of vanilla mashed potatoes. You don’t go to Party Source, seeking bourbon wisdo and pick up a fifth of Maker’s Mark-ino. Nobody goes to the Valvoline place to request an oil change, filter replacement and lube-iatto.

What the hell?

I can hear YOU say those words. I’m not gonna tell you what to do with your mouth.

Me?

Coffee, please. Two cream. Two sugar. Thank you.

Now, then. . .

SKIP SHAMELESS. . . If you feel the need to witness the utter collapse of human integrity — and you do, right? — please view this link of Skip Bayless, balling up his Dak Prescott jersey and slamming it into a trash can.

It’s not news that Bayless is doing something to attract attention to himself. It’s just interesting watching a man so in need of attention, he’ll do about anything to get it. That would include selling his dignity to the highest bidder, day after day.

Another former colleague of mine, this one in Dallas in the mid-80s, Skip was a brilliant young writer and the lead sports columnist at my paper, the Dallas Times Herald, RIP. He was smart, funny, caustic and never less than readable. I’ve had a couple sportswriting idols over the years. I shook Jim Murray’s hand with a sweaty palm. I’d go to the library in Westminster, MD, as a newly minted reporter, and I’d ask for the Washington Post, so I could read Dave Kindred.

Leigh Montville, Curry Kirkpatrick, Rick Reilly. . . and Skip Bayless.

That was a long time ago.

Maybe 20 years ago — though it seems a lot longer, like a 2-hour dental appointment — Bayless chose to sell his soul. He went from a must-read writer to a one-man clown show.

This is sad on a few levels. Skip is wealthy, but at what cost?

Skip is watched, kinda like a carny or a car wreck.

Skip panders to the lowest common denominator of sports fan. He could have been just as entertaining as Kornheiser and Wilbon and kept his dignity. Instead, he’s the guy stomping through his kitchen and melodramatically dunking Dak.

It’s possible, even likely, that Skip has been chuckling about this since he did it, after the Cowboys took the L in SF. Look at all those outraged people! What a bunch of idiots. But really, so what? That’s how you want to get rich and famous?

By the way, the acting job wasn’t stellar.

Used to be, Skip’s column was the first thing I read. Now I wait for geeks biting the heads off chickens.

Don’t give Bayless any ideas, Doc. . .

SINCE WE’VE BLOWN OFF any effort at sports today. . .

BIG CONGRATS TO MADTREE ON its 10th anniversary. On June 29, Rhinegeist will reach the same milestone. There are bigger examples of living big and winning a dream, but I can’t think of any at the moment.

(A respectful nod here to Mt. Carmel’s Mike Dewey, the godfather of the local craft brewing community. Mike and his wife Kathleen opened their doors in 2005, way ahead of the beer-craze curve.)

I’ve predicted every year for at least a decade that the craft-beer rage would ebb. That’s why craft brewers continue to make money and I tell stories to you guys for free.

When it comes to craft beer, Cincinnati is every bit as worthy as Asheville. I’ve never been to Portland, another certified soda mecca, but it’s hard to believe it’s better than what we have here.

I hesitate to pick favorites, but I will.

I love Mt. Carmel, especially in the last few years, post-expansion. Never had a beer there I didn’t like.

I love Brink’s, anytime.

I love Rhinegeist. The best IPAs.

Milford Brewing Co., in the summertime.

The beer (and the balcony) at Taft’s.

Yours, please.

THE MEN ARE NOW GIVING 1.5, as expected. That line will flux, depending on how Vegas feels about Mahomes’ participation. It’d be easy to bet emotionally on this one, if you’re a Bengals fan. Destiny’s children will make the Bowl for the 2nd year in a row. They’ve got it all going on.

Vegas loves people who think like that.

The NFL helps them go broke.

This game won’t be Burrow-Mahomes. It’ll be Anarumo-Reid. As far as I know, both are probable.

TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . An anonymous tune from a mostly anonymous album. By then, the Rascals had yielded the pop stage to somebody else. Great group, though. This is my favorite tune they ever made.