Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.

by Ryan

When you watch as much TV as I do, you eventually recognize a few trends within the advertising shoved down our throats as sports fans. This is a terrifying thing to realize, that you actually watch enough games to know what is coming. Then again, it only means those thirty second flashes of terror are actually working.

So while you watch the actual football that comes with the preseason, I’m watching the commercials and preparing for the worst. Here’s what we’ve got on our hands so far this year.

Alcohol with a side of guilt trip.

For some reason, beer companies have gone from demanding you buy a six pack to ensuring you know just how hard they are trying to make you happy. Apparently showing scantily clad women holding a case of beer isn’t what men want anymore; we’d rather be explained the finer details of beer making.

Our friends at Budweiser go to the “expense” of Beechwood aging for their beer. Their latest commercials say so, at least. Oh, my bad guys, I’m sorry I insisted you go the extra mile for my sake. You know what, next batch, just do whatever you want. I don’t want to be a burdon.

Budweiser isn’t the only one, though. Sam Adams went to the trouble of making sure all their beer is bottled in brown bottles. Every. Single. Bottle. They even made sure to explain to us via motion arrows just how that light moves in and destroys beer. Wow, I’m speechless. Clearly everything that is holy is at risk here. I’m getting amber tint on my windows tomorrow, just to be safe.

But don’t forget Coors Light, for God’s sake. They brew in the mountains. No, really, and it’s freaking cold up there. Like, cold as balls. It’s so cold, freaking bullet trains turn beaches into glaciers. And they do it all for us.

I’m not sure when the exact moment beer companies went all Sally Struthers on us, but it’s a bit unnerving to see it. I’m not one to get all weepy when a company says they care about me, let alone when a hops pusher claims to care what I personally feel.

I’m not very experienced in these fields, but from what I gather taligate parties are nothing like a wine tasting event. In fact, I’m almost positive that taste is the last thing dwelled upon when football and alcohol are mixed.

Then again, what do I know? I’m just a guy watching commercials. I’m sure those horses were firmly against their beer smelling of rich mahogany.

Yeah, let’s manlaw that.

(Kill me)