Dear Allen Lawrence [Interim General Manager; Salem Red Sox]:
That you for your rapid and thorough response to my inquiries. You don’t know how happy I am that Thirsty Thursday is still a thing at Haley Toyota Field – well, you might if you ever received a pony for Christmas as a small child. Thirsty Thursday is the fabric of the modern minor leagues, begat in Asheville, North Carolina around the time that Billy Idol was imploring us to cry, “More! More! More!” I do not mean to be bold, but you might want to advertise that Thirsty Thursday is still ALIVE before angry mobs march up US 220 from Greensboro. Those folk treat Thirsty Thursday as a religion down there.
I might also suggest the craft beer party be separated from the Thirsty Thursdays throngs to keep the peace. Those craft beer people often take umbrage to hard working Americans drinking inexpensive domestic beer with two fists, and we are reaching a critical mass in America where the Thirsty Thursdays are not going to put up with their lip for too much longer. Maybe you could have the craft beer people on one side of the stadium, and the macro beer people on the other side, and the Crafties can chant “Taste Great!” while the Macros respond, “Less Filling!” Or maybe you could just hire extra armed security for those nights.
The Beer Monger Dude needs a backstory like all great heroes do — and make no mistake, Beer Monger Dude is a hero Perhaps he is a loner who drifted in from the high plains. Maybe he walked over the mountains, home from the war. Maybe he ate fifty eggs in prison, then broke free. Perhaps he lived behind closed doors with a bunch of midgets, making delightfully exotic candy, then the midgets died. Why has our hero come to Salem? Maybe he was falsely accused by an insane king of using corn starch in his beer. Is he on the path of exile, or the road to redemption? Maybe he is like Jeremiah Johnson, except with a land speeder. Or the Batmobile.
We do not have to fill in all the details right away – it is imperative that we get the story correct rather than rush. Had the Inland Empire 66ers done that with their alternative ego, they would have something better than a mute dipstick – their alter ego is a wrench jockey named slick because the 66ers are all about hot rods. Because they sold his narrative to a local auto dealer, well, he is lame, lame, lame. We do not want that to happened Beer Monger Dude.
I bet by now you are wondering just who the hell I am (unless you have googled Bads85 to see if he is dangerous). Technically, I am the unofficial assistant of Joe Hudson [General Manager; Inland Empire 66ers], but contract negotiations have spilled over into the season, so now I answer my own calling. I am a minor league road warrior who chose this lifestyle because no one ever lights themselves on fire on more on the high wire in the circus act called my life. We take to the road these days, armed with oral tradition, looking to meet good companions for our journey. And beer. We are always looking for that. Whiskey too.
It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.
Your friend in baseball,
PS: Suppose Martin Luther had been borne in the time of rock ‘n roll. He could have had three chords to go with the truth!