An Afternoon With Pliny The Younger

Sunday was a rather dry sporting day, even if you include the "discovery" of Kevin Durant's supposed burner account. The combination of the NBA’s All-Star break and the Milan Cortina Olympics delivered a great deal of incident, but very little of consequence. There were no fresh allegations of cheating curlers or references to serially violated hog lines; that mad Norwegian bastard who has mastered running uphill while wearing skis presumably picked up five or six more gold medals. The highlight of the FA Cup matches was remembering that the Wigan Athletic mascot is called Crusty The Pie, for the only valid reason.

This left a window in the schedule for a little author time, and fortunately this was the day the local tavern was tapping its annual keg of Pliny The Younger, a supremely rare and extremely good locally made and nationally renowned craft beer. All it required from your correspondent was standing in the rain for half an hour, waiting for the doors of the bar to open, and finding a seat in the corner where nobody would ruin the vibe by sitting down nearby in an ill-considered attempt at strained conviviality. Beer is usually a communal activity, but for the Younger, even pathological loners get a day off from judgment.

That last part of the plan sadly failed; the person in question here was actually quite tolerable and even borderline delightful, defying the well-worn stereotype that people are at their best when avoided. (If it helps, we never asked for a name and they never offered one, and good on them for that.) But the rest went to plan: the U.S.-Germany hockey game was on, the NBA All-Star Games were not, and the bar was filled with devoted day drinkers who finally had proper cover for their daily nooner.