You know you have the right sorts of friends when…

Beer consumption:

Negra Modelo: 38
Fat Tire: 33
Red Stripe: 31
Bud Lite: 0

Not one Bud Lite for the entire three hours of the ho-down. Sweet.

12 thoughts on “You know you have the right sorts of friends when…

  1. For what it’s worth, I noticed that pL and MaK were drinking Red Stripe, Jer was drinking Fat Tire, and Pat and I had Negra Modelos.

  2. I must say that I am really enjoying Miller Lite’s latest ad campaign around the beer run. The TV ad is fine, but I heard a radio ad this weekend (“I am a beer runner!”) that had me laughing so hard I nearly had to put down my beer and pull the car over to the shoulder. The advert itself was fair to middling funny, but the part that got me was that I was picturing Jerry, John and Bob mouthing the lines in 1988 in Cardiff. Sure, the TV commercial speaks to the universally experience of dashing to the convenience store for more beer during the commercial break, but the radio commercial perfectly captured all the pomp and circumstance around beer runs at the Emma bachelor dome.

  3. And every place I have lived since, I have checked for beer run potential. The place I’m in now is pretty good, but the closest place lacks the killer hill. Fortunately, there is a večerka at the bottom of a hill, and they even keep the beers cold.

    And big czech bottles of beer get heavy.

  4. yo I got a ride, I can vouch for like 8 of those modelos. Don’t remember eating anything but there’s like 48 pounds of enchilladas in my frigador.
    Seriously. There’s 48 pounds of enchilladas in my refrigerator.

  5. We need stats. Hey, it’s a sport, and all sports have stats. What were some great ABC Sports moments in the EmmaDome beer run?

  6. At the time we had a piece of paper with all the beer run times written down, but I suspect that’s a bit of history lost forever. Much of the competetive nature of beer runs was lost after Rob Nollan shattered the standing record by 20 or 30 seconds. As a result, instead of statistics I offer anecdotes:

    There was Jer’s “Gladiator Run,” in which the beer run became a blood sport. I’ll leave the juicy details to him.

    There was my near collapse at the finish line. I was staggering on legs numb from fatigue and would have keeled over on the driveway, except some thoughtful party-goer parked their car where I could carom off and regain a bit of balance. The rule was the clock started and stopped when the runner rang the party bell. Not wanting to move the additional five feet to the bell, I threw two 12-packs of Schaffer on top of it. I spent the rest of the evening collapsed on the couch, ill from over-exertion.

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