(I’m delaying Part Two of “Indiana Statecraft” until June 1; thanks for waiting — RAB)
As the venerated journalist David Brinkley once put it, “Everyone is entitled to my opinion.”
Well, that suits me.
I’m highly opinionated, and much of the verbiage comes barreling out of my subconscious via the written word. For me, writing is a compulsion of sorts, and it comes with a sincere hope that my words will be read.
What I write, I always sign. Anonymity is tantamount to cowardice. I win some and I lose some, and there also is an inescapable element of living and dying by the rhetorical sword, but at least it’s always me.
Give and take in the debate is common, but every now and then, there’ll be a complaint to the effect that someone, somewhere, has taken offense at my words.
I’m delighted with feedback, since it means someone actually was reading, and so I’m quite willing to discuss particulars, as long as we’re reasonably clear about parameters: All I ask is that the wrong words not be placed in my mouth, because I’m wholly capable of uttering foolishness without anyone else’s help.
I never erase or alter what’s been written, so the offending passage surely remains out there somewhere, although at times, it isn’t easy to remember the content of several hundred thousand words written, or Facebook status updates posted, or 18,000 tweets tweeted – especially when one drinks beer for a living over a period of 30 or more years. You may need to remind me.
Know that I will consider and review anything I’ve written. If it is true, then I’ll stand by it, come what may. If it is false, I’ll also stand by it. They’re my words, after all. If I’m wrong, I’ll admit my error, make my corrections, and take my lumps.
Fair enough?
Good, because it’s time for some lumps to be self-administered.
—
At the Houndmouth (band) concert at Iroquois Amphitheater a few weeks back, NABC’s Houndmouth (ale) was inserted into the beer lineup by River City Distributing (RCD), our Louisville wholesaler.
As expected, the crowd was large and enthusiastic, and even at six bucks for a 14-ounce cup, the Houndmouth beer was completely depleted before the second warm-up act finished playing, a full 45 minutes before the 10:30 p.m. sales cutoff.
When I learned how many kegs were on site at Iroquois versus the number we’d shipped to RCD, I went ballistic and ranted to the entire planet (ah, the sheer ease of Twitter) to the effect that the wholesaler had failed, when in fact it was the venue that hadn’t bought enough beer.
Moreover, as it turned out, RCD actually had convinced the people at Iroquois to buy a keg more of Houndmouth than they intended.
Obviously, in my zeal to vent, I threw the wrong entity under the bus. I was wrong, and I hereby admit it.
Furthermore, I humbly apologize to RCD employees who were offended by my aggrieved patter in this instance.
In fact, RCD has tried mightily to be pro-active with Iroquois by inserting local craft beers into the “mass market business as usual” lineup preferred by the venue’s buyers, and for that – for four kegs of Houndmouth sold rather than zero – I might be more properly complimentary rather than disparaging and confrontational, as though by rote.
Was I disappointed?
Yes, but there are other ways to work through disappointment so that next time, the opportunity will work better.
Should I keep my big mouth (and iPhone, and word processor) shut every now and then?
Of course … even if it isn’t so easy to do.
Living and breathing one’s job doesn’t necessarily require being an ass, or walking up each morning determined to throw metaphorical punches, and while it’s hard to see me entirely changing these long-established personality traits, every second morning might work just as well, too.
In the Houndmouth case, I was wrong, and I feel bad about it.
—
Another way to look at all this just might involve some measure of self-analysis: Why is it that the (mostly) obligatory three-tier distribution system in American beer terms vexes me so terribly?
Inescapably, part of the answer in RCD’s case is its major revenue stream: Products I’ve crusaded against for three decades. To me, it’s a black and white proposition to abhor Coors Light.
And yet, being of borderline intelligence apart from polemics, I can see that life seldom can be taken as anything except gray. Among the gray areas is the clear fact that RCD’s management understands the importance of craft beer in today’s marketplace, as well as its escalating importance to the company’s bottom line in the future.
In my position, it’s important to keep one’s eyes fixed on the prize, and not be distracted by ancestral grudges.
It’s also true that much of my knee-jerking with regard to wholesalers derives from now-distant memories of an annoying past, long before NABC was a brewery or had a business relationship with RCD.
You probably had to be here in New Albany during the 1990s to understand how maddening it was to try to connect the dots and convince reluctant wholesalers to acquire the beers I wanted to sell, and then having to do most of the legwork myself so they could take their middleman’s cut. This type of experience has been known to induce a world-weary form of jaundice, and perhaps I’ve never recovered from it.
But maybe I should. None of it has very much to do with NABC and RCD in the here and now. I’ll endeavor to be better, and naturally there’s no animosity toward anyone who works for the wholesaler. We’re in it together.
And the beer buyers at those music venues?
(GGGgggrrrrrr … muffled roar … pops cap on imperial-something)
I’ll get back to you on that.
