Every August, my town plays host to
Canada's largest beer festival. It may not have the catchy name or sexy
lederhosen of Oktoberfest, but trust me, this is a staggeringly huge celebration
of all things cold and malty. Hundred of brewers set up shop, and thousands of
happy alcoholics-in-denial get to sample their products. It’s really quite
exhilarating.
"Anyone who comes to a beer festival to drink Bud should be
put down so his crappy taste doesn’t infiltrate the gene pool."
So, in a
departure from my usual expository style, I’m going to recount my
adventures at the Beerfest. I knew that I would be too spectacularly
fucked up to remember much, so I took copious notes throughout the
day. That was kind of a drag, but some people thought I was some
kind of actual journalist, and wanted to give me free stuff.
Accepting it may have been dishonest, but my new set of matching
Labatt coasters will both protect both my conscience and my coffee
table.
I met some friends for an early breakfast at a diner near the Beerfest site.
There, I learned that one couple joining us had their house burn down about a
week ago. This was a shocking and tragic piece of news, especially since last
month, the same guy severely injured his left testicle in an accident involving
a pressurized acetylene torch canister. And you thought you were having a bad
month?
In a moment of spectacular comedic timing, the waiter brought someone’s
gigantic poached eggs to our table just as this testicular misfortune was being
disclosed. So, one guy’s breakfast was pretty much ruined, but at least we all
had a decent visual aid. Nobody said it out loud, but we all quietly promised
ourselves to show this poor guy and his girlfriend a good time that day, even if
it meant drinking an insane amount of beer together.
We made our way to the site of the Beerfest, Toronto’s historic Fort York.
It’s a sprawling outdoor area where the British Army and Canadian militia fought
the newly independent United States. I’m half American, but I was pretty sure
that any residual hostility would be forgiven once the suds started to flow.
Here’s how the festival works: Upon entry, magical beer fairies give you a
glass and five tokens which can be exchanged for beer at any of the booths. More
tokens cost a dollar apiece. It’s kind of like a
booze-soaked Chuck E. Cheese, but without the robot musical revues or the
skee-ball.
I wanted to keep track of what time everything happened, but between the
blazing sun and... you know, the beer... it wasn’t possible. So instead of
noting the time, I made a point of noting which beer I was drinking when stuff
happened. Practically speaking, this system meant I had to space about 20 beers
over the course of an afternoon, and not have the same brand twice. But that’s
just the kind of sacrifice I’m willing to make in the name of internet comedy.
BEER #1: Robert Simpson’s Confederation Ale
I’m beginning the afternoon on a beer with an eye-catching name, and a booth
right next to the entrance. At first glance, I think it says “Confederate Ale,”
a marketing gimmick which is kind of awesome in theory, but probably wouldn’t
sell too many bottles here up north. It tastes pretty good, but I start to panic
that some black guy might misinterpret the sign the same way I did. I decide to
chug it down and move on, for my own safety.
BEER #2: Cameron’s Cream Ale
Having missed the opportunity to savor my first beer, I really want to
appreciate this one on some sort of aesthetic level. I hold the beer for a few
moments, taking in its appealing hue and nutty aroma. It’s about this time I
notice how many ridiculously hot girls are milling around.
It’s self-evident that any girl who comes to a beer festival is going to be
pretty cool anyway, but I am totally unprepared for just how attractive and
scantily-clad they are. My beer-appreciation efforts fall by the wayside. No
matter how golden a lager is, it can’t compete with the sun-drenched cleavage of
a 21-year-old.
BEER #3: KLB Raspberry Wheat Ale
Tragedy strikes as I’m enjoying this popular fruity brand. A cute little
ladybug flies onto my hand for a rest. Wanting to
showcase my sensitive side, I turn to show the nearest girl, and the ladybug
promptly takes a nosedive into my half-full glass of beer. I fall to my knees in
horror and disbelief. I wasn’t so much mourning the death of the ladybug as the
fact that I would now have to pour out half a beer. Stupid fucking ladybug.
Still, if you’re going to kill yourself, that’s a hell of a way to go.
BEER #4: Blackjack Beer
I’m not sure if this was the exact name, but this brand makes me feel like I
just got dealt a 16 with the dealer showing an ace. It tastes like rubbing
alcohol blended with imitation Vietnamese cough syrup. Fortunately, I see
something that cheers me right up: a beautiful, short, large-breasted,
red-haired girl.
I have no idea why I’m so attracted to short girls. Maybe it’s because I can
pretend they’re midgets, and throw them into bowling pins right after sex. It’s
far easier to explain my burning desire for redheads. I used to work with one
that was so gorgeous, every other redhead becomes more attractive by mere
association.
Anyway, despite being short, this girl I see has a long, elegant neck,
prompting a friend to label her “The Giraffe.” Taking the analogy just a step
too far, he suggests I tackle her like a lion on the Serengeti. I tell him
that’s no way to talk about my future wife.
BEER #5: Steamwhistle Pilsner
A month earlier, I had taken a nice tour of the Steamwhistle brewery. The
Steamwhistle booth here at the Beerfest was now raffling off a VIP tour. Hmmm… I
wonder how the VIP tour measures up with the regular tour. Possibly, the lucky
winner gets to put on a hard hat and gloves, and re-enact the opening credits to
Laverne and Shirley. I enter, knowing I can’t afford to miss an opportunity
like that.
BEERS #6 and 7: Magnotta Lager
In what would become a recurring theme, my friend Matt crashes into me,
causing me to spill half my beer. Enraged, I quietly begin plotting my revenge.
While getting another one, I notice that a lot of groups came to the festival in
matching headgear. I see plenty of pirate hats, Viking helmets, and Mexican
sombreros. Cursing myself for not thinking of such a kickass idea, I throw out a
suggestion for next year: we come dressed as beer ninjas. That way, we’ll be
able to bypass lines, and possibly assassinate our rivals with poisonous
blowdarts.
BEER #8: Harp’s Lager
We’re joined by my friend Adam. He starts chatting with the guy whose house
burned down. Not knowing about
the testicular injury, Adam asks, “So your whole unit was destroyed?” I
pound back my Harp’s in order to stifle the chuckle which will surely send me
straight to hell.
BEER #9: Brickman Pilsner
I have another Giraffe sighting. Redheads can’t handle too much sun, but my
sweet ungulate quadraped is looking as radiant as ever. I stare at her for a
while, but since I’m on my ninth beer, I figure it’s time to break the seal and
head for the bathroom. Any toilet set up at a beer festival is more than likely
a horror show, but the organizers really outdid themselves.
Instead of separate Porta-Potties, there’s a trailer with two long troughs
installed on either side. Not being a horse or a convict, I’ve never urinated in
a trough with 15 other guys before, but the atmosphere inside is surprisingly
convivial. Nothing brings guys together like a good communal pee. Seeing the
huge line for the troughless women’s bathroom, I thank god I was born a man.
BEER #10: President’s Choice Honey Red
This is a pretty generic beer from a pretty generic company known more for
food products. However, since they’re giving away free cookies and potato chips,
the booth is positively swamped. Meanwhile, I look over and see that the
Budweiser tent is as deserted as a Scooby-Doo haunted amusement park. Dumb
fucks. Anyone who comes to a beer festival to drink Bud should be put down so
his crappy taste doesn’t infiltrate the gene pool.
BEER #11: Lakeport Pilsner
The good people at Lakeport are giving away CDs with such current megastars
as Helix, Colin James, and Loverboy. I open mine and fling it at Matt as hard as
I can. Part revenge, part ninja practice for next year. By the way, the
sombreros are now outnumbering the Viking and pirate hats at least 5 to 1. I
know that the Mexicans are a fertile bunch, but I never knew how fast they could
reproduce.
BEER #12: Mill Street Coffee Porter
I normally don’t go for novelty beers, but this is tasty, and I think the
caffeine is helping to stave off drunkenness. Of course, that’s asking a lot,
since it is my twelfth beer. My group scores a table and some chairs, and
we set up a rotation whereby some of us get more beer while the rest stay and
guard the premium seating. I take my guard duty very seriously. When a group of
drunken Viking-hats tries to steal our chairs, I stare them down. No plundering
when I’m on duty.
BEER #13: Walkerville Premium Blonde
My notes are getting progressively harder to read. I’m sure by this point, I
could not have given a fuck about penmanship. By now, the group I’m with has
absorbed many friends-of-friends, and we’re all getting spectacularly hammered.
Most of our new additions are couples, and very attractive ones at that. I can’t
figure out who’s with who, or if anybody is single.
In fact, most of my conversations go about two minutes before the words “my
husband” or “my boyfriend” find their way in. I guess I should be grateful that
these beautiful women don’t want me to waste my time, but as a guy, I naturally
feel that pretty much all women on planet Earth belong with me. It’s written
into our DNA or something. Even so, it’s always good to make new friends over
some beers.
BEER #14: Korruptor Strong Beer
At 15% alcohol by volume, this brand purports to be Canada’s strongest beer.
It’s being served by guys in biohazard suits and masks. I’ve never studied
marketing, but I stop to wonder if this is really the image they want to
project. The beer doesn’t taste half bad, but by the time I get through it, I’ve
moved from “strongly buzzed” to “seeing double; in very real danger of pissing
self.”
BEER #15: Robert Simpson’s Confederation Ale
Despite my earlier vow to not repeat beers, I’m now motivated to drink
whichever product has the shortest line. Remarkably, I’m still lucid enough to
stay the hell away from the Budweiser tent. I enjoy my Confederation Ale with a
feeling that I’ve come full circle, and I don’t care if any anti-slavery
Unionists see me.
BEERS #16 and 17: Trailhead Red Amber Ale
I get more tokens, which I promptly exchange for more beer. I barely get to
taste this one before Matt crashes into me again, causing me to spill the
entire beer. A passer-by remarks that I can have him brought up on charges of
committing beer crimes. I briefly consider it, then I remind myself that I might
very well need his help to find my apartment tonight.
BEER #18: Red Stripe Beer
I’m drinking a Jamaican beer, which is appropriate, because the Beerfest has
basically become
an embodiment of pure hedonism. You can smell pot everywhere. Couples are
humping away on the ground. Girls in the audience are going topless in order to
win t-shirts, and I doubt they see the irony. Another redhead (not The Giraffe)
approaches me and tells me she likes the bandana I’m now wearing for some
reason. By the time I figure out a way to segue that into a request for oral
sex, she’s long gone.
It’s total chaos. Thousands of people have been drinking and partying in the
sun for five hours straight. I lose my writing pad, and for a while, I’m
resigned to phoning in a crappy top ten list or something for this week’s
article. Thankfully, my friend’s girlfriend finds it for me. I give her a hug in
appreciation; some lady sees this and offers to help me hook up with her. The
guy who lost his house is propositioned for a threesome. In terms of karma, I
think he’s probably earned it, but he wisely takes the higher moral ground.
BEER #19: Sleeman Red
Someone is attacking The Giraffe! She’s being carried away on the shoulders
of a guy wearing a pirate hat. Normally, I wouldn’t get involved... and this
occasion is no different. For one thing, she appears to be a willing
participant. For another, I’m in no condition to fight a pirate. Also, some
stupid company was giving out whistles, and the air is now filled with their
shrill cries. Any rape prevention whistles would surely be lost in the crowd. I
bid farewell to my sweet Giraffe in the hope that I might someday stroke her
soft underbelly and experience her prehensile tongue.
BEER #20: Corona
The beer festival ends, and we sloppily make our way to a bar where my friend
Liam works. It’s blatantly obvious that we should not be served any more booze,
but dropping Liam’s name gets us in the door. There are about ten of us, and the
girls are starting to get real friendly. I’ve deduced that none of them are
single, but it really doesn’t matter; everyone is showing a lot of love and
having a good time.
I finish the night with a bottle of Corona, one of my summer favorites. I
realize that I’ve made it to number 20 and decide to cut myself off before
alcohol poisoning sets in. What an afternoon it’s been. There are about three
dozen photos of me from that day, all showcasing
my various stages of inebriation. Most of them feature me licking the girl
I’m posing with, or else demonstrating proper kung fu technique.
Looking back, I can honestly say that the Beer Festival is hands-down the
highlight of my summer. I have large gaps in my memory from that day, but my
notes and photos taken by friends verify that it wasn’t all some awesome dream.
If you live around Toronto, I highly recommend you attend the Beerfest next
year. But don’t expect to see me. Beer ninjas are invisible.
