So there I was racing down the tarmac pointing the monster onward toward the next microbrewery. “Hurry, dammit,” I yelled to no one sitting next to me. “This IPA is wearing off fast and I gotta pull into Dodge and find my place at the bar. Time for a hazy sour ale.”

It seemed a lifetime between micropubs. Every damn town now has one. Or ten. Jesum, what the hell happened? Even Heather, the pet shop owner, now brews her own beers and is adding vats, tanks and filters to her garage – and she has transformed her house into an entire micropub. Except, it’s bigger than that – it’s an enterprise! Gonna be on the National Registry by next month! How the hell did this happen?

O my Lord, Jim. Let me tell you, it’s gonna get ugly soon. When the country gets sick of all these IPAs – hazy vs. sour, west coast vs. east coast, unfiltered summer vs. Christmas IPAs – and then there’s all the other beers – pale ales, lagers, stouts, porters, bocks… The market’s gonna crash, Man! And it won’t be pretty. Everyone’s focused on the stock market crashing any day now. Everything’s over-valued. Are you kidding? The beer market is over-valued more than the S&P 500! It’s one crazy fad away from disaster. Like in, “Hey have you tried that new cocktail made with gin, swampberry liqueur and purple schnapps? It’s really dope!”

And when that trend takes hold, then the whole beer thing topples and each neighborhood will have to deal with bailing out all their local beer joints going down overnight. Oh Jim, it’s not gonna be pretty.

But the Johnnies, they’re gonna be in on it too. They can’t allow the whole house of cards to just take a dive. We’re propping up economies here, Jim. This isn’t gonna pass muster with the authorities. Too many tax revenues at stake. Gotta figure something out and presto! Stat. ASAP! Figure. It. Out!

After all, with the Great Resignation, what did we expect? Everyone quit their job, looked around, said what should I do and they all started brewing in their back yards and the next thing we know, there soon will more brewpubs than convenience stores.

Oh Hell, look, isn’t that old John Misty over there unloading a bunch of new ale taps and carloads of hops, malt and yeast? Geez, Johnny Boy’s starting up a microbrewery too! Look, an Amazon van just pulled in and is backing up to his garage! Oh no, it looks like enough glassware to furnish a rather large wedding! I wonder what his logo will look like hanging next to his mailbox! Will he match the typeface and fonts of his logo with the numbers on his mailbox?

I’ve got to figure something out before we all start going down the rabbit hole. Does anyone drink wine anymore? Bourbon? Hell, vodka’s pretty neutral until you pair it up with some killer juices. Rum, I can do something with that. Good old Demon Rum. Yep, I like that, Demon Rum. Now we’ve got a theme, maybe a plan of attack.

I don’t want to knock out the microbrew market, just stop them from opening one more micropub. We’ve got enough supply, but not enough demand anymore if the population is peaking. By my back of the envelope, we now have micropubs on pace to outgrow the U.S. population and my break-even analysis shows we jumped the shark a year ago. We’re doomed!

Take cover. When all these pub owners realize their mistake, it’s gonna get ugly, Jim. Get outta town, not to another town because they’re all flooded with beer joints. No, get to a campground, bring your cooler and pack it with a bunch of ales. If you time it right, pretty soon, with this huge glut of beer on the market, you’ll be able to fill your coolers with tons of cheap beer as the Price Wars begin. Yeah, I’ve heard all about the inflation mess, but this is a whole new ball game.

It’s gonna be the opposite. With this much excess beer on the market, you’ll be able to negotiate with all those Karens, Johnnie Boys and other Micropub owners everywhere. They’ll be waving you down as soon as they see your cooler and you’ll be able to get your brews for 10 cents on the dollar. Now that’s a market crash that might be fun for a while…

Chris Ebel
11/16/21

[A tip of the hat to Hunter S. Thompson, whose gonzo spirit allowed me to ride along in his shoes for this journey.]

Photo credit: @wfwatt