The beer: Tetley’s English Ale
The commentary: A relaxing, stress-free Sunday is nice for a change. I’m thankful the loudmouth Jets won last night because I’m watching the Ravens push the Chiefs around and I really want no part of them next week. (The week after that, assuming the Pats whoop the Jets, I wouldn’t mind a piece of them if they take care of business in Pittsburgh.) Funny story about last night’s game, we have a pleasant “sun room” space right off the living room that’s large enough for a desk and a recliner. It’s got windows on three sides and faces the street and, yes, welcomes the sun every morning. Along the front window we’ve strung up these blue icicle Christmas lights that turn on and off every evening via a timer. (Never mind that we put them up last Christmas and they’ve been there ever since. Hey, we like blue things.)

Last night the lights switched off literally two seconds before Folk hit the field goal to end the blue Colts’ season. I thought that was pretty cool. If I were a superstitious man I’d hang up some green lights and set the timer to turn them off around 7:30 next Sunday. But I’m not and, besides, I don’t fear these Jersey frauds. I don’t know if Green-Ellis will get more than sixty yards on the ground (unless it’s a blowout and the Pats are trying to kill the clock, though I see them running it up instead) but he and especially Woodhead will do damage through the air, along with just about every other wide receiver and tight end on the team as Brady chucks it around for three hundred or so yards. I’m not expecting a laugher like last time but the Jets will probably be playing catch-up all afternoon, and therefore won’t but able to run the ball as much as they’d like. That punk Tomlinson will be pouting by the middle of the third quarter.

Enough football. The Ravens just won anyway. I’ve got a sip or two of Tetley’s remaining (I turn into a child every time I pour a pub can, oohing and aahing as the foam cascades). I included it as part of a make-your-own six-pack yesterday after indulging in a wonderful stout- and porter-tasting event at that new market up the street. The beer distributor hosting it was really nice and enthusiastically allowed me as many half-Dixie cups as I wanted. She was serving Ipswich Oatmeal Stout (which I pick up in Vinnin Square from time to time), Mad River Steelhead Extra Stout (very smooth) and Scotch Porter (so wonderful I walked out with a six-pack and will open one in a minute), Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter (another local winner that supposedly was the most popular) and Southern Tier Choklat Stout (very good but a little too chocolaty to have much in one sitting). Alongside the porter (this is delicious!), I filled out the make-your-own with a can of Dale’s Pale Ale and twelve-ounce bottles of Troëgs Java Head Stout (featured earlier this season), Left Hand Milk Stout, a somewhat risky Ithaca “Flower Power” IPA and an exceptionally risky Wells Banana Bread Beer. Feel the apprehension!

I also picked up a couple of bombers for the next two weeks. One of them I know and love and the other is an Amesbury brewer I’m unfamiliar with. I realize I’m taking next week’s game for granted in assuming a victory but what are you going to do. (I haven’t decided if I’ll keep this going if the Pats should lose before reaching the Super Bowl.) Anyway, the new shop apparently did a nice job marketing the event on Facebook because there was a great turnout, even with the snow. (I’m not on Facebook but I was speaking with a guy there and he said that’s how he’d heard. I learned of it on my way to the train last week, reading the chalkboard they have hanging outside—no need to worry about security settings with that.) The owner even had some cheese and chocolate available, which was a nice touch. Still, she wasn’t particularly friendly even after I spent more than $50 on beer and other treats. It’s a neat little place in spite of this, especially to have close by (to have in our town, honestly; there aren’t many places here for a middle-class, thirty-something couple to feel welcome) and the number of patrons leaves me encouraged that it might stick around awhile. They’re closed on Sundays, but so long as I avoid any blue-law flashbacks I’ll have a number of great craft-beer options during my team’s potential march to Dallas. Please wish me and my convenience the best of luck.

Up next: It’s Jets week. Patriots home crowds tend to suck because real fans (like this guy) are priced out of attending. Still, I have confidence that my sardonic New England brothers and sisters at the Big Razor won’t let me down: anyone who can turn foot fetishism, sexual harassment and driving under the influence into an NFL ON CBS sign gets a Scotch Porter on me. Cheers!