Friday, May 19, 2006

The juggernaut rolls on, absorbing everything in its path

What was it? The green bottle? The way “Latrobe, Pennsylvania” would trip off our Wisconsin tongues? The goofy little pony on the label, an equine David against the huge, clomping team of Clydesdales that pulled Goliath’s monsterwagon? Was it the mysterious 33 on the label? (Careful readers of the link to Cecil’s Straight Dope will note the remarkable coincidence of this blog’s second printer’s error anecdote in one day -- how weird is that?)

Or maybe it’s just the memory of an unforgettable anniversary trip to Big Sur, the eponymous river rippling past our cabin as night fell under the redwoods, when Rolling Rock assuaged our thirst and also provided the bedside vase. Never again. Nobody’s going to put wildflowers in a bottle of Budweiser.

Vikkitikkitavi, another heartbroken RR drinker, reminisces about her relationship with the brand.
I stuck with you, Rolling Rock, even after the Latrobe Brewing Company sold you in '87 to InBev. Because you were still brewed in the Latrobe Brewery. But now...
She also names her favorite song reference to her favorite beer.

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