Roger Pretzel’s Review ‘N Brew: Week 10

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Published on : November 20, 2015



In this little corner Roger Pretzel will review his favorite play of the week along with a thoughtful review of what beverage he was imbibing at the time.



Week 10: Crezdon Butler Breaks-up Crucial Packers Two Point Conversion

A once in a quarter century game saving play.




Amidst the ruins of the smoldering slagheap that is the Lions wasted 2015 season, I am pleased to come up with at least one Detroit play worthy of the Review ‘N Brew. Sure, it was nice to have our first win at Lambeau since 1991, and I good-naturedly ate up all the horseshit little news pieces about what was going on in ’91 to show just how long it’s been. That was a cakewalk however, compared to the obvious truth that it wasn’t exactly a resoundingly successful win for the Lions. They gave an imploding Green Bay squad every chance to steal the game away, until Mason Crosby said “enough is enough” and squibbed the ball when he should have been trying for a field goal.


Teryl Austin’s defense finally made an appearance this season, showing up in a big way against a division rival. They were the most successful force on the field all day, and new kid on the block Crezdon Butler made the big play after just being signed; a week ago he was washed-up and watching the NFL from his couch.


Much credit belongs to linebacker Josh Bynes who rushes straight through both lines, making Aaron Rodgers throw early. Still, Davaonte Adams has space on the quasi-fade pass and jumps for it… until Butler gets a solid hand on the ball’s nose sending it scoreless to the oft-commented on lush grass of Lambeau Field. It should have been a game clincher but in true Lions heart-attack style the next 30 or so seconds would be nail-biting misery until the fat lady finally sang.




Week 10: Really, Really Expensive Scotch


It’s no secret that I am a man who enjoys the finer things in life, and when I drink scotch I want my wee dram to be from a bottle that costs roughly as much as the down-payment on a house. To celebrate the Lions unlikely win, I lit the lamp and headed down into the depths of my private cellar, returning with three very august bottles.


Glengoyne 35 Year-Old Single Malt

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As the aroma wafted up into my schnozz from the opened bottle, I knew I was in for a treat. The elixir in my palm-warmed snifter gave up scents of vanilla, almond, honey, and old-man balls. Whetting my tongue ever so slightly, I was impressed that the flavor of elderly gentleman scrotum was both subtle, yet undeniable along with hits of cooked fruit, and dried peat. A lingering note of geriatric testicles made for a sublime tasting experience.


Pro tip: This Glengoyne pairs particularly well with a milder cigar, particularly one that tastes like the taint of a middle-aged construction worker.



Port Ellen 14th Release 35 Year-Old Single Malt

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The Port Ellen was next up. As I uncork the bottle I feel joyous and warm, both from the Lions’ victory and from my previous snoot. Perhaps a little hastily, I dove into this one without lingering too long on the bouquet. This little gem proved smooth and honeyed, with loads of soft smokiness to spare and a heady dose of geezer nutsack. I regained control of myself and slowed down, noting the bourbon, grandpa gland, and maple elements. I cleansed my palate with some table water crackers and took another sip. “This is some expensive shit,” I thought pleasurably to myself as the bold flavors of the balls of old gray kings danced across my tongue. Let’s try one more before bed I thought…



Lagavulin 37 Year Old Single Malt

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Ah Lagavulin, what a trusty friend you are! I keep a bottle of the 16-year regularly stocked in my personal bar, but today is a special day, for the Lions have defeated the Green Bay Packers for the first time in 24 years at Lambeau Field. While I certainly appreciate the 16-year, it cannot compare to the 37 in the complexity in which the flavors of old duffer gonads mix with the rich malt and sherry. I’m getting sleepy and curl up with an old volume of Byron as I take tiny sips. The poetry on the page is worthy of the poetry in my glass as I savor the essence of ancient dude-berries in a hairy and weathered sack attached to some venerable old general.


My glass is now empty and I fall asleep in my easy chair with the fire raging. What a wonderful day it’s been.



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