I arrived late to the Battlestar Classic, the annual beer festival and cornhole tournament hosted on the USS Hornet in Alameda, California. Although I’d like to chalk my tardiness up to sleeping in, it was more like trepidation. I fully remembered how treacherous it was loading in last year: kegs, pop-up tents, and jockey boxes balanced precariously in the open-sided, rusted frame of a shipping container, lifted into the air by a World War II-era crane. I was surprised when those high-school- and college-aged employees managed to responsibly and delicately place each load onto the ship without incident.
However, despite the wind and cold, events ran even more smoothly this year. The only rough edges—quite literally—were on the narrow steps of the ladder up to the flight deck. I cut the hell out of the back of my ankles trying to haul up my ice chest. Deservedly so, perhaps, for not wanting to arrive an hour earlier.
Not long after, my ringers showed up. My high school buddies arrived to represent my employer (South City Ciderworks) in the cornhole tournament, and they firmly dominated the other 35 teams. In thanks, I gave them plenty of merchandise, plus a few pitchers at a nearby pub.
Despite my scarred ankles, I’m already looking forward to next year’s event. I might even show up on time.
