Chang, Oliver and the inevitability of folding metal chairs in the ring.

Earlier this year, it finally started making sense to me.

At this point, as it pertains to my chosen hobby and profession of all things beer, I've come to an outsider’s position analogous with Willie and Waylon, circa 1973. I'm a congenital malcontent, completely out of synch with the prevailing narcissistic selfie-impelled beer culture, unwilling to accept the New Orthodoxy of better beer as equal parts Viagra and contrived WWE bout, and as good as rendered outright outlaw -- if not the resident argumentative crank.

In WWE bouts, there is theatricality. Posturing, grimaces and noise are choreographed. One is advised to take it exactly for what it is. Even Waylon Jennings himself commented that his identity as outlaw was a manifestation of marketing. He merely continued playing music as he always had, and ignored the tag.

So, there's this NYC chef guy named Chang.

My Name Is David Chang, and I Hate Fancy Beer

For years I've watched craft-beer aficionados go on about their triple-hopped IPAs and cocoa-flavored English milk stouts while inside I've harbored a dark secret: I love cheap, watery swill. Singha, Tecate, Miller High Life—they're all the champagnes of beer, and for more reasons than you think ... there's no beverage that I've drunk more of in my life than Bud Light. (Except water, but what's the difference?) And there's no drink I love more. I love it more than any great white wine, more than any white Burgundy, which I love very, very much. In my fridge, the only beer—practically the only foodstuff I've ever purchased for home—is Bud Light bottles. And since I live in New York City, I don't even have to mow a lawn to earn one.

And a NYC brewer, Oliver.

My Name Is Garrett Oliver, and I Hate Crappy Beer, in which "the brewmaster of Brooklyn Brewery fires back at David Chang over his paean to cheap, watery swill."

 ... It's not the fancy beer you don't like. You don't like us, your people. You have a "tenuous relationship with the Epicurean snob set?" You are the epicurean snob set! I've seen you with champagne in one hand and a Noma lamb leg in the other, chatting up celebrities. Why you frontin'? You spent your first three paragraphs insulting people just like you…is the cash, fame and luxury not working out?

Yawn. I detect a plot twist, coming soon.