The wisdom of Jim Bouton's "Ball Four" -- without pounding that Budweiser.

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Ostensibly, this post is about baseball and beer, although I will not be approaching it from the angle of "craft at the ballpark," because I simply cannot muster the interest necessary to dissect the inept beer presentation of the Louisville Bats for a 21st consecutive year.

For all I know, it may have gotten better this year; if so, I'm sure it is an accident.

Rather, as I've reminded readers so often in the past, one does not live on IBUs alone. There must be cross-disciplinary associations, sometimes providing reinforcement, and often suggesting new perspectives.

Or, you can have a Bud Light.

Like the writer Seth Magalaner, I also read Ball Four around the year 1970, when I was 10 years old. It may have been 1971, because my copy was a paperback, generally released only after the publisher had profited sufficiently from the opening hardbound release.

It made a deep and abiding impression. In this review of sorts from 2009, Magalaner hits me right where I'm living these days.

Ball Four endures on strength of its characters, by Seth Magalaner (Hardball Cooperative)

I first read Ball Four in 1970, the year of its publication, when I was 10. In the years since, I have kept a copy fairly constantly on my bedside table; every few months I’ll usually pick it up and read some passages at random, the way a man of faith might refresh himself with a periodic dip into scripture. OK, I will not go so far as to suggest that Ball Four is a sacred text. But unlike virtually any other sports book I can name, it compels and rewards re-reading. Why?

Why? I'll be 55 on Monday, I'm running for mayor of New Albany, and in terms of my consciousness as it pertains to thirty-odd years in the beer trade ... well, I'm "fending off professional mortality, and re-defining (myself) in relation to (my) vocation and avocation."

For me, it’s because Bouton’s baseball diary stands in the classic line of great coming-of-age books, or perhaps more accurately, coming-of-consciousness books. He’s an archetypal comic hero, negotiating experience with a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety, and an acute, intuitive sense of both what he possesses and what he is missing. What makes this so poignant—and so resonant for readers of all ages—is that he’s outgrowing baseball’s acquiescent, adolescent mindset, fending off professional mortality, and re-defining himself in relation to his vocation and avocation, all at the same time. He’s Huck Finn, Yossarian, and Frank Bascombe stuffed into a single uniform. (With a dollop of Stephen Dedalus for good measure, as he struggles to master the sublime and ridiculous art of the knuckleball in the sweaty smithy of the bullpen. It’s easy to imagine a tonsured, Bud-soaked Joe Schultz grabbing his crotch and saying “Well, forge this.”).

Very eloquent.

Actually, I'm feeling stronger every day. Let's see where this goes.

The Louisville Bats really must hate craft beer to marginalize it this way.

April 17 update: Why Isn't Against the Grain's Beer Available at Louisville Slugger Field's Concession Stands?, at Eater Louisville.

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Courtesy of the Louisville Bats club and its conniving henchmen at Centerplate, there's the "Best of Belgium" at Slugger Field, now with Bud Light, too, which is about as Belgian as Ronald Reagan.

And what of American-made craft beer, the world leader in innovation, as so richly represented in the territories comprising the Bats' fan base?

It's just as sad a situation as during the last couple of years, with craft beer restricted to the virtual ghetto of the roasted peanut stand on the main concourse near section 115, with signage limited to table tents so as not to offend the behemoths who grease the wheels.

As craft beer and baseball fan JZ reports at the Slugger Craft-Beer Facebook page ...

Opening day choices: BBC APA, Kentucky Ale, Magic Hat No. 9, and Leinenkugel Summer Shandy.

Of course, the latter two are crafty, not craft, but there's even more from our friend DH:

Inside the park I opted for a Bats Brew, which was described to me as "an Amber out of Tennessee". Sort of a poor man's Fat Tire.

In 2012, a fan encountering Bats Brew was told that it was ABInBev's Amber Bock in crafty disguise. Rather like putting the Louisville Slugger name on a piece of wood lathed in China, although the Bats never would be able to grasp the analogy.

As baseball clubs at all levels begin to see that the very best reason to vend locally-brewed craft beer is market-based -- because fans want locally brewed craft beer -- our Bats and their Centerplate hatcheteers continue to succumb to the simple avarice of pay-to-play dealings with multinationals.

At least we're not the only fan base with this difficulty. Here is what the New York Yankees believe is craft.

The Yankees’ “craft beer” stand is anything but

Craig Calcaterra

Apr 4, 2013, 9:45 AM EDT

75 Comments

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Amanda Rykoff went to the Yankees home opener and discovered that they have a stand called “Craft Beer Destination.”  And what sorts of good craft beer do they sell there? Maybe Six Point? Maybe Brooklyn? Maybe something from Ommegang upstate? There is a lot of good beer in New York! What is it?

These so-called “Craft Beers” — (from left to right) Blue Moon, Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy, Crispin Cider, and Batch 19 lager — are all products of MillerCoors. Miller and Coors aren’t exactly niche products.

Baylor on Beer: Bats, Baseball, Beers & Bucks, at LouisvilleBeer.com.

My second of two February columns has been posted at LouisvilleBeer.com

Bats, Baseball, Beers and Bucks

Posted by Roger Baylor in Baylor on Beer | 0 comments

Photo by Flickr User: Andrew Malone

Professional baseball’s spring training is underway, and it isn’t too early to begin considering the prospects for locally brewed craft beer at Louisville Slugger Field in 2012. The Louisville Bats begin play in April, and only then will we know if the fragile, halting forward progress of craft beer availability during the past three years will be repeated this season.

I shan’t be holding my breath, but as usual, I hope I’m mistaken.

"Mug Shots" today in LEO: "Local baseball, local beer" -- and a shout-out to Studio's.

The AAA Louisville Bats open at home next week, and the eternal question revisits us: Will there be real beer at the ballpark this summer? It's possible, and that's all there is to say just now. Is there a way for all the players to make money? That's the current consideration. What will happen? I don't know.

While I can't say what Sun King had to do to achieve it, the Indy brewery's canned beer will be available during Indianapolis Indians games this summer, and that's wonderful.

Mug Shots: Local baseball, local beer

From Pete Browning’s slugging in the 1880s, to the craftsmanship of Brian Reymiller at Browning’s today, baseball and beer in Louisville should be inseparable in locality and spirit. It cannot be unassisted, but it is the perfect double play: beer brewed here, and baseball played here. Let’s hope for the best at the ballpark this summer.

Also in today's LEO, Kevin Gibson endorses the stuffed cheeseburger at Studio's Grill and Pub, which is located on Main Street in New Albany. For me, post-council wings and Sierra Nevada remain the Studio's tradition of choice. I've spoken with the proprietor about draft NABC, and we're jointly scouting a small keg box for the purpose.

Studio’s Grill and Pub stuffs it right

It’s almost an obsession now. This stuffed cheeseburger is the stuff of cravings. It’s a one-third pound patty of lean ground beef infused with onions, hunks of bacon (yes, bacon) and seasonings, grilled to your specifications, topped with cheddar or blue cheese crumbles, and served with homemade chips and a pickle spear for a princely $7.75.

Take me out to the ballgame: More about sports concessionaires, blatant extortion and non-competition.

A month or so ago, I reported on my experience at Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati:

Sports concessionaires, blatant extortion, non-competition … but a good beer, anyway.

I edited the preceding into a "Mug Shots" column for LEO: Mug Shots: A fair price? (May 14, 2008).

The follow-up appeared this week: Mug Shots - Your beer is The Man (June 11, 2008).

In it, my parentage is questioned by an angry Anheuser-Busch representative. He should consider reading the book about the Busch family before impugning my origins, but no matter; he'll soon be taking orders in Flemish and taking his fries with mayo.

On Sunday, we're headed back to the Queen City to see the Red Sox play the homestanding Reds in interleague play. There should be time to visit the Hofbrauhaus in Newport before settling into the right field seats and cradling a few $7.75 IPAs ... assuming they're still there.

Happy Hudy time, anyone?

Sports concessionaires, blatant extortion, non-competition … but a good beer, anyway.

Yesterday I accompanied good friends to Cincinnati to occupy seats in the lower left field stands at Great Western Ball Park and watch the Reds pelt the Cubs with seven homers, three by Joey Votto, who toiled last year for the Bats in the Louisville Slugger good beer ghetto.

Near our seats was a concession stand vending Bell’s Oberon Ale at a price of $7.75 for what I judged to be a 14-ounce pour. Without giving too much away, I’ll say only that it figures out to a bit more than $900 profit (before expenses) on a regular 15.5 gallon keg of beer.

No, wait: Let’s give it away. At that price and that pour, it’s more than $1,050 coming in for something that costs me about $120.

‘Nuff said on that topic. There’ll be more in next week’s LEO, assuming my Mug Shots piece isn’t too hyperbolic.

Anyway, after one Oberon, the concession stand either ran out or could no longer work the tap, so I was spent scurrying past the usual endless queues at Great Western, around the outfield, and to the place where I remembered good beer being sold last August. The beer there yesterday was called Southern Tier IPA, and after being assured by another customer that it’s a craft brewer and not the latest Anheuser-Busch mockrobrew, I bought one.

Good stuff. Not the best American-style IPA I’ve had, but just fine, with plenty of body and hops, and fully worthy of my coney cheese dogs beneath a rainy sky filled with crushed baseballs.