Stupendous. My camera’s batteries are two fallen AA soldiers.

At least I never claimed to be a photo journalist. It’s too late to turn back now; we’re on the subway and slowly meandering toward brewfest armed with nothing more than our eyes, ears and tastebuds.

Perhaps the only saving grace of the civil engineering disaster that is the Buffalo Metro Rail is that it allows us the capability to venture deep downtown from our neck of the woods without that pesky driving under the influence cloud looming in the distance. We have officially been green lit to start sampling selected fragments of a 100-variety beer cornucopia.

My accomplice for the afternoon and I take a dejected walk to the arena, as I now carry in my front right pocket a camera that’s functioning now as merely an annoyance that weighs me down like water on a wool sweater. There will be no visual evidence. We’re going to have to do this from memory.

Neither my accomplice nor I had the foresight to purchase tickets in advance. We could have saved $5. Upon arriving, it should be noted that the line into HSBC Arena stretched roughly the length of two football fields - except for the ticket purchasing line. Quickly we veered to the left and walked confidently in the direction of the Will Call. It just goes to show you that although the early bird may get the worm, the early worm gets eaten.

Not satisfied with our faux VIP treatment, I decided to up the ante. Lets say, hypothetically, that I am media. I strut over toward the volunteer booth and ask the polite young ladies at the counter where media check-in was.

I looked semi-official, in a bright yellow Nautica short-sleeve button-down and designer khakis. When I go out to cover, I be sure to dress accordingly. The last thing I want to do is reinforce the stereotype that those slacker internet “bloggers” wear only ripped jeans and Flogging Molly T-Shirts, if they even wear pants at all. Do they even brush their teeth?

After leaving to consult the event director, the volunteer ushered me in ahead of the sea of humanity, now roughly 2,000 strong. I was inside the arena before anyone else. I gladhanded the event director and introduced myself.

“Who are you with?”

“The Love of Beer.”

“Well, John Gorman from The Love of Beer ... do you have any credentials that prove you are with that site?”

I wish my business cards weren’t so popular, or that I was such an aggressive marketer. I have absolutely nothing on me that proves that I’m me. Don’t you have WiFi in this building? Go to the site right now and tell me its not legit. Check out that sparkling banner. This isn’t blogspot, you amateurs. Don’t you know who I am? I need to think up of a lie, here.

“How are you going to report on this event?”

I whipped out my camera and my pocket notepad. “We’re going to take some photos, jot down some notes and post our review of the event onto the ninth most-highly trafficked not corporate beer journalism website in New York State.” Whew! That sounded official. Nice work.

“Alright, here’s your press pass. I’m going to need you to wear this designated driver bracelet, also.”

“But, I took the subway.”

“Yes, but you can’t drink.”

Cue the record scratching; pause for silence; glare into the camera.

“I what...”

“You can’t drink. Nobody in media is allowed to drink.”

“But, we do beer reviews. I have to sample the beers in order to develop an accurate beer review.” She clearly has no idea that our beer reviews are simply excuses for us to reveal our life story 16 oz. at a time.

“Then you’ll have to pay for a ticket.”

“Fine.” I hand back my press pass and shake her hand again. “It was lovely meeting you.”

I reconnected with my accomplice toward the front of the line. We were going to have to do this guerilla style, with no credentials, no access and no photography. This column was to come from the heart.

Some time ago, we wrote on our sister site, The Love of Sports, a piece that briefly touched upon our metacognitive philosophy for journalism. Allow myself to quote ... myself.

A journalist is someone who describes events as they unfold and offers their account to the world.

It’s someone who studies sports to synthesize a piece of equal parts art and science using words, pictures and video accurately yet creatively. It’s someone who takes the pieces in front of them to build an assessment of their value and significance for public record. To do this at a high level, fairly and truthfully without sacrificing imagination, is what incubates essential reading.

A trip to a beer tasting without actually tasting the beer is like offering up a restaurant review by watching other people eat. It makes as much sense as a scuba diver with an umbrella. The ground level, the grass roots, elbow to elbow with the commoner, this is where real journalism stems from. All other accounts are merely manufactured refinements of the truth. Propaganda.

As we received our ceremonial tasting pint glass and progressed unencumbered into the concourse area of HSBC Arena, we were saddled with a unique realization. Like the masses who followed us, we came for the party. Our experience was going to be as unfiltered as a bottle-conditioned hefeweizen. Unlike the others, we have been given the platform to report breathlessly the events of a whirlwind day, and share the experience with those who did not attend.

It’s what journalism was before the AP, before the Newspaper, before college classes, before press passes and before “access.” It’s a story. We get to tell it.

See that picture above? Someone else took it. It’s probably just as well.

No way would girls of that caliber pose like that for little old me. I could be carrying a press pass carved out of the hope diamond and it still wouldn’t happen.

Sometimes a dead battery is all the jumpstart you need.

************************************************************************************

Sometime later, roughly 64 oz. of beer into our magical journey, we encountered a booth for buffalobeerblog.com.

Wow, look at that booth. They have a charity drawing. They have business cards. They even have a banner! I want a banner. (Sigh) They look so official.

Yes, it’s true. The creative team behind the BBB had merchandise, apparel and advertising on display. This must be what it’s like to work with a budget. Folks could enter a drawing to win one of a great many number of fabulous prizes, including t-shirts, hats and polos. I had to stop and say hello.

I introduced myself and my blog, which I can pretty much guarantee the dude on the other end of our talk forgot within 30 seconds. He was amiable, cordial and polite. He expressed a desire to spread the “Beer Blog” brand across a number of other cities throughout the country. We wish him the best of luck in that regard.

What’s the conclusion of all this?

Though it may sound logical that greater access leads to more informed and cunning storytelling, the sad reality is that when your credibility is boosted by organizations and events for which you have a particular rooting interest, your words are stilted and muted. We don’t blame the establishment. They really can’t say too much else other than what they can get away with.

In journalism and in life, we’re often hamstrung by the connections we make and water down our words to the lowest common denominator so as to provoke the fewest number of people. Our story will most assuredly not be that. I dread the day when I’ll have to put careful hours of pensiveness into each syllable as I type.

I also hope and know that day will be coming soon. That means people are actually noticing the (allegedly) good work I’ve put in. The reward for accurate and innovative storytelling is the freedom to speak only in hushed reverence.

I can do that in my sleep. For the right price, I will.