disbelief: that when this blog, in its work tie, stumbled into the vicinity of a computer at 5:20 p.m. looking for the name of this country’s new national barista champeen, there was no one to tell us — nary a typewritten word within reach! that for all the live, gooey goodness burbling everywhere on the innernecks there was nothing written, put in stone or pixels, about the slicked-over l.a. personage to have taken the wreath. the intelly one-two clobbering act. the reduction of favorites and previous scepter-holders to the secondary rungs of the elite. the latest triumph of zesty single-origin spro.
so we covertly jammed in the left ear bud, scrolled around for the archived awards video — taking care to not erroneously click the great florida healing revival — and pretended to consume the drama live and loud. it was 5:38 p.m. and we were coughing loud, unnatural cubicle coughs that sounded a lot like the guttural utterance, “schanikes! it’s kyle!”
we hate to imagine the lack of caring you may have for this perspective. you had live video, you might snarl. what more could you demand from your rocking sloth’s chair?! alas, you’re right. we deserve nothing, we far-flung fanboys — and yet we finally got specialty coffee convention coverage to swim in. not independent-minded commentary, or quite public-oriented reportage, but indeed a giant leap in the direction of outreach. openness. community.
we guess there’s hope for this club. now someone just write the words somewhere online: “kyle glanville, u.s barista champion.” so we can find them.
a minute later … it was written, in the bowels of this place, at the moment we finished this post. don’t tell this blog it doesn’t have eerie mind-bending powers …