Blog

Pickle Backs at Högwaller

Sun, Sep 13

I did not go to a bar today to watch a football game. I went to meet a guy.

You may remember from the last post that Evan, who owns Högwaller Brewing over on East High Street, turns out to be a reader of this website, which we found out a few comments deep in a Reddit thread like two people bumping into each other in a grocery store three states from home. We had never met. Kickoff in Philadelphia was 4:25. The plan was simple: go be in a room with a stranger who likes the same broken football team.

We had been there maybe ninety seconds before Nicole, who does not wait around for social momentum to build on its own, walked up and bought the table pickle backs. Whiskey, then brine, before anybody had even confirmed which seats were ours. My wife has never once needed an icebreaker explained to her. She just is one.

And Evan is a great dude. That is the whole review, and you can stop reading here if that is all you came for. Within about ten minutes it stopped feeling like being a customer at a bar and started feeling like standing in somebody's kitchen during a party, the kind where the host keeps drifting past and topping things off until you lose track of what you owe anyone. If we had been at my house we would have done shots. We were not at my house, so we did shots there instead. Same energy, better beer.

Let me describe the place, because it deserves it. The beer garden out back sits under a metal roof strung with lights, the Oktoberfest bunting is still up in blue and white diamonds, the projector was going, and out front in the parking lot stands Scary Terry, the wacky waving inflatable arm tube man, flailing away at East High Street for the benefit of anyone driving past who needed to know what kind of establishment this is. I have never felt more understood by a piece of lawn equipment.

And then the Commanders went out and played the best two point loss I have watched in years.

I need you to understand how completely this game defied the entire week of panic. That offensive line, the one with Laremy Tunsil on injured reserve and D.J. Humphries released four days before kickoff and Brandon Coleman sliding over to left tackle, gave up one sack. One. Against that Philadelphia front, in that building. Our own defense got three, from Sonny Styles, Frankie Luvu, and Odafe Oweh, who I spent the entire last post insisting was going to matter.

The rest of it reads like a win. Twenty first downs to their ten. Thirty three minutes of possession to their twenty six. Zero turnovers, from a team that spent all summer getting lectured about ball security. Jayden Daniels went 18 of 34 for 164 with two touchdowns and no interceptions. Stefon Diggs caught four for 55 and scored in his Commanders debut, which is precisely what a man who called himself the engine is supposed to do. Antonio Williams led the team in receiving and caught the touchdown that made it a game with a minute left. Bill Croskey-Merritt punched one in from a yard out.

And we lost by two, because of course we did. Down 16 to 17 with ten minutes left, the whole beer garden leaning forward at the same angle, and then Jalen Hurts found Dallas Goedert for 43 yards and the air went out of the room all at once. Williams scored again with 1:01 on the clock, the two point try failed, and that was the season opener. Also, and I would like this carved somewhere permanent: the extra point after Croskey-Merritt's touchdown was blocked. In a two point loss. Drew Stevens hit a 55 yarder earlier in the day and I am choosing to remember him for that one instead.

Here is the thing, though. I have lost by two points on my own couch before. There is a specific kind of quiet that follows. Losing by two in a beer garden full of people who all groaned on the exact same beat, standing next to a guy I had known for three hours and a wife who bought the first round before anyone asked, is not the same experience. It is barely the same sport. I got home a couple of hours ago and I still am not telling this as a loss.

So: Högwaller Brewing, 1518 East High Street, open 11am to 10pm every day. House brewed beer, grass fed smash burgers, and a hot dog named after the place. Tomorrow is Monday, which means they run something called the Riff Raff, Mondays only, all day, twenty dollars for a shot, a house beer, a burger and fries. I am told that is what the locals do. I intend to become extremely regular about it.

Thank you, Evan. We will be back next Sunday, and the Sunday after that.

Hail.

Sunday on East High Street

Charlottesville, late afternoon, roughly two hours before a blocked extra point became the defining event of my week.