Just because my company works closely with Anheuser-Busch and just because I drink Bud Light and Mich Ultra and just because I grew up in St. Louis and started taking brewery tours when in still in high school–they really didn’t card too heavily in the hospitality room back then–doesn’t mean I’m not objective.
I’m not objective because of my soft spot for the military, in part because I served in the Navy for 10 years, and in part because all of my male relatives in my parents’ generation fought in World War II, Korea, or both.
Anheuser-Busch’s simple “Thank You” commercial forced me out of the family room. I don’t like the kids to see me cry. They wouldn’t understand.
In 1986, after a particularly arduous strategic deterrent patrol in the far north Atlantic, at the airport in Glasgow, Scotland, we prepared to fly home to Charleston. Our captain, a man never too comfortable speaking in public, stood on a chair in the terminal and gave a five minute speech about what we’d just been through. At the end of the speech, we, his crew, stood in silence. Some of the chief petty officers, the old tough salts, had tears in their eyes. After 30 seconds of dead quiet, not the crew, but the people in the airport, the civilians, the Brits, the Scots, the Irish, the Europeans, cheered and shouted. Palms slapped me on the back, and I turned to see a wonderful Scottish woman smiling through stereotypical British teeth.
A-B’s airport salute was the best I’ve ever seen. It’s the way I hope every soldier, Marine, sailor, and airman returns to the USA–surrounded by spontaneous appreciation for dirty job done–however well.
Thank you, Anheuser-Busch.
BTW, NAG, as Rush calls it, has a website devoted to hating Super Bowl commercials, and A-B is their number one target. If the NAG gals hate A-B, it must be a wonderful thing. My favorite quote:
“All the ‘watchers’ in my front room agreed that Budweiser should NEVER be purchased by any self-respecting woman.”
You know, every little thing in life causes feminists pain and misery and anguish. Why don’t they just kill themselves? And why the wimpy, grating, limp-wristed, convoluted passive voice?
Others blogging ads:
UPDATE: Michelle Malkin agrees — go figure. And she noticed that the New York Times found it too sweet.