JOE SIXPACK has spring fever this week, and that means a severe lack of, um, concentration. Let’s just say this week’s column is the journalistic equivalent of Rolling Rock pony bottles, easily consumed in 7-ounce gulps.

My report last month on the return of Ballantine beer to the Phillies ballpark sparked the memories of some surprisingly clear-headed beer drinkers.

I’d reported that Dick Allen and possibly Wes Covington were the only players to have cleared the famous Ballantine scoreboard in right-center at Connie Mack Stadium. Two readers who say they were there added the name of a third player: Joe Adcock, the first baseman for the Milwaukee Braves.

“Joe Adcock cleared everything, including the clock,” wrote Ken Jones.

“I was there and saw it,” added Frank Custer. “The noteworthy thing about that hit was Adcock was right-handed, so it was an opposite field shot.”

I don’t doubt ’em. Adcock was known for titanic homers. He was one of only three major-leaguers (Lou Brock and Hank Aaron were the others) to reach the center field bleachers in the Polo Grounds.

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   Brewmaster Rob Tod of Allagash Brewing in Portland, Maine, was in town this week with bottles of his Belgian-style triple, strangely aged in bourbon casks. That’s a style you don’t normally expose to the strong aroma of Kentucky’s finest.

Indeed, Tod told me the leftover sugar in the barrels sparked a vigorous secondary fermentation that nearly had the cask’s bungs firing off like champagne corks.

The taste? I’m not a huge fan of boilermakers, but the bourbon in Allagash Tripel Reserve reminded me of maple on a stack of Belgian waffles. Waffles, that is, fortified with 9 percent alcohol.

Look for more unusual specialties from Allagash as it joins the growing number of small breweries that produce “one-offs” – one-time-only brews produced in very small quantities.

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   Stone Brewing’s annual April Fools’ gag always seems closer to truth than fiction. This year, the California brewery announced its newest flavor: Stone Justification Ale, a low-carb brew.

An ad for the supposedly diet-friendly beer – photographed amid a mouth-watering mass of chips, doughnuts and fries – asks, “Don’t want to go to the gym today? Have a Stone Justification Ale!”

Check out the entire ad at www.stonebrew.com/justification/

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   What kind of beer goes with lobster in puff pastry with saffron and vanilla aioli, or sockeye salmon tartar with dill cream and salmon caviar?

Why Molson Canadian and Alexander Keith’s ale, of course.

That’s what defending Masters champion Mike Weir served this week at the traditional Champions Dinner before the annual tourney in Augusta, Ga.

   Beer radar

Down the shore, they drink light, fizzy, yellow stuff till dawn.

But South Jersey beer freak Mark Haynie reports that cask-conditioned beer is coming to his brew-forsaken neck of the woods.

It’s coming to Firewaters, the Boardwalk specialty beer bar at the Tropicana in Atlantic City. Its first Firkin Friday (named for a small keg of unfiltered, un-gassed beer) is April 30, when a rare cask of Uerige Sticke – the world-classic Dusseldorf alt – will be tapped.

Haynie says Heavyweight, from Ocean Township, N.J., will also roll out its own alt, Stickenjab.

Boston Beer has a new heat quencher to go along with its Summer Ale. It’s Samuel Adams Hefeweizen, an unfiltered Bavarian-style wheat beer. Also new on area shelves: Troegs’ Sunshine Pils, Broughton Old Jock and O’Hanlon’s Rye.

   Calendar

Tomorrow: Split They Skull barleywine fest (Sugar Mom’s, 225 Church St., Old City). Industrial-strength head-bangers, including monsters from Heavyweight, Sly Fox, Avery and Stone’s will pour. Taps open at 1 p.m. No cover, pay by the glass. 215-925-8219.

April 17: “Early Brewing in Philadelphia,” a talk by brewing historian Rich Wagner on the city’s 17th- and 18th-century beer scene. Have a cold one at Yards Brewing (2439 Amber St., Kensington) and learn something about the original microbrewers. Starts at 2 p.m. No cover. 215-634-2600.

April 17: Stiftungsfest, the 79th spring dance at GTV Almrausch (9130 Academy Road, Northeast Philadelphia). Oompah and beer at Oktoberfest in April. Doors open 7 p.m., tix $7-$8, 215-855-3376.

   Joe Sixpack, by Staff Writer Don Russell, was written this week with a glass of Meteor Biere de Mars.

DESPITE ITS fine tradition as a drinking man’s holiday, St. Patrick’s Day is generally regarded by professionals such as myself as amateur night.

Whether it’s copious shots of Jamison’s or pitchers of green beer, happy shamrockers – unreined and unprepared – overindulge with the usual consequences.

Lucky for you, lately I’ve been drinking a lot more than usual.

It was all in the name of science, of course, as I conducted a groundbreaking road test of the new wave of anti-hangover pills.

Yes, I know, there was some risk, gobbling down these little pills. Who knows what’s inside ’em?

But they must be safe. Surely, no one would make false advertising claims in the e-mail spam that fills my in-box. Especially when it comes from such internationally respected pharmaceutical companies as Lifestyle Marketing Inc.

But I ate dirt when I was 6 and survived, so what the hell, I gave them my credit card number.

My favorite among these new pills is RU-21, because it sounds like a real drug. Plus, it was “developed by the Russian Academy of Sciences in the course of a 25-year-long research studying alcohol metabolism.”

Of course, the world of medicine is full of important scientific advances developed by Russians – like, um, vanilla-flavored vodka. This one was supposedly formulated to help KGB agents stay sober while drinking.

They tell you to gobble RU-21 before you start drinking, so I swallowed mine with my scrapple. The brochure said I should feel the effects immediately, but the only thing I felt was an urge to spy on the Chechnyans next door.

I got plastered that night, woke up with a ball peen in my cranium and immediately switched to the competition: Chaser.

This stuff is available at GNC and promises “freedom from hangovers.” According to the package, its developer, Dr. Raymond Crippen, was “named one of the outstanding chemists of the 20th century.”

By whom, I don’t know. Possibly Mrs. Crippen.

In any case, Chaser merely changed the color of my pee. Or maybe that was the 14 grape Jell-O shots.

Anyway, I didn’t wake up, as the package promised, “feeling great.”

Sob’r-K was my other drug of choice.

Like the others, it comes with suspect – I mean, obviously authentic – endorsements from completely unknown – I mean, famous – scientists. People like Dr. J. Schaefer, “one of the world’s leading expert [sic] in the use of alcohol, ” and Dr. Lin, “a leading medical researcher.”

Sob’r-K suggests downing two pills before drinking, two during and two after. That was too confusing. I mixed them all into a Yuengling.

Immediately, my lager’s usually frothy head disappeared, which I took as a good sign.

Six pints later, I was reeling as usual. The next morning, the world was spinning.

So, are these pills an utter fraud with no scientific merit, designed to cash in on a gullible public?

Who knows?

They’re untested by the government (unless you count the KGB) and sold as mere herbal supplements. They don’t have to meet any standards, except (I hope) that they won’t kill you.

My advice on this St. Patrick’s Day: Save your money. And on the morning after, get yourself a 24-ounce cup of Wawa coffee.

   DWI alert

This is Pennsylvania’s first St. Patrick’s Day under the 0.08 percent blood alcohol regime, so get yourself a cab.

Not sure if you’ve hit the limit?

Stephen Gilberg from HappyHours.Com offers this handy, nonscientific formula you can remember, even after a couple of rounds:

For each standard drink (one cocktail, one pint of beer or one glass of wine), count 3 points. For each hour that you’ve been drinking, count 2 points. Add up your drink points and subtract your hour points.

If the result is less than 6, you should be OK to drive.

Joe Sixpack, by Staff Writer Don Russell, was written this week with Tuppers Hop Pocket Pils.

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IT’S TAKEN A good four years, but we can officially declare the millennium’s first new beer style.

No, we’re not talking low-carb beer.

It’s Imperial India Pale Ale and, yes, that is a mouthful.

Take a look around at local micros and brewpubs, and nearly every one of them is producing an Imp IPA. The style takes its name from Imperial Stout, a super-strong black beer that got its name from the English brews made for Russian czars.

There’s no royalty involved in this bitter ale. In the case of India Pale Ale, the new Imperial style means more of everything. It’s maltier, more bitter, and it smells like your back yard (assuming, of course, you don’t live anywhere in the People Paper Stinkmeister’s neighborhood).

Big, hoppy IPAs have been around for more than a century. But it appears the first reference to Imperial IPA was in 1994, when Whitbread produced Fuggles Imperial IPA for a British Guild of Beer Writers seminar on India Pale Ale.

According to beer writer Roger Protz, it was so successful, Whitbread’s Castle Eden Brewery started bottling the ale for consumers.

From Protz’s description, though, the original brew shares only a faint resemblance to the powerhouses coming out of American micros. Fuggles Imperial IPA, which is no longer produced, was made with only Fuggles hops and rang in at 5.5 percent alcohol and 40 international bittering units.

By contrast, Delaware’s Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA is 9 percent alcohol and is rated at 90 IBUs.

Rogue Ales gets credit for producing the first American Imperial IPA, called I2PA, which was originally brewed for the 1996 Oregon Brewer’s Festival.

Five years later, Hopasaurus Rex Imperial IPA from Steelhead became the first official Imperial IPA to win a medal at the Great American Beer Festival, in the strong ale category. Last year, the GABF gave Imperial IPA its own official classification.

Though anyone can make a super-hopped beer, the brewer’s challenge is balance. No harsh, over-the-edge bitterness, and a full malt flavor that doesn’t fall into barleywine territory. Like a traditional IPA, it’s golden or amber in color.

RateBeer.Com lists more than 80 brews that qualify as Imperial or Double IPAs, with great names like Hopzilla, White Knuckle and Ruination.

Locally, Nodding Head Brewpub (1516 Sansom St., Center City) makes an excellent, extremely quaffable version called 3C Extreme Ale. The Iron Hill brewpub chain and General Lafayette Inn & Brewery (6461 Germantown Pike, Lafayette Hill) serve well-made Imperial IPAs, too.

Others produce Imperial IPA as a special, one-time-only bottling. Victory’s limited-edition Hop Wallop was so popular when it was released last year, every case was scooped up in a week.

Sly Fox says it’ll produce its first Imp IPA in December as part of its so-called 2004 IPA Project: 9 varietal IPAs, to celebrate the pub’s 9th year in business.

Elsewhere, Colorado’s Avery Ten, as its name implies, uses 10 different hops varieties and registers 10 percent alcohol.

Keep an eye out for others, including Three Floyds Dreadnaught, Pyramid Double IPA and Clipper City Winter Storm.

Not enough hops for you? Give Dogfish Head 120 Minute IPA a sip. At 20 percent alcohol, it might be the millennium’s next new beer style: the Imperial Imperial IPA.

   Beer radar

Iron Hill opened its newest brewpub yesterday in North Wales (1460 Bethlehem Pike, near Routes 309 and 63 at the Shoppes at English Village). It’s the local chain’s fifth location and the first in Montco . . . Registration is open for Penn Brewing’s Beer Camp, April 3 from noon to 2:30 p.m. at the Pittsburgh brewery. The Harvard of Hops offers a well-rounded beer curriculum for just $25 tuition. Info: 412-237-9402 . . . Meanwhile in Hanover, Pa., Kclinger’s Tavern – one of the best beer bars in the state – has its own major: Beer Appreciation 101. The classes begin Monday. Info: 717-633-9197 . . .

New on area shelves: Troegs Nugget Nectar Ale, a hoppy amber ale. Also, Stone Brewing Old Guardian Barley Wine, Samuel Adams White Ale, Georg Schneider’s Wiesen Edel-Weisse and the newest bottling of Heavyweight Biere d’Art.

   Beer calendar

Tomorrow: Sixth annual Main Line Brew Festival, featuring suds from two dozen regional breweries, at the Desmond Great Valley Hotel & Conference Center (One Liberty Blvd., Malvern), noon to 4 p.m., $35, 610-296-8900.

March 18: Beer dinner with Brooklyn Brewing’s Garrett Oliver at Iron Hill Brewery & Restaurant (1460 Bethlehem Pike, North Wales). Includes a four-course dinner, beer and a copy of Oliver’s book, “The Brewmaster’s Table.” $75, 267-708-2000.

Joe Sixpack, by Staff Writer Don Russell, was written this week with a glass of Schwechater Fest Bock.

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IF IMITATION is the sincerest form of flattery, the boys in St. Louis have been blowing a lot of smoke up their competitors’ bungs.

Anheuser-Busch, the world’s biggest beermaker, hires the best brewers, runs the finest equipment, has the biggest marketing departments and the most efficient distribution network in the world.

And yet, when it comes to developing new products, lately it’s been doing little more than playing copycat.

Other than the fabulously successful Michelob Ultra, every one of the new brews it’s released in the past five years has been a knockoff, concocted and priced to compete specifically with other successful brands.

These brands – Guinness and Corona, for example – own important segments of the import beer market. They were obviously ripe targets, so it’s no surprise A-B went after them.

Yet, the industry leader has exhibited almost a total lack of original thought behind these new beers.

Consider its latest repro, a so-called continental pilsner called Anheuser World Select.

A-B says it came up with the recipe for the perfect pilsner by bringing together “the expertise of brewmasters in 10 countries,” including such famed beer-making centers as Korea and Spain.

Maybe it’s Monday morning quarterbacking, but somebody should’ve invited an 11th brewer from the Czech Republic, where pilsner (not to mention Budweiser itself) was invented.

Instead, what we get is a pilsner in name only. In this case, the name is Heineken.

Or maybe Beck’s. Or St. Pauli Girl.

It’s a slick knockoff of a random European pils, complete with green bottle. Presumably if you let it sit in the light long enough, you should also recognize Heiney’s familiar funky twang of eau de skunk.

But A-B, always scrupulous about freshness, delivered a case that was fresher than anything from Holland. The taste? Well, the best my poker buddies could say was that it drank like unwatered-down Bud.

Of course, the taste is secondary.

This beer is priced to sell in the same range as a European import. And it’ll get scarfed up by the same crew who always order the most expensive plate on the menu, just to impress their dates.

Which is exactly why A-B brewed this beer.

It has almost nothing to do with flavor – if it did, A-B would throw more than a handful of Saaz hops into the kettle and blow those insipid German industrial lagers right out of the ocean. Instead, its mimicry is all about trying to chew back a valuable piece of real estate.

Why else, for example, would it have decided – after a mere 140 years of brewing golden lagers – to suddenly produce a stout? Could it have something to do with the fact that Guinness gets in the front door of every Irish bar in America?

You don’t even need to take a sip of A-B’s Bare Knuckle Stout. Just check out its creamy head, those tightly fizzing bubbles, and you’ve got your answer.

Of course, the trend really isn’t anything new.

Three years ago, it hopped on the malternative bandwagon with Bacardi Silver, a clear, boozy pop that ripped off half of Smirnoff Ice’s DNA.

In Texas, it sells ZiegenBock Amber to cut into some of the Shiner Bock’s territory.

In the West, its Pacific Ridge Pale Ale is a hopped-down version of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

Elk Mountain Amber Ale, Bud Dry, LA, Killarney’s, even Bud Light – A-B launched them all as knockoffs, hoping to hook onto the latest beer trend.

There’s no doubt – they’re technical geniuses, able to brew almost identical clones. But like mad scientists from some bad sci-fi movie, they forgot to include any soul.

The brews, dreamed up by numbers-crunchers, are tasted and retasted by countless focus groups till the brewers are left with a recipe that produces the blandest, lowest-common-denominator version of an otherwise decent beer.

They’re dead before they get stamped with a born-on date.

   SIDEBAR

Uncertain what that St. Louis product is supposed to be? Clip and save:

Killarney’s Red Lager = Killian’s Red.

Tequiza = Corona + Lime.

ZiegenBock Amber = Shiner Bock – Bock.

Aruba Red = Red Stripe – Dreadlocks.

Anheuser World Select = Heineken – 1/2 Skunk/Budweiser.

Bare Knuckle Stout = Guinness Stout x George Bush in that Air Force pilot uniform.

   Beer radar

Looks like Magic Hat beers are finally coming to town. The highly regarded Vermont brewery had skipped past Pennsylvania for years, forcing local fans to travel down to Maryland for a taste. Penn Distributing, the Philadelphia Bud house, is handling the pallets in the city . . .

Compared to Miller Lite’s infamous “Catfight” commercial, the latest from Labatt’s Blue Lite is late-night Cinemax. The spot, aired during the Canadian TV ‘s broadcast of the Super Bowl, features a pair of women who share their lip gloss with one very meaningful tongue-kiss. Beer.com has the download . . .

   Coming next

Joe Sixpack is headed to Vienna this weekend with Victory Brewing’s Bill Covaleski. We’re going to eat sausages and show the Austrians how to brew HopDevil.

If you’re in the Baltimore-Washington area this weekend, listen to a live report tomorrow morning on Beer Radio (105.7 FM). Otherwise, look for a report here in coming weeks.

   Joe Sixpack, by Staff Writer Don Russell, was written this week with a glass of Sierra Nevada Bigfoot Ale.

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A VERSE for Valentine’s Day . . .

   Roses are red,

   Violets are blue.

   Gimme some head,

   On top of my brew.

   Well, nobody ever said mug-fisted beer drinkers were romantic. Passionate, yes. But all that hearts and flowers stuff has always been the traditional turf of the pinky-extended champagne set.

Yet, as the lovey-dovey day rolls around, the beer industry is making another clumsy attempt to appropriate Cupid.

This year, it’s Boston Brewing, with a $15, pewter-embossed bottle of Samuel Adams Chocolate Bock.

The bock is made with cocoa beans and flavorings that are designed, according to the press release, to evoke “the bittersweet taste of an exclusive blend of Scharffen Berger(R) chocolate…

“What more could a guy ask for this Valentine’s Day?”

I dunno, edible undies?

Look, I’m not one of those PBR can-crushers who bust on brewers for conjuring up “exotic” beers. Ginger, raspberry, pine needles – basically, if you can turn it into booze, I’m all for it.

Even chocolate.

But any dude can tell you, Valentine’s Day is just not a beer-drinkin’ holiday.

They put a big heart on the calendar to warn us, “Yo, pal, February 14th is the one day of the year when you absolutely must put down your pint and pick up a dozen roses for your girl. Do it or you will b-l-e-e-d.”

Don’t complain about skipping a night out with the boys, even if this year the holiday unfortunately falls on a Saturday. Valentine’s Day was conveniently scheduled in mid-February so you can easily atone for burning a cigar hole in the couch on Super Sunday, while laying the necessary groundwork for your indiscretions on St. Patrick’s Day.

In recent years, though, beermakers have begun to horn in on the holiday, tempting us with their wares.

Duvel, for example, reminds men that corked, high-alcohol Belgian beers are a perfect, lower-cost alternative to fizzy champagne – as if your wife couldn’t see through that one, you cheap bastard.

Another Belgian beermaker suggests that women should “make his night special with a romantic dinner incorporating Stella Artois.” Men presumably can finish off that romantic night by incorporating a cold shower.

This year, the Association of Brewers further erodes the sanctity of Valentine’s Day by declaring this Beer and Chocolate Week.

“During a week when many Americans celebrate with chocolate,” said trade association spokesman Ray Daniels, “we want to introduce them to the sensual and romantic marriage of beer and chocolate pairings.”

(Just for the record, I believe the marriage he’s referring to is the actual consumption of, say, a glass of stout and a nice slice of chocolate cake – not the Reese’s Cup that melted in your pocket during that beer-soaked lap dance at Delilah’s Den.)

Which brings us back to the ruinous Sam Adams Chocolate Bock.

It is my considered opinion that this beer is one of those female traps, possibly devised by Mrs. Sam Adams.

“Here, sweetheart,” your honey says sweetly, a half-hour before your dinner reservation. “I got you a nice bottle of chocolate beer.”

Warning, lunkhead: It’s a test!

She’s waiting to see if you’ll grab it and start pounding away. Next thing you know, she’s crying, “You’d rather drink beer than spend six hours cooing sweet nothings into my ear while we watch a Swoosie Kurtz movie on Lifetime.”

Friends, it pains me to say this, but on Valentine’s Day, you’re better off sticking to poetry.

OK, so how’s this stuff taste?

Strange as it seems, chocolate is a perfectly appropriate accompaniment to beer. After all, it’s bitter and sweet, just like hops and malt.

Though Sam Adams’ version offers a huge chocolate aroma, I sense the cocoa’s main contribution is in producing a full, smooth body. Unlike most bocks, one – maybe even one you split with your honey – is enough.

Boston Brewing is far from the first brewer to toss chocolate into the kettle. Rogue Chocolate Stout from Oregon starts out as an oatmeal stout, then gets spiked with real chocolate.

The same goes for Young’s Double Chocolate Stout from Britain.

In my book, the best-tasting chocolate-flavored beer doesn’t even contain chocolate. That’s Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout. Its rich flavor is achieved solely through the use of deeply roasted varieties of barley and so-called chocolate malt.

Chocolate malt is the secret ingredient that distinguishes many British stouts. Where Irish-made Guinness is closer to dark toast, British stouts like Mackeson, Beamish, Samuel Smith and Murphy’s tend to remind you of Hershey’s.

These are full-flavored beers that go perfectly with lots of dishes. Why not skip the coffee next time and try one with dessert?

Monk’s Cafe (16th and Spruce streets, Center City) not long ago presented a Chocolate, Cheese & Beer dinner in which most of the courses were made with chocolate-flavored beer. I’m still licking my chops from the chocolate porter cheesecake served with Victory Storm King imperial stout.

If chocolate isn’t your thing this Valentine’s Day, a couple of locals offer tasty alternatives:

•    Yard’s Love Stout from Kensington is passionately flavored with oysters. There’s no fish flavor – just a smoother stout from the added calcium. It’s available on tap and in bottles.
•    Flying Fish Love Fish is the Cherry Hill, N.J., brewery’s excellent Abbey Dubbel, infused with cherries. Keep your eye open for this on tap only.

   Beer radar

Rule of thumb: When it takes more than five minutes to defrost your car windshield, it’s barleywine season. No, it’s not wine – it’s just strong, highly hopped beer. Look for Victory Old Horizontal, Dogfish Head Old School, Flying Fish Big Fish and, of course, Sierra Nevada Bigfoot Ale. At Iron Hill Brewery (3 W. Gay St., West Chester), brewer Chris LaPierre is featuring his own, unusually light Golden Hoppy Barley Wine . . .

Rotating brewers continues: Victory’s Chris Firey is the new chief at Manayunk Brewery & Restaurant, replacing Larry Horwitz, who’s moving to Iron Hill’s new location in North Wales . . . Phoenixville’s Sly Fox Brewery & Pub, looking for a second location, has settled on Royersford. It expects to open by early summer . . .

Sticke Uerige, the classic Dusseldorf Alt brewed just twice a year, recently crossed the Atlantic. Look for it in bottles and on tap. Also new on local shelves: Bell’s Sparkling Ale, a Belgian-style tripel, Flying Dog’s Snake Dog IPA and Warka Beer, a Polish pilsner in a 16-ounce can.

   Calendar

•    Feb. 13: Friday the Firkinteenth at Grey Lodge Pub, (6235 Frankford Ave., Mayfair). The wildly popular cask ale (naturally carbonated and served at room temperature) fest returns with 14 headbangers, including Nodding Head Imperial IPA and Legacy Nor’easter. Kegs tapped at 6 p.m. Pay by the glass. 215-624-2969.
•    Feb. 15: Beer and Chocolate dinner at Dogfish Head Brewing & Eats (20 Rehoboth Ave., Rehoboth Beach, Del.). The popular brewpub partners with Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory of Lewes with unpredictable results. Boston lettuce with chocolate liqueur dressing served with Raison D’etre, anyone? 6:30 p.m., $49, 302-226-BREW.
•    Feb. 27: Winter warmers dinner at the Farmhouse Barn (1449 Chestnut St., Emmaus, Pa.). A pairing of seasonal brews and food, hosted by John Hansell, editor of The Malt Advocate. 7 p.m., $70, 610-967-6225.
•    March 20: Michael Jackson beer tasting. Tix for the Brit beer author’s annual KitchenAid Cook and the Book tutorial are on sale now. (Three seatings; they go fast.) $45, 215-898-3900.

   Joe Sixpack, by Staff Writer Don Russell, was written this week with a glass of Val Dieu Brune.

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TINA FEY from the “Saturday Night Live Weekend Update” staff recently noted that CBS had banned an anti-Bush ad during the Super Bowl because “they don’t air so-called ‘issue ads.’ ”

That is, Fey noted, “unless the issue is that girls are sluts for beer.”

Last year, when we were treated to Miller’s infamous “Catfight,” and a not-so-subtle suggestion of a threesome with the Coors twins, I would’ve agreed completely. In Joe Sixpack’s first State of the Sleaze report, I noted that beer commercials had become damn near pornographic.

As the 2004 beer commercial season heads into next week’s Super Bowl, I’m obliged to report the sex has been racheted back a few notches. No blatant male fantasies. No kissing lesbians. And only a token slut or two.

Instead, beer commercials this season are heavy on humor and slick, computer-generated visuals. (I’m still trying to figure out how Bud managed to get a drop of its lager to splash into the shape of a crown.)

Meanwhile, here’s Joe Sixpack’s 2nd annual State of the Sleaze, rated on a scale of 1 to 6 (with 6 being an ad that might actually make me forget my principles and drink factory-made swill).

   Becks

Get me a cold shower. This one’s the hottest of the season, with a steaming bod dancing behind glass. Break it in case of emergency. 4

   Coors Light

After dozing off during one of its dull carbohydrate comparison spots, I thought Coors had abandoned its twins and replaced them with a slide show from my 8th-grade health class. 1

But the Rocky Mountain brewer returns to the erogenous zone populated by ass-swinging cheerleaders with fleshy chest mounds. I’m not certain, but I believe Coors is the Official Beer Sponsor of Mammaries. 4

   Michelob Ultra

She’s no sex object, she’s an athlete running in her underwear! And he’s not trying to get her drunk so he can lure her into bed, he’s merely enticing her with a low-carb beer! 2

   Labatt Blue

A babe and a guy in a bear suit. Forgettable. 1

   Rolling Rock

Her: Love.

Him: Sex.

A dull, pointless affirmation that, when it comes to beer, women are from Venus and men are from Latrobe. 2

Completely devoid of sex

   Miller Lite

Its “Dominos” is eye-candy, and I like the guy throwing himself on the car hood while screaming, “My beer has no taste!” I’d be even more impressed if  these weren’t ads for completely tasteless light beer. 4

   Guinness

A Monty Python-esque cartoon: Brilliant!

Treat St. Patrick’s Day like a real holiday: Not so Brilliant! 3

   Budweiser

As usual, A-B blows away the competition.

“Leon,” the NFL star with a million excuses, is instantly recognizable as your typical overpaid, underperforming professional athlete – especially for anyone familiar with the career of ex-Eagles running back Ricky (“For what, for who?”) Watters.

Given all the gripes about the negative images of ESPN’s “Playmakers,” I’m surprised the league hasn’t complained. Could be the NFL’s silence over a commercial that lampoons its players has something to do with the $50 million or so it pockets from Anheuser-Busch every year. 5

Not all A-B ads are winners. I’m getting a little tired of Cedric the Entertainer (“I got a fire in my pants!”). 3

The ref with toilet paper on his cleats, as part of Bud’s “True” campaign, is just OK. 3

And every time I see young Auggie Busch IV holding a single hop bud, I imagine he’s showing us the entire bittering quota for a single batch of his fizzy yellow crud. 1

But that’s nitpicking, because A-B is running its best ads since the “Whasssup” series. I’m speaking, of course, about Bud Light’s “Real Men of Genius.” 5.5

The ads started on the radio, and they’re so entertaining, the brewer actually released them on CD. Now they’ve made their way onto TV, with Mr. Way Too Much Cologne Wearer and Mr. Footlong Hot Dog Inventor, among others.

The fun is in how the witty narrations poke fun at the achievements portrayed by the typical beer commercial “hero.” Forget the sexy blonde and the stud athlete. This beer’s for Mr. Sports Fan Face Painter.

A few bits of trivia: The series was originally called “Real American Heroes, ” but A-B changed the name after the Sept. 11 attack. The guy on over-the-top ’80s vocals is David Bickler, formerly of Survivor (“Eye of the Tiger” from “Rocky III”). The backup singers include at least one vocalist who’s accompanied the Rolling Stones. And the narrator, Pete Stacker, is the voiceover for hundreds of other commercials, from McDonald’s to Oprah.

These spots are so right on, even Mr. Centerfold Retoucher (currently on radio only) won’t raise an eyebrow from the Raunch Police:

Narrator: Your incredible talent takes gorgeous women and somehow makes them gorgeous-er.

Singer: Uhh-mucho gor-gee-oso.

Narrator: Breasts, bigger. Moles, smaller. Mustaches, gone.

Singer: You’re a star!

Narrator: Thanks to you, hot wax is a thing of the past, and working out is for suckers.

Singer: Ancient his-tor-ee.

Narrator: Any artist can say their work is in a gallery. But how many can say their work is stuffed under mattresses around the world?

“So crack open a Bud Light, oh da Vinci of the Derriere. Because thanks to you, we can enjoy real beauty the way we like it: Completely fake.” *

   Joe Sixpack, by Staff Writer Don Russell, was written this week with a glass of Grottenbier.

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