I have a couple areas of specialized knowledge. I'm one of the world's top experts on obscure popular music. Seriously. I've spent 20 years writing about bands no one has ever heard about, and I know most of the best. Don't test me on this. I will eat your lunch. Of course, that doesn't mean I've heard of the latest "next best thing" coming out of Denver. Well, actually, I'm pretty familiar with the Denver scene. So let's take out "Denver" and substitute "Phoenix." I don't know anything about anything in Arizona.

I'm also fairly knowledgeable about American beer. I know a good amount about British brewers and a reasonable amount about Belgian and German brewers, but I'm dead solid on American brewers, especially those east of the Mississippi. Give me a beer, and I can tell you what it tastes like. Often enough, that'll be what it actually is. The really funny thing is that I have a terrible sense of taste because I have virtually no sense of smell.

Okay. Enough bragging. I'm a guy who knows something about beer and music. That makes me…a guy. Then there are the usual topics of conversation where I spout off like I know something, but I really don't.

Hockey, for example. I love hockey. It's a great sport, and I love it even on TV (though live is, of course, better--except for the $11 beers). But I don't know a thing about it. The draft? When Edmonton picks Evgeny Kournikova with the first pick, I can't make any sort of intelligent comment. Which isn't to say that I wouldn't say anything. "Evgeny Kournikova? Those idiots should've picked Alexander Safin. That dude's a stud!"

But I would simply be making up names. And I know the last names of more retired Russian tennis players than junior Russian hockey players. Such is life. My ignorance won't stop me. I can bullshit about hockey for hours. And even if I'm talking to someone who knows something about hockey, I can be modestly entertaining. At the very least, I'll be serving good beer. Which makes up for an awful lot.

Another thing I know next to nothing about is foreign affairs. I'm pretty good at geography and have no problems naming national capitals (Equatorial Guinea=Malabo, and I didn't have to Google that, though that's mostly because my son Max had to learn it for school this year), but I don't know much about how countries actually work. I mean, have you read my drivel for the past 15 years? I don't know squat about diplomacy or the like, but I continue to spew my nonsense week after week. I don't know if I'm contributing to any important discourse, but I feel better. And that counts for a lot in my book.

Lastly, I know nothing about parenting. No parent who is being honest will claim any real ability in this area. Our kids change too quickly and too often to have a good handle on what's going on from minute-to-minute, much less day-to-day. My youngest son (who is in almost constant motion) has taken to complaining about various physical ailments whenever he is asked to do something he doesn't want to do. I know why he does this, but the solution is something more nebulous. He's a headstrong and stubborn boy (the two traits are similar, but not the same) and getting him to do even the smallest of tasks is almost impossible if he doesn't buy in. Now that he's figured out our various schemes to trick him into thinking that doing an unpleasant task is really his idea, my wife and I are often stumped. So we've (um, that would largely be the royal "we") taken to yelling at him, which "we" know doesn't work. But "we" do it anyway. Because it makes "us" feel better for a minute or two. Then "we" feel like crap.

What I do know about parenting is that there are no perfect parents, and there are no perfect children. But that's not knowledge. That's wisdom.

Wisdom is something I feel coming on more and more. I just sit back and watch things happen. If the thing is a good thing, I take credit for it. If the thing is a bad thing, I blame someone else.

An ethically gray way of operating, to be sure. But wise nonetheless. Even more wise is pouring another beer and not worrying about what is good and what is bad, other than to make sure that the beer is good. Everything falls into place after that. And when you come to the conclusion that you really don't know shit about shit, there's only one thing to do: Pour another beer.

Wise choice, my friends.

Jon Worley knows that the Royals are terrible. But somehow, they've started the season 3-1, which stands as further proof of his ignorance.