In wine terms, a magnum is two 750-milliliter bottles in one vessel. It holds 1.5 liters. As a double-size bottle, it holds 50.7 ounces — or more than 10 five-ounce glasses of wine.

These days, magnums are all the rage at some wine auctions, where special bottles containing special wines are sold to the highest bidder.

But even bigger bottles are rarer and more sought after. Dedicated wine collectors love wine auctions where they can bid on magnums and larger bottles. Many of these are charity affairs, often accompanied by a black-tie dinner.

Wine is liberally served at various places in the auction because a well-lubricated bidder is more likely to raise a bidding paddle than one who's had only water.

The biggest attraction at these festive events is the giant-sized bottle. A double-magnum may be the prize of the charity set, but I see it as the albatross for wine collectors.

Imagine the bottle called an imperial residing unassumingly in its cozy wooden chest, lid in place. This innocent bottle filled with more than 300 ounces of wine is a chamber of horrors, a destroyer of marriages, a latter-day Excedrin headache No. 3.

No one tells bidders on imperial-sized bottles that a mental stability test is recommended before buying one of these monstrosities.

Imagine this scenario: The bidder at a charity wine auction sees a nine-liter bottle, a whole case worth of fine cabernet, in an auction catalogue. Sure, the price is high, but what a prize to show off. It'd blow away his neighbor, the wine snob.

And he can get it for a donation to the worthy cause hosting the auction, which includes a tax break.

He is willing to pay a lot, but something goes haywire. He gets caught up in Bidding-Room Frenzy, which is more addictive than heroin. And he ends up paying an exorbitant sum for the bottle.

His tribulations are just beginning.

After paying for this prize, he realizes the bottle could wind up costing him the price of back surgery if he tries to move it to his car by himself. After trying to figure out how to even grab hold of this leviathan, he asks a friend for help.

Walking sideways through the parking lot, they meet Sgt. John Rentacop, who asks who's in the box. It is then that the winning bidder realizes his box looks like a coffin.

Once home, the spouse asks, "You paid HOW MUCH for this?" Once the tension has eased, the bidder now tries to get this thing into the wine cellar. It doesn't fit. Under the coffee table? Nope. If used as a plant stand, it must be stood on end, but to keep the cork moist, it must be inverted, stood neck down. That makes it top-heavy. And every so often, it crashes to the floor.

It's too bulky to use as a hall table to hold outgoing mail. So our lucky bidder reaches the inevitable conclusion. "I can always drink it."

But where and with whom? This single bottle has enough red wine for a party of 24 to 30, assuming a half bottle per person. The bidder doesn't know 24 people who like wine well enough to serve it to. Let alone 24 who'd be impressed by it.

Months or years later, a neighbor suggests the bottle be donated to charity. The bidder will get a tax deduction, after all.

At the insistence of the spouse, who has been walking around it in the service porch for a year now, our lucky bidder relents.

This brings us to the one great truth about charity wine auctions: Big Bottles at Wine Auctions are Not for Drinking. They Are for Auctioning.

No Wine of the Week

To find out more about Sonoma County resident Dan Berger and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Ronan Furuta at Unsplash