ROUND LAKE, N.Y. — There’s no question that Death Wish Coffee — a pirate-flag-adorned brand from upstate New York — is strong, like really strong, like linebacker-strong, like Super Bowl-hype strong, but is it the strongest coffee in the world?  Yes? No? Yes? No? Yes? No? Dunno. (Note: The author of this report was highly caffeinated.)  What is certain, however, is that Death Wish Coffee, like a halfback in an open field, is enjoying a remarkably lucky run since first hitting the market some three and a half years ago, with a claim — and a warning label — calling it the “World’s Strongest Coffee.”  And while such a determination is probably better left to experts, Death Wish’s rabid fan base, including heavy-metal rockers and freezing-cold truckers, helped to recently land the company a prized advertisement spot during the Super Bowl broadcast Sunday as part of a contest by Intuit, whose products help people balance their books and prepare their taxes (just like coffee).  The contest invited businesses with fewer than 50 employees to enter to win the 30-second ad, winnowing thousands of contestants down to a final three (including another New York company, Vidler’s, a five-and-dime near Buffalo). Death Wish was chosen by a public vote, presumably fueled by, you know, Death Wish.  The ad, developed and produced by RPA, whose Super Bowl clients also include Honda, features a group of waterlogged Vikings jonesing for a cup of joe. The spot will appear during the third quarter, and has some of the skeleton staff at the Death Wish offices working 70-hour weeks in preparation for an onslaught of fatigued football and caffeine lovers looking to lift the Monday morning fog.  “It’s almost like fans are more excited than we are,” said Kane Grogan, the company’s customer service manager. “We’re in the middle of it, so we’re more worried than anything.”  Fretting about filling massive orders, of course, is the kind of concern most small businesses would happily have, something acknowledged by the company’s owner, Michael Brown, a former accountant who once worried about falling asleep at his desk at the New York State comptroller’s office.  Mr. Brown, 35, created the Death Wish brew in the basement of Saratoga Coffee Traders, a cafe he owned in nearby Saratoga Springs, after a group of apparently somnolent Saratogians decided that they wanted a little more jolt in their java.  “Customers would come in asking for the strongest cup of coffee,” Mr. Brown said in a phone interview from San Francisco, host to many of this year’s Super Bowl festivities. “And I wanted to mess with them a little bit.”  So it was that Mr. Brown decided to search out an especially strong mix of robusta and arabica beans online, and try it on customers, who he initially anticipated would be “truck drivers, night-shift workers, doctors.”  To his surprise, however, the online buyers — it remains primarily an Internet brand, and not a cheap one — were more diverse. “My mom’s friends from high school, like 75-, 80-year-olds, call me up saying this is my favorite coffee,” Mr. Brown said.  Mr. Brown’s big win, however, has seemingly unleashed a regional rivalry with another, more established company — Dean’s Beans Organic Coffee Company, in Orange, Mass. — that basically claims that the idea, and some of the early beans, for Death Wish came from its signature brew, called Ahab’s Revenge, billed as the highest caffeinated organic blend.  Dean Cycon, the founder of Dean’s Beans, said in an email that Death Wish had “recreated our formula.”  “Was anything they did illegal? Nope,” he said. “Was it unethical and deceptive? In my mind, yes.”  Mr. Brown said he had heard Mr. Cycon’s complaints, but had only compliments for Dean’s Beans. “He has a great business model,” Mr. Brown said, though he also noted that “when my customers came in looking for a stronger cup of coffee,” Dean’s Beans was already among the shop’s offerings.  Regardless of such coffee clashes, Death Wish seems to have found its own niche, according to Mr. Grogan, who says it is popular with coders, gamers and other loners, as well as the occasional journalist.  Like many who work at Death Wish’s offices — housed in a bland warehouse off a country road — Mr. Grogan has several elaborate tattoos and a fondness for music. (“I have four drummers on my staff,” Mr. Brown said.) There’s a punching bag in the corner, and paintings sent in by fans, many of whom apparently cannot sleep.  Indeed, even brewed at moderate strength, the coffee’s color falls somewhere between that of a dilated pupil and the far side of the moon. On a recent morning, a few sips brought an undeniable buzz to this reporter’s head, and what might be described as a kind of a pleasant arrhythmia. A single cup provided about 45 minutes of jittery high energy, followed by a sharp drop in enthusiasm for life and a sudden desire for, you guessed it, another coffee.  Such ups-and-downs, of course, are the perils of working at Death Wish, Mr. Grogan said. “It used to be kind of an all-day thing,” he said, of his own intake. “But it kind of wears off if you drink it too much.”
Thanks to its rabid, and presumably well caffeinated, fan base, the small company in upstate New York won a 30-second advertisement spot during the game Sunday.