Why waste a decent pint by throwing it in the air? | Blaise Tapp
If you’ve been brave enough to watch an England match down the pub in recent weeks, the chances are that you’ve been showered with the remnants of somebody else’s pint.
The curious craze of beer bunging has not only ramped up during our nation’s march to the latter stages of the Euros but it also appears to have become a bona fide English idiosyncrasy.
Lobbing anything into the air indiscriminately is usually deemed by polite society to be antisocial at the very least but broadcasters and national newspapers have embraced it as something of a jolly new tradition.
Although one headline last week asked the question whether one could catch Covid-19 from being drenched in half-drunk lager.
The answer is no.
Even the Patron Saint of Sensible, Gareth Southgate has made several cheerful nods to the phenomenon, meaning that it’s even more likely that it will continue to grow in popularity for as long as his Three Lions stars continue to send much of the country into a frenzy.
After the cathartic defeat of the Germans, it was estimated by somebody with too much time on their hands that 100,000 pints had been launched into low orbit by disbelieving supporters, some of whom were surely half expecting Chris Waddle to come out of retirement and sky one over the crossbar.
While I wouldn’t be surprised if that particular figure was dreamt up by the same chancer who told us that Brexit would save us £350m a week, there is clear evidence that an awful lot of beer has been lost every time the likes of Kane and Sterling bulge the back of the net.
The obvious question is why?
I’m as fervent an England supporter as the next excitable forty-something but I can’t think of anything that I’m less likely to do than waste a perfectly good pint in the heat of the moment.
Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that people are still not that keen on hugging complete strangers at the point of goal-induced ecstasy or possibly that many have forgotten how to behave in public following nearly a year and a half of stop-start lockdowns?
One thing that I’m pretty certain of is that what is being sent airborne in pub gardens and fan zones across the country isn’t real beer – the stuff that you can’t properly see-through – but the watery fizz that is usually enjoyed by lairy teenagers and people without tastebuds.
Nonetheless, even a pint of that offensive brew is going to cost you more than a fiver, or ‘a kebab’ in old money.
Celebrating England victories with your mates suddenly got that bit more expensive, especially if you’ve got to pay to dry clean the bloke in front’s Lacoste polo shirt.
Although I’ve managed to accidentally drop many a pint down myself, I haven’t had the misfortune of being showered in Carling, which is mainly due to the fact that I haven’t watched a meaningful match down the pub for at least two years.
While the pandemic has played its part in my decision making, I’d sooner enjoy a match from the comfort of my own sofa without having to listen to a salesman or the sweaty bloke from the chippy loudly explain to anyone who will listen that they would do a much better job than the fella in the dugout, who happens to have 30 years experience of professional football.
While there are also moaning idiots inside football stadiums, at least these fans tend to know the names of most of those on the pitch, the pub bore is largely clueless on such matters.
As a recipient of both jabs, I know that I have a lot less to fear from coronavirus than I did but I’m still not that keen on sharing an enclosed space with people who scream at televisions.
As I write, there is still hope of a glorious English sporting summer and I intend to stay bone dry throughout.