“When France Started Cheering for Beer”
You can read the previous issue of “Wine Paradoxes” here…
Why did the French, for the first time in decades, begin drinking more beer than wine—and what does football have to do with it?
Sometimes the deepest cultural shifts are best explained not through dry statistics, but through the language of sports metaphors.
Over the past few months, several European industry publications have pointed to a trend that, until very recently, would have seemed almost unimaginable in France: for the first time in decades, beer consumption has begun to overtake wine.
According to data from the International Organisation of Vine and Wine (OIV) and the French brewers’ association Brasseurs de France, in 2025 the French and visitors to the country consumed around 22.1 million hectolitres of beer, compared to 22 million hectolitres of wine. The gap is tiny—barely ten million liters—yet symbolically, for France, it is enormous.
An even more telling figure is this: wine consumption in France has now fallen to its lowest level since the late 1950s. Over the past three decades, it has dropped by roughly 37%.
And yet this is not so much a “beer boom” as it is a profound transformation in lifestyle, habits, and the French relationship with alcohol itself. Younger generations drink noticeably less than their parents did, while the traditional daily glass of wine at lunch is gradually giving way to more occasional, less ceremonial drinking.
We decided to look at this transformation through the lens of an entirely fictional football match staged at the country’s biggest stadium.
Why football?
Because in modern France football давно ceased to be just a game.
It is at once:
— a national emotion,
— a mirror of society,
— a source of endless arguments,
— an object of regional and national pride,
— and perhaps the perfect way to explain conflicts between tradition and modernity.
The French can argue forever about politics, gastronomy, literature, the proper way to serve cheese—and, of course, football.
That is precisely why it felt natural to imagine the country’s changing alcohol culture as one giant match.
Especially since French drinking culture today increasingly resembles a football championship:
• the old “favourites” are struggling to hold on to their dominance, while young and aggressive “forwards” rapidly gain popularity with the fans;
• “coaches” nervously change tactics;
• the stands are bitterly divided;
• and even the analysts are no longer certain who will become next season’s champion.
And in the domestic leagues of neighbouring countries, people are watching the troubles of the French “alcohol league” with increasing attention. In Madrid, Rome, Lisbon—and even in traditionally beer-loving Munich—many already understand that if change begins in France, sooner or later it will inevitably affect the rest of the participants in the “European championship” as well.
Even the fictional—though highly symbolic—European Association of Alcohol Football (EAAF) no longer feels entirely at ease. After all, for decades France had been regarded as its principal strategic sponsor: the supplier of legends, traditions, regulations, classifications, and the finest players in the wine premier league.
And when transformations of this scale begin in the land of Bordeaux, Bourgogne, and Champagne, the entire European alcohol structure suddenly starts to look far less stable.
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Chapter 1
Stade de France: Beer versus Wine
Saint-Denis, on the outskirts of Paris—the country’s main stadium. Heavy May clouds hang low above the city. A violent downpour later tonight seems entirely possible. But that has not stopped tens of thousands of supporters from coming to back their favourite side.
All 80,000 seats at the Stade de France had sold out long before kick-off. Outside the metro station, ticket scalpers are offering seats in the craft IPA section at prices comparable to young Bordeaux from prestigious Médoc estates bought en primeur—wines over which critics have not yet even had time to properly quarrel.
Near the entrance, scarf vendors shout:
— Cold lager! Fresh foam! Perfect with seafood!
A little farther away, another voice rises above the crowd:
— Last vintage programmes from the legendary “Bordeaux-98” championship match! Signed and scored by Robert Parker himself!
-⚽-
Tonight is a historic game.
In the final of the Alcohol Football League (AFL), the two great symbols of French drinking culture meet on the pitch:
FC Alsace Bière versus AS Grand Cru
The commentator for the evening is “a legend of the profession”—Thierry Roland, the unmistakable voice of old football France. He has already described the match as a clash between “the new urban France and the old gastronomic aristocracy.”
— Mesdames et messieurs… bienvenue au Stade de France…
I have commented on thirteen World Cups. I have witnessed the brilliance of Michel Platini, Zinedine Zidane, Eric Cantona… I saw Thierry Henry score goals as effortlessly as if he were ordering his morning coffee in an ordinary Parisian bistro. But I swear by all the vineyards of Bordeaux and Burgundy… I never imagined I would live long enough to commentate a match between brewers and winemakers at this stadium.
Adjusting his headset, Thierry gazes through the glass of the commentary booth at the floodlights and the emerald pitch below.
— Mesdames et messieurs… first, a little history. Long before football itself existed, France was already the stage for another great rivalry…
He pauses briefly.
— Wine arrived here with the Greeks and the Romans, and over time became part of religion, cuisine, culture—almost part of the nation’s identity itself. Beer, meanwhile, remained for centuries the drink of the northern frontiers, monastery cellars, craftsmen, and people who never entirely trusted conversations about terroir.
The commentator smiles faintly.
— For centuries, the outcome of this match seemed almost predetermined. The wine team controlled possession across nearly all of France… But history, much like football, has always loved an unexpected turn.
From his booth, Thierry Roland has a perfect view of the southern stand, awash in amber colours. One enormous banner reads:
“PLUS SEULEMENT DU BORDEAUX À MIDI!”
(“No Longer Just Bordeaux at Lunch!”)
Higher up hangs another:
“LES JEUNES ONT CHANGÉ DE CAPITAINE”
(“The Young Have Chosen a New Captain.”)
FC Alsace Bière supporters’ section at Stade de France. The younger stands are already demanding “not only Bordeaux at lunch anymore” and seem to have finally changed their team captain
The chants echo across the stadium:
“LIBERTÉ! ÉGALITÉ! BRASSERIE!”
(“Liberty! Equality! Brewery!”)
On the opposite side, the winemakers’ section answers with burgundy flags and rhythmic cries of:
— Terroir! Terroir!
Above the stadium floats a small hot-air balloon carrying a banner that reads:
“LE MATCH SE GAGNE ENCORE À LA TABLE FAMILIALE!”
(“The Match Is Still Won at the Family Table!”)
The AS Grand Cru stands are still far from admitting defeat. Here, supporters continue to believe that great matches are won not through speed, but through tradition, terroir, and the ability to “control the table.” And the American fans from Napa Valley wearing “Make Bordeaux Great Again” caps only deepen the feeling that this section is defending the old wine world’s last great fortress
An American support group for French wine traditionalists from California’s Napa Valley has arrived for the match wearing bright red baseball caps bearing painfully familiar slogans:
“Make Bordeaux Great Again”
and
“The Paris Tasting of 1976 Will Not Divide Us.”
👉 In 1976, the famous “Paris Tasting” forced France to realise for the first time that the wine world was becoming global, and that competition was already arriving from the New World. The history of wine no longer had to play exclusively by French rules.
And fifty years later, the country came to understand that it was no longer only the geography of winemaking that was changing, but the very culture of alcohol consumption itself.
France had travelled a long road:
from the old crisis of wine supremacy to the new crisis of everyday wine culture.
Thierry Roland, naturally, could not resist a sarcastic remark:
— And these are the former rebels! Now they are practically allies of the French classics! History does have a talent for creating very strange alliances.
Near the stadium entrance, a group of highly emotional supporters of the vintners stand wrapped in a giant banner proclaiming:
“2500 ANS D’HISTOIRE DU VIN NE PEUVENT PAS PERDRE CONTRE UNE SIMPLE MOUSSE!”
(“2,500 years of wine history cannot lose to a mere layer of foam!”)
Meanwhile, somewhere beneath the stadium roof, a small group of undecided spectators has unfurled a modest sign:
“LE ROSÉ A TRAHI LES DEUX CAMPS”
(“Rosé Has Betrayed Both Sides.”)
Thierry’s voice returns over the loudspeakers:
— This, it seems, is what a generational alcohol shift looks like in France today. The beer banners carry energy, audacity, and youth. The wine banners, meanwhile, represent history, mild arrogance, and intellectual pretension—as though the Sorbonne professors themselves had begun arguing after a second glass of well-aged Saint-Émilion.
View from the Stade de France commentary booth. Somewhere between the old-fashioned microphone, the roar of the two-colored stands, and endless reflections on Bordeaux, IPA, and terroir, the evening’s central question emerges: is France truly changing its drinking tactics—or are we only watching the middle of a very long match?
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Chapter 2
Old Vines versus New Foam
► Team Line-Ups and Their Managers
Emblem of AS Grand Cru—the club of the old wine aristocracy, where terroir still matters more than speed and proper aging is considered the best tactic of the season. The Bordeaux glass and ancient château on the crest remind supporters that some teams do not play for a single championship, but for eternal history
•AS Grand Cru has fielded its strongest possible side.
In goal stands a giant from Languedoc, wearing a bright shirt the colour of ripe Muscat grapes. On his head sits a cap resembling those worn by traditional winemakers. The defence is anchored by an inseparable pairing from two great valleys—the Loire and the Rhône.
In midfield shines an expensive early-season signing from Rioja: dark-haired, curly, sharp in movement, with a permanently dazzling white smile. Something in his appearance suggests that somewhere in his veins there may still remain a few rare drops of Moorish blood.
Up front plays the celebrated Burgundy duo from Côte de Beaune and Côte de Nuits.
— Our Pinot in its purest expression, — supporters proudly say of the pair.
As a whole, specialists describe the wine team as: old European elegance combined with aristocratic ball control, southern fluidity, and centuries of schooling in working “close to the soil.”
Football in France has long become a mirror of society. Sometimes even a more honest mirror than politics
• The team’s manager is Jean-Claude de Terroir: a tall, gaunt man of about sixty-eight. Always dressed in a long dark overcoat, a cashmere scarf in the colour of old Bordeaux embroidered with the club crest, a silver wine-tasting cup hanging around his neck, and the insignia of the Brotherhood of the Knights of Clos de Vougeot pinned to his lapel.
He spends the entire match standing on the touchline, looking perpetually more concerned about the serving temperature of Bourgogne on a hot afternoon than about the score itself. A goal conceded in the first half seems to upset him less than a poorly decanted Pinot Noir.
He is a man of tradition, an aristocrat of terroir, guardian of the old order—nicknamed the Wine Cardinal.
Jean-Claude de Terroir – Head Coach of AS Grand Cru, Age: 68, Height: 1.93 m; Philosophy: Terroir, tradition, transmission; Specialization: sensory analysis of matches and tasting-style game descriptions.Titles: 3-time French Alcohol League Champion and 2-time winner of the “Terroir Cup”. Quote: “Wine, like football, cannot rely on talent alone. It needs time, patience, and character.”
He never shouts. Occasionally, he merely repeats, with the calm certainty of an axiom:
— Football… comme le vin… demande de la patience.
(“Football… like wine… requires patience.”)
His guiding principle:
“A good result must mature under the proper conditions.”
Journalists often say of him:
— He can preserve a 0–0 draw longer than some collectors keep a Grand Cru in their cellars.
• His chief assistant is Monsieur Decanter—a man in round spectacles who constantly insists:
— Let the match breathe.
From a pre-match interview:
Jean-Claude de Terroir:
— History always defeats fashion… One must never rush these things—the game requires patience. It must be allowed to open up… We may lose one or two matches, perhaps, but not the country’s wine culture.
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Emblem of FC Alsace Bière—the club built on high pressing, cold delivery, and a strong youth sector. The overflowing Oktoberfest Maß and beer keg have already become symbols of the new “eternal amber era”
• FC Alsace Bière has also fielded its strongest line-up.
The backbone of the team consists of Alsatians of German ancestry—sturdy men, disciplined almost to the point of severity. Blond, pink-cheeked, already carrying the first unmistakable signs of respectable beer bellies.
The squad was recently reinforced by imports from neighboring Germany—a Bavarian and a Hessian.
In goal stands a Czech from Plzeň, sporting thick moustaches permanently coated with a delicate layer of beer foam.
Leading the attack is a Belgian from a famous monastic order. One commentator once remarked:
— With him, things are never simple… you never know whether he’ll step onto the pitch or return quietly to the abbey.
The new alcoholic Europe is looking less and less like a closed club of old wine traditions. And FC Alsace Bière appears to be a team assembled no longer by origin, but by lifestyle—a small united continent: Alsace, Bavaria, Plzeň, Belgian monasteries—and the common language of football. Perhaps this is exactly what the future of Europe looks like
The team as a whole radiates northern strength: icy discipline, monastic endurance, obedience, and excellent physical conditioning developed through years of working with hops.
• The manager is Dieter “Le Houblon” Keller, a former master brewer from Alsace.
His voice sounds like that of a man who spent his entire life shouting over fermenting vats while supporting his favourite club in the rain.
He always wears a weathered bomber jacket and carries a mug of coffee roughly the size of a one-litre Oktoberfest Maß. For him, one litre of beer is merely the beginning of a conversation.
Hanging from a cord around his neck is an instrument used to measure alcohol strength.
His football philosophy: high pressing, rapid “delivery” of the ball to the forwards, ice-cold finishing in front of goal, and virtually no pause between halves.
His favourite saying:
— The moment the opponent starts talking about terroir, we’re already halfway to victory!
Dieter “Le Houblon” Keller – Head Coach of FC Alsace Bière; Age: 58; Height: 1.88 m; Philosophy: “A good team, like a good beer, needs character, balance, and the ability to bring people together.” Specialization: hydration and pressing management. High-fermentation match analysis. Titles: 2-time German Alcohol League Champion and 1-time winner of the “Foam Cup”; Quote “One liter of beer is only the warm-up. The real football conversation starts afterwards.”
• Goalkeeper training is overseen by Brother Matthias, a Belgian ascetic monk.
For most of the match he says nothing at all—perhaps praying silently to himself. But before every penalty against his side, he crosses the goalposts, takes a sip of cold Trappist beer… and somehow always turns out to be right.
Just before kick-off, Dieter Keller gave one final interview:
— History may defeat fashion, but it will never save you in thirty-five-degree heat… You have to exploit those moments when your opponent is busy discussing minerality… Young people no longer want to wait fifteen years for a drink to “open up”!
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► The Referees
All three officials represent the mineral water industry.
The refereeing team is conspicuously calm, emotionally sugar-free, and perfectly hydrated. They are devoted believers in healthy living and vivid representatives of the new sober Europe.
The referees try hard to remain neutral, although both teams secretly suspect that these are precisely the sort of people capable of abolishing matches like this altogether within a generation—perhaps even sooner.
The referees of the new Europe. Calm and convinced that the continent’s future must be far less alcoholic than its past. Perhaps the real intrigue of the match no longer lies in the confrontation between beer and wine. But in the fact that the mineral water generation is already watching the game closely from the central stand
The chief referee represents the Evian brand.
Tall, lean, permanently sober, with the stern face of a cardiologist from the World Health Organisation.
Whenever tempers flare during controversial moments, he calmly remarks:
— Messieurs… perhaps you should simply drink some water from my brand and calm yourselves.
Both sets of supporters despise him equally—which perhaps means he truly is neutral.
One linesman represents Perrier: nervous, lightly sparkling, and almost as agitated as the water itself. He tends to raise his flag before the player has even managed to stray offside.
The second comes from San Pellegrino: extremely elegant, holding his flag as though it were a sommelier’s wine glass.
The VAR assistants are representatives of the low- and no-alcohol beverage industry—young analysts in white sneakers, the public face of Europe’s emerging “culture of moderation.”
They constantly monitor:
— alcohol levels in the air,
— the caloric content of crisps sold by stadium vendors,
— sugar levels in soft drinks,
— and the emotional temperature of the crowd.
From time to time, the head referee walks over to the replay monitors in order to double-check dehydration levels, serving temperatures, tannin balance in controversial incidents, and the players’ psychological stability after extra time.
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To be continued…
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