When France Started Cheering for Beer
Continued. The previous part can be read here…
Chapter 3
Why have the French started drinking more beer than wine? In the second part of our virtual football match between the “brewers” and the “winemakers” at the Stade de France, the satirical game increasingly turns into a conversation about generational change, the crisis of France’s traditional wine culture, and the new drinking habits of modern Europe.
The Match
The game began without any cautious probing. The two sides knew each other’s tactics far too well.
The young Brewers’ team pressed methodically high up the pitch. The oppressive pre-storm humidity made the fast-paced football of the beer side—freshness, chill, accessibility—increasingly dangerous for the slow-moving defence of the heavyweight red wines, with their leisurely rituals inherited from old France.
Once again, youth and enthusiasm seemed to be getting the better of centuries of experience and tradition. The generational shift was becoming impossible to ignore.
More and more often, the dense foam head of beer was winning the flanks against the aristocratic sparkle of Champagne.
A series of chilled, litre-sized deliveries from the wings by FC Alsace Bière finally produced the breakthrough. The ball ended up behind the Muscat-coloured goalkeeper from Languedoc.
The Stade de France erupted.
The scoring had begun.
The amber stand rose as one:
“LE VIN VIEILLIT ! LA BIÈRE MARQUE !”
(“WINE GROWS OLD! BEER SCORES!”)
Across the stadium, the burgundy-clad supporters exchanged puzzled looks.
— But wine is supposed to age!
On the AS Grand Cru bench, Jean-Claude de Terroir slowly removed his glasses and pretended not to notice what was happening.
Much like a significant part of the European wine industry today.
The match commentator attempted to calm the atmosphere:
— But the ball is round and the pitch is level. It is still far too early to speak of anyone’s overwhelming superiority. The winemakers possess enormous experience, well-established traditions of working with oak barrels, and the patience of generations behind them. They have not yet raised their final toast.
– ⚽-
AS Grand Cru slowly attempts to regain control of possession through supermarket promotions, tasting flights, gastronomic festivals, and winery tours personally led by estate owners.
More and more frequently, long, dagger-like passes are sent down the left wing to the team’s most elegant and quickest forward—a player from Crémant de Bourgogne, wearing golden socks and a cap shaped like a champagne muselet.
His graceful dribbling near the Brewers’ penalty area leads to a dangerous low cross, which one of the Côte d’Or strikers converts with a single touch.
The “wine team” still knows how to play the beautiful game. While the young brewers have become obsessed with high pressing and pace, AS Grand Cru calmly reminded Europe that experience, terroir, and a long history can still find their way to goal
The Stade de France erupts once again.
The burgundy stands explode in celebration:
“LE TEMPS PASSE ! LE VIN RESTE !”
(“TIME PASSES! WINE REMAINS!”)
A neighbouring section immediately joins in:
“OUI, NOUS VIEILLISSONS… MAIS LE VIN SAIT ENCORE JOUER SUR LE TERRAIN ET DANS LA BOUTEILLE ! NOUS VERRONS LES ÉTOILES DES NOUVELLES VICTOIRES !”
(“YES, WE ARE GROWING OLDER… BUT WINE STILL KNOWS HOW TO PERFORM BOTH ON THE PITCH AND IN THE BOTTLE! WE CAN ALREADY SEE THE STARS OF FUTURE VICTORIES!”)
On the touchline, Dieter “Le Houblon” Keller merely frowns and takes a long sip of beer-strength coffee from his one-litre Oktoberfest Maß.
— A memorable goal. But these days, nobody awards extra points for an elegant presentation—whether it’s served on a table or delivered into the penalty area.
Then he wheels around towards his bench.
— More movement! Don’t let them sit the public down for another two-hour Sunday lunch with a carafe of red wine!
– ⚽ –
The amber stand responds with an encouraging whistle.
FC Alsace Bière launches another attack.
But at that moment comes a welcome sound for the winemakers—the referee’s whistle.
Half-time.
And the break at the Stade de France proves almost as intense as the match itself.
The pitch is taken over by the traditional Alcohol Preferences Cup.
Supporters from both sides compete in rolling oak barriques and beer kegs across the field, firing footballs at empty containers, and attempting to reach the centre circle after three glasses of wine or four pints of beer without assistance from the Evian refereeing team or the emergency medical staff.
The crowd favourite, however, remains an event known as The Last Sip.
Participants must climb a long slippery pole and then run along it. At one end awaits an ice-cold can of IPA. At the other, a bottle of Bordeaux Grand Cru served at room temperature.
While beer and wine are busy arguing with each other, the real winners are already quietly buying advertising space around the field
Thierry Roland cannot resist a comment:
— In recent years, the public has been climbing noticeably faster towards the beer side. And as a representative of old France, I must admit that I find this a rather worrying trend.
The second half begins.
Alsace Bière immediately increases the tempo. Perhaps the players were treated to a tasting of the latest local releases during the interval.
Their passing becomes sharper. Their vision of the pitch suddenly resembles that of a man wearing 3D glasses. Even their heading improves.
The brewers increasingly rely on quick combinations played out on summer terraces and beaches, rapid counterattacks launched through craft beer festivals, and aggressive wing play driven by their youthful IPA flank.
The AS Grand Cru defence is struggling to keep up. Time and again, they find themselves chasing younger legs and grabbing jerseys in vain.
It makes no difference.
In the 62nd minute, the amber side launches a lightning-fast counterattack.
A Bavarian bursts between the defenders from the great wine valleys of AS Grand Cru as effortlessly as an Oktoberfest waitress weaving through crowded tables carrying overflowing steins.
The ball reaches the Belgian striker from the monastic order.
Without even looking, he flicks it backwards with his heel, as casually as if he were passing a glass of beer down a long wooden table.
An Alsatian teammate arrives at full speed and hammers the cold, condensation-covered ball into the roof of the net.
2–1.
The Stade de France roars once more.
– ⚽ –
Jean-Claude de Terroir slowly adjusts his cashmere scarf. For the first time all evening, he looks genuinely nervous. He gives an order, and on the bench a substitute begins to warm up:
Rosé of Provence.
There is still time for him to enter the match and perhaps change its course.
And despite the slogan displayed elsewhere in the stadium, he has never accepted the idea that rosé has betrayed everyone.
After all, according to his family tree, he is still wine.
Yet he never makes it onto the pitch. Nor does the young and promising forward from the low- and no-alcohol wine division.
The team is forced to adapt every year to another Dry January.
In the 75th minute, the first great roll of thunder echoes across the stadium. Many supporters realise that their earlier fears had been justified.
Lightning flashes somewhere above Saint-Denis. Seconds later, the sky collapses over the Stade de France. Sheets of rain pour down onto the pitch.
Players instinctively look upward. Supporters scramble to shield their wine glasses, plastic cups, and half-finished cans of IPA beneath club banners and scarves.
The chief referee from Evian studies the sky thoughtfully for a few moments. Then he blows a long whistle.
The match is suspended.
— Messieurs… — he calmly announces over the microphone. — I cannot allow a situation in which players and spectators are being drenched by water of unknown celestial origin instead of my certified Evian mineral water.
Both halves of the stadium immediately direct their whistles and boos at the refereeing team.
But the decision is final. The scoreboard remains unchanged:
FC Alsace Bière — 2
AS Grand Cru — 1
75th minute.
And no one inside the Stade de France is any longer certain whether this match will ever be completed—or whether Europe has already entered an entirely different era.
-⚽-
Two American winemakers from Napa Valley watch the match from the upper tier of the Stade de France.
Both are wearing burgundy baseball caps bearing the slogan:
“MAKE BORDEAUX GREAT AGAIN”
The first gazes thoughtfully down at the pitch.
— Listen, Michael… Only Europeans could turn an ordinary seasonal decline in wine consumption into a philosophical crisis of European civilisation with elements of football tragedy.
The second nods slowly.
— Yeah… In California we’d handle it differently. We’d assemble a consulting group, organise a brainstorming session, launch an iPhone app, produce three podcasts, four organic lifestyle festivals, and a low-alcohol Cabernet line for Generation Z.
He pauses.
— Our people would probably have spoken to the governor’s office and the local sheriff before the end of the day.
Another pause.
— And all of it within six months and under budget.
The first man looks once more at the rain-soaked pitch.
— Here, though, they seem prepared to discuss it for another thirty years, right up until every member of the European Union has voted on a resolution authorising the uprooting of three hundred hectares of old vines.
European bureaucracy, too, knows how to play a long game of positional football. By July 2056, the EU member states had finally managed to approve Historic Resolution No. 12385 on the uprooting of 300 hectares of old vineyards. American observers were deeply impressed and warmly congratulated the Europeans on this remarkable speed in making decisions of such historic importance
His friend laughs.
— This is Europe, my friend—the old country. You know how it is. Tolerance, consensus, endless committees… you know the drill. Around here, even crises are expected to spend a few extra years ageing in French oak barrels.
-⚽ –
Two elderly French supporters are watching the match on television.
— Pierre, have you heard? Lately, people in our wine-growing paradise have been drinking more beer than wine.
He lets out a heavy sigh.
— Mon Dieu… How fortunate that my father and grandfather never lived to witness these dreadful times. Let them rest in peace, spared the knowledge of this terrible national catastrophe.
Pierre slowly swirls a glass of red Margaux.
— Yes, François. It would be rather like pasta losing to rice or mashed potatoes in Italy. Or tea overtaking whisky in Scotland. Or, a salad suddenly defeating a juicy Texas steak.
The two men fall silent for a moment.
Then Pierre quietly asks:
— And what comes next?… Will mineral water become the principal sponsor of the football league? Where is this country heading? Who allowed this to happen? What exactly am I paying taxes for?
François remains slightly more optimistic.
— Yes, our era is passing… but it is passing with dignity. And I still wouldn’t be too quick to write its obituary. France has survived worse than this.
He raises his glass.
— And as you can see, it is still standing. Our tricolor—and our proud Gallic rooster—will not surrender quite so easily.
-⚽-
To be continued…
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