After Extra Time
1-1 on 90 minutes
UEFA 2024 R16
Sunday 30 June 2024
Played at Gelsenkirchen
England Away Game #158
German Beer Ticks up to #121
It may surprise you to learn my Blogs have a loyal following in the West Midlands. Indeed, my TikToks are very successful there. So, ahead of that joyous night in Arena Auf Schalke, I'm afraid I had to put an urgent all points bulletin out to The Black Country.
“Don't come to this Pub. The Cask Mild is off.”
Now, I know what you're thinking. Germany. Helles, Dunkel, Märzen, Weizen, Rauch. How the fuck has Mild even been on, let alone now gone off!!!
To answer that puzzle, you need to consider;
Frohnhauser Sudwerkstatt
Pollerbergstraße 3, 45145 Essen
A ground floor brewery and bar, underneath an apartment block. Owned, managed, run and brewed by Peter. Peter is a German. Peter is wearing a t-shirt emblazoned - Drink Cask - as the Carrier Bag Firm lollop in. Peter is odd.
He's lived in England. He was introduced to Cask Ale by an English fella. When Peter describes him, he sounds like he was sent by CAMRA Central Casting. Peter moved back to Germany and has realised his dream of opening his own brewery and bar. And, he's making a right go of it. By brewing Cask Beer for his German customers. Who, according to Peter, are fucking all over it!!!
Peter's customers are odd.
And. It gets “worse”. Not only is he brewing Cask Ale. But, he's trying to recreate long lost British Beer Recipes. Trying to recreate them as authentically as possible. He moaned at me because for one beer he had tried to recreate, the recipe just said;
“Fuggle Hops from East Kent.”
“Phil. No good. It didn't tell me which part of East Kent.”
He's lovely. But, he's fucking odd.
He's also very, very proud to serve his beers in Imperial Pints.
“Proper 568 mls Phil.”
And. Have this one. Have this illustration of Broken Britain. He's tried to order his Pint Pots from the UK. But supplier after supplier got fucked around, and fucked him around by paperwork. So. Peter the German. Gets his Pint Pots from France!!!
Our first beer was Peter's go at recreating a William Younger IPA from 1885. He went and fetched me a copy of the recipe. Of course he fucking did. I never drank the original, so I don't know how close this ‘un was. Coming in at 7.6%. So, I weren't having a Pint made in France of that monster.
More conventionally;
Fronhauser Sudwerkstatt, Neon Hoppy Sparkle, Hazy Pale on Keg at 4.2%
Hallertauer, Sorachi Ace and Mosaic.
But, the Mild was off. Sort it out Peter. FFS.
Let's go there. There are some fans who want England to fail. They're rutted in to the narrative. Particularly the narrative around Gareth Southgate. They've put their views out there. On their So Meed. Their punditry. Their tactical analysis. It's out there. They need England to fail. So they're proved right.
All they've got. On a night like tonight is;
“Even though England won, they shouldn't have, and they won't next time.”
And they can fuck off.
That's the game. That's the game. What a night. What a fucking night.
As well as traction in The Black Country, my Blogs also generate clicks in Rotherham. One of the clickers, indeed my SUFC GangMaster, has asked me for a UEFA branded 0.5ml plastic pot as a souvenir of the tournament.
Relax mate. It's coming home. Which works on a number of levels.
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