Battle Royale: Swill v. Swell

A Chronicle of Alcohol Use and Abuse in the Post-Collegiate World

Beer, more than any other drink, is the drink of the little-d democrat. The choices are nearly limitless; indeed the beer drinker is truly only bound by the availability of certain brews. Price, unlike with bottles of wine or hard liquor, never strays all that far from ten greenbacks a sixer.
Yet, if beer is truly the drink of the common man, the worker, why such a heated debate surrounding its image? Why do we raise these qualitative qualms concerning our brews of choice? If your preference lies with a finely crafted, brown ale from the British Isles or with a robust lager from Milwaukee, what does it matter?
Swill: Because we’ve lost our way, that’s why! We’ve been perfectly happy for generations with Budweiser and Pabst, what has changed so drastically?
Swell: Because God damn it, pilsner is not everything! Standards must be made, and standards must be kept.
Swill: Beer has never been, nor will it ever be wine. It’s meant to refresh, to unwind after a long day, and not collect dust in some basement.
Swell: Beer appreciation is not about lording knowledge over the “less educated,” but enjoying the myriad possibilities that the combination of hops and barley can provide. It is not about elitism, but about giving your taste buds a well-deserved foam in your mouth.
Swill: Bud has a head just like Bell’s. What are the qualitative rewards we reap from these “myriad” hop and barley possibilities? A cool beer after a long day—whether crunching numbers or cracking concrete—restores humanity. After sacrificing your soul for eight hours and a pittance, there’s nothing like the crisp, carbonated flavor of a good beer. When you can hardly stand to contemplate the beer list, who wants to try to digest an imperial stout? Give me some of that great taste that’s a bit less filling, which still gets the endorphins and blood rushing and creates that warm spot just behind my eyes.
Swell: The merits of good beer over the lesser are many. I will grant you the pure, visceral nature of swill. On the other hand, swell retains that same quality, if ordered properly. Clearly, a Budweiser meshes better with a hard day’s work than the aforementioned stout. But does Budweiser even stand a chance against a high quality Wit beer? The price difference is marginal, but the quality and taste difference is significant. Perhaps most importantly, the higher quality ingredients ensure that no matter how much one drinks of the good stuff, the drunkard never crosses the wicked-hangover Rubicon.
Many may argue that the image of beer is one of its most appealing qualities. True beer aficionados, however, know that taste and quality is more important than the ethos a can of PBR can ever provide. Indeed, without its ethos—and we should not deny it this particular characteristic, as it is both real and worthy—PBR and its ilk are little more than signals of a poor economic situation.
Swill: PBR and its ilk are signals of a tradition that originates in the earliest distillations. Beer has never been elegant, it has served one purpose and one purpose only: it’ll get you drunk. Beer was never about the taste—information suggests that the earliest brews probably tasted more like mold and feet soaked in battery acid—but about it’s intoxicating properties. Finding enjoyment in things beyond simple catharsis and release is fine, but to perch on a bar stool and decry the baseness of Miller is missing the point of beer. It’s like saying sex without love isn’t as good—that may be the case, but you’re missing the point of sex…shit’s biological
(Oh and Wit Beer, do you want me to get cavities? If I want sweet, I’ll get a Tootsie-Pop.)
Swell: Not to go all Clarence Darrow on this, but humanity, like all other animals, evolves. Our first tastes may not have been much—and, truthfully, we have no real way of exactly knowing just why beer was invented—but, dear God, put down that bloody Keystone or I will slap you upside the head and taunt you a second time. Wasting your money, time, and drunkenness on such a vile substance is worthy of incarceration.
Swill: No one but Ben Stein is denying evolution, but let’s remember that some of the best things in life are primal—need I remind you of sex? When it comes to release, we don’t find it in Goddard or Ayler, we find it in AC/DC and MGD. Our primal nature is what keeps US Magizine in the hands of Ph.D students and Grain Belt in the fridges of accountants. The bouquet and complex flavours of a Goose Island Bourbon County Stout are something to behold, but what of utility? It’s nearly impossible to drink more than one in an evening.

It’s obvious that the aesthetics of the two sides are different, but the problem is not one of aesthetics, it’s one of pride. Sometimes it’s familial (“Busch was good enough for my father, so it’s good enough for me”), sometimes it’s classist (“I won’t drink that proletarian puke”), but we’ve ultimately invested too much of ourselves into one side for the other to be anything than bitter.

Here’s to you deciding,
John C. Schlotfelt
Andrew M. Swift
theweeklydrunkard@gmail.com