The Warsteiner Effect

It has come to the Gurrier's attention over the past 18 months or so that a new and dangerous precedent is establishing itself in the pubs of my native city. Now, as you know, my esteem and respect for the publican fraternity lies somewhere between the esteem and respect I have for child molesters and Nazi war criminals. In a completely unregulated industry they carry out their viciously sharp practices with impunity-- and in some cases immunity from any sort of prosecution. In a pitiful nation where alcohol is the main form of social interaction, they are the crack dealers to our slavish social habit. Doing exactly as they please, they exist in an alternative Ireland inhabited only by other untouchables: TDs, farmers and white-collar criminals.

"Yeah, yeah!" I hear you jeer. "Stick it too them, Gurrier, the greedy bastards!" Well listen up, you pathetic fuck-knuckles! You bitch and moan but you know you'll be first in line for more abuse come Saturday night. You are part of the problem! Guzzling down the mean dregs and slops they serve you and coming back for more, meek as whipped mongrels. "Oh please Mr. Publican, please let me pay a 400% mark up on this insipid concoction of minerals and watered whiskey! Please screw me royally for the pleasure of drinking stale, overcarbonated pish drawn from dirty lines by sullen underpaid wage slaves! Please, please treat me no better than a mule-humping, child-pimping pornographer! Let me wave greasy tenners before your rum-reddened visage for the privilege of being shat on by you and your minions!" This is what you say everytime that till rings and they slam that brimming, oleaginous looking vessel in front of you.

Well, as if all that wasn't bad enough there is a new criminal practice abroad. The Warsteiner effect. As some of you may have noticed, a new and unusual looking addition has been made to many bars in the more "upmarket" public houses recently. This large and imposing ceramic obelisk towers over the other pumps giving the impression of a certain Teutonic grandeur. "Warsteiner" it is labelled in bold gothic script, or "Erdinger" in some of the even more exclusive up-your-own-arse establishments. What it translates as is LIES AND DECEIT! This is not some fabled ambrosia of the Gods, not some amber nectar lovingly crafted by specially trained dwarves in the thrall of evil monks high in their citadel above the Black Forest. This is beer! B.E.E.R. This is what beer is supposed to taste like. Flavoursome, properly carbonated, with texture and taste. Beer and lager drinkers in Ireland are so used to lashing back that weak turgid muck passing for Carlsberg or Heineken; they don't know any better. But the publicans do. Oh yes they know. They know that if the people of Ireland ever found out what they do in the darkness of their cellars to those metal kegs dispatched from Guinness HQ there would be blood in the streets.

So what's their solution to this problem of a beer they are not allowed to tamper with? Why, specialisation of course. This is a "gourmet" beer, a "full-flavoured" beer or some such other blathering shite and as such it will be served in ridiculous-looking "Continental" glasses and will be sold for an even more outrageous price than the rest of the slops. Then the punters will know that they're getting something "special". Lies and more damned lies! This travesty has to stop. Rise up I say, rise up against these lies and misrepresentations! Drink independent labels! Down with Guinness, down with the Protestant Porter! Down with the sham that is our drinks industry. Long live the true brews! Bring back D'Arcys Anchor Brewery! Flush that Breó abortion into the sewers! Demand a decent pint for a decent price! Become active consumers, not dribbling pint-gobblers enslaved to the whims of disreputable publicans.

And remember next time you're slumped against that bar, counting your change with stubby, guilt-ridden fingers, you have been warned. Caveat emptor!