World Cup Pints

There are few relationships in British life as sacred, ubiquitous and widely enjoyed as football and beer. From the pre to post match pints, to watching the big match on the big screen down the pub or sinking a few bottles as you hide behind the sofa during the penalty shoot-out, beer is the best buddy that can both celebrate and commiserate with you.

Of course, with the World Cup being in the States, those fans with deep enough pockets to actually go to the World Cup will have the double pleasure of being fleeced for not just their tickets but their drinks too. 

But, as the rest of us will be relegated to watching the tournament from home, we thought we’d look at the prospects for the tournament not through the lens of xG charts, tactical podcasts or Gareth from Accounts’ “accumulator of destiny” – but through the universal common denominator of national beers and what they say about the favourites to lift the trophy.

Take France, and the super popular French beer Kronenbourg 1664. Smooth, polished, slightly superior in a way that makes you want to beat them even more. France really are reflected in their beer - elegant branding, excellent balance, and behaving as though they were born to be served in a proper glass while everyone else gets a warm can from the off-licence. 

Spain, meanwhile, are a cold Mahou or San Miguel on a tiled bar in the late afternoon. Crisp, controlled, deceptively easy. Spanish football at its best is like a beer that disappears too quickly: one-touch passing, endless movement, and before you know it you are is how they get you.

Then, of course, there’s England, which shouldn’t be represented by some fizzy fake lager pretending to be continental. England are A Pint of Best: familiar, stubborn, some hidden depths, and much more popular back in 1966. A pint of best is a pub full of people moaning about everything from the team selection to the strip, but secretly hoping it’s all going to end with victory. It’s an experience that’s anxious, romantic, self-sabotaging and brilliant. Much like ordering crisps as dinner.

Brazil are Brahma: sunshine, rhythm, colour, coolness, and the dangerous promise that something beautiful might happen at any moment. Even when Brazil are not quite Brazil, they still carry the aura of summer football. Brahma in the same way feels designed for shirtsleeves, riotous noise and the vague idea that tomorrow’s problems will all be solved if you have some more.

Argentina and Quilmes are different. There is poetry there, but also edge. Argentina are not just flair; they are street corners, elbows, theatre and survival. Quilmes feels like the beer of a nation that treats football less as entertainment and more as a family argument conducted at full volume. Nobody does beautiful fury quite like Argentina.

Portugal, with Sagres, are compact, confident and quietly stylish. They are the mate who turns up late to five-a-side wearing boots far too expensive for the match and then scores six. Super Bock is not fussy; Portugal are not either. They have technicians everywhere, but they also know tournament football often comes down to one moment, one cross, one finish, one veteran refusing to leave the stage.

Germany are best understood through Oettinger or a proper pils: efficient, clean, reliable, and faintly terrifying when working properly. You never really want Germany hanging around in a knockout draw. Like a good pils, they may not scream for attention, but by the end you realise they have done everything correctly and you are the one on the bus home.

The Netherlands? Heineken, obviously. Refreshes the parts other beers cannot reach and all that. A bit like the total football that transformed the world of football at the 1974 World Cup. Today Dutch football always promises equal measures of geometry, rebellion and occasionally downright dirty play as evidenced by the 2010 World Cup Final.

Among the outsiders for the Cup, Colombia are Águila: golden, loud, communal, and built for celebration. If Colombia get momentum, they become everyone’s second team until they knock out yours. Morocco, with Casablanca, are cool and composed, much like their 2022 run: organised, proud, and far harder to shift than people expect. Japan are Asahi Super Dry: crisp, precise, modern, ruthless in the details.

Uruguay, finally, are Patricia or Pilsen: no-nonsense, underrated, and much stronger in the tackle than the label suggests. A team that really doesn’t care about your possession stats. They care whether you fancy 90 minutes of discomfort.

So, let’s fill our glasses, place our bets, put on our footy Tees and settle down to the worlds’ greatest excuse for a month spent drinking beer and watching footy.