I was in the Padwell Arms for the Battle of the Brewers. It seems I'd got the wrong end of the stick and no fisticuffs were involved, the outcome being decided by people voting on the beers. Just as well really, pub fights are usually very scrappy affairs.
The first round was golden ales and lack of preparation let me down. The beer hadn't had enough time to condition properly so was flat and sweet. If you haven't got the conditioning right when you go to a fight you've only got yourself to blame when you gas. Or don't gas in this case. The vote was still close across the four breweries competing but I can't complain that I didn't win the round.
Next was session beers, and again it was close but this time I was out pointed by a single vote.
Without winning a round I was facing an uphill battle going into the back end of the fight. I was in the trenches, I was having to dig deep, I was running out of boxing clichés. The third round was premium bitters and this time my beer was definitely on form. I got a big thumbs up from the pub landlord so I felt confident but again a close vote went against me.
No clear winner had emerged yet but going into the last round without a win I knew I needed a knock out to be sure of victory. When the votes were read out my stout was up last. You could cut the air with a knife the tension was so great. OK I made that bit up. Most people must have been pissed by this point and didn't really care, but I was getting edgy.
The first beer got a hesitant single vote and the second beer managed only two. Things were looking up. The third beer fared little better getting three votes and finally when the last vote for my last beer was called a sea of hands went up. A few people must have drifted off before the vote but I got well over twice what all the other beers put together had got. My beer was on the button and my opponents were on the canvas. I'd got enough votes to win not just the round but the whole competition. Victory was mine!