"Next up... Women's Shotgunning! On the main field!" Our host is clutching a stopwatch and trying desperately to make sure that all the events at the Beerlympics happen in an orderly and logical fashion. Given that it's now almost 8:00 p.m. and that the Beerlympics began at 3:00 p.m., his work is getting a little more strenuous. But don't judge: These aren't dumbfuck fratboy drinking games. "There are pages of rules," a beerthlete says, shaking his head in disbelief, "You have to see the rules. They're up on the web. He's thought of everything, covered every event... evensh..." I help him out: eventuality. "Yeah, that," he smiles.
Each woman is allowed to select her beer: One of the contestants chooses a warm PBR. "She knows what she's doing!" the impressed judge announces, and, in fact, she does away with the entire beer in five seconds. "Stylewise, that was poor," says an onlooker, shaking his head—this matters because Shotgunning is awarded based on Time, Cleanliness, and Artistic Merit.
There's a huge crash: A man has jumped through an aluminum wall, a keg's worth of empties. He lies on the ground, dazed among the cans, and his friend laughs, "It took so little effort to convince him to do that—one drunk guy shouts, 'Do it!' and he jumps!" By 11:00 p.m., the winners have been declared, and through the thrill of Beirut and the agony of Tip-The-Cup, the amount of skill necessary to compete—and pull off the event as planned—is admirable: I hope we send these kids to the International Beerlympics.
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