The day after I was born a human error was made on a US national security computer the size of a car.
A training tape was fed into the machine and in return it concluded trouble. Screens across America showed the sky was full of Soviet ballistic missiles. As is often the case, things were not what they seemed.
Someone’s nerve held and mutually assured destruction was averted. The end of humanity and most life on earth would have sucked. Also, I would never have known the briny joy of an oyster, the deep umami hit of a glass of Emerson’s London Porter, the bony tactile perfection of a lover’s knee enclosed in my hand, the leafy golden joy of a pint of Galbraith’s Bob Hudson or even the sensation of eating solid food.
My existence would have consisted of a few hours with my worn-out mother who was reeling, damaged by the experience of bringing me into the world and by the surly matrons of St Helen’s Hospital Newtown who were setting about making the experience worse.
It is human nature to think the sky is falling. It is also human nature to deny it ever could fall.
Perhaps we are divided into people who see the end of it all as imminent and people who see the stretch of humanity as inexhaustible. Perhaps these two groups are the same as people who can picture their own funeral in high definition and those who are secretly convinced of their own immortality. Perhaps.
One day those of us who see the end will be proved correct to the cosmic gallery, unless the other lot are right in which case we are the cosmic gallery. My point is just because we have been predicting the “end” since forever that doesn’t mean the end will never come.
The same can be said for the little project we all care about, fight about, angst about and which we collectively call “Craft Beer”.
The seas have been choppy recently. Economic upheaval, the breakdown of social cohesion, skyrocketing costs as the earth’s gears grind and shear and the tax collectors turn their screws, the coming generations of drinkers opting for boozeless beverages, an emboldened prohibition lobby determined to repeat the mistakes of the past and an industry which has enthusiastically transformed itself into a novelty flavoured children’s entertainer.
The case for the prosecution is clear. The past 18 months’ have seen liquidations, fire sales, winding ups; we’ve seen foundation brands put on the market, fortunes lost and lives put into disarray. The fairy tale is over.
But let me step into the role of counsel for the defence for a moment. This was never a fairy tale.
As our industry has matured the waves of boom have started to enter the churn period that any mature market finds. The economic storm we currently find ourselves in is swamping the breweries that are over-extended, debt-laden or caught in the juncture of changing models.
The hard reality is that booms often lead to an over-abundance of players and that is inarguably the case in New Zealand. Corrections come in many forms.
None of this helps those whose dreams and life finances have been smashed, nor does it help loyal drinkers who mourn the loss of their favourite brewers. But I don’t think we are witnessing the end of craft beer just yet. The current market corrections, as painful as they are, will hopefully leave the remaining players stronger and more resilient going forward.
Then again, one day that sky might just actually fall you know.