Ah, the euphoric release of celebrating a goal. No inhibitions. No boundaries. Just grab the nearest stranger and shake them with unnerving force. Take that bald man’s head in your hands and kiss it. Gurn and roar and swear and hold your fists to the sky in glory (or relief). As a longtime Arsenal season ticket holder I’ve lost count of how often I’ve nearly fallen down the row in front, propelled by swarming bodies and the melee of flailing arms – full “limbs” (the internet term). Let’s go fucking mental (the technical term). Embrace pure instinct. Except, for some England fans it’s not. Even in a tournament where Qatar is literally paying fans to be there, is there anything more artificial this World Cup than the choreographed pint throwing across England’s fan zones? Yes, the pint throwing is back. What started during the 2018 World Cup with viral videos of fans in Hyde Park and Flat Iron Square has limped on to today. It’s not as widespread this time around – the winter? The vibe? The passage of time killing its momentum? – but there are still plenty of videos circulating of fans drenching each other with beer after every goal. Even the England team’s official Twitter account is tweeting them out. Goal celebrations used to be proportional: the more crucial the goal the more riotous the scene. That relationship is broken. Is the natural response to the third goal in a dead rubber group match against Wales to launch your drink into the air? I love Bukayo Saka as much as the next person, but was his goal against Senegal, England’s third, of such significant relief it was worth losing your drink over? Or is the pint-throwing craze football fandom’s collective fake orgasm? It rarely happens outside tournament football, if at all. Most match- or pub-going fans probably hold synchronised beer-chucking in the same disdain they do Mexican waves. I’ve certainly never witnessed it outside of England matches (though I have been hit by a beer thrown in anger at the Emirates stadium – there may be a ban on pitch-side alcohol but trust me, if you want to get it through you can). No, this phenomenon is largely contained to England’s dedicated fan zones, with Boxpark its ground zero, where the drenching is such a part of the action that waterproof ponchos are now the fashion accessory of choice. There’s a lot that feels forced about these fan theme parks; in every viral video you can usually spot a handful of guys who pause their celebrations, pick a pint off the table and dash it across the room. It’s hard to escape the feeling it’s all simulation for the cameras. Which probably shouldn’t come as a surprise. Football fandom drifted into the realms of celebrity fandom via content creation a long time ago. Every major club now has its share of online fan channels and influencers peddling over-the-top reactions and manufactured outrage in pursuit of compelling content. And it’s not uncommon to see fans filming their every reaction at actual matches for social media clout. Fan competition for online attention is nothing new. Pre-planned pint-chucking is just another TikTok dance, the latest display of fan narcissism for those hoping to see themselves in the next viral “LIMBS!” video. I know what some of you are probably thinking: here we go, the fun police have arrived. And sure, we could just leave Boxpark’s poncho ultras be, let them enjoy the flashmob revelry and move on. But we should strive for better. Australian fans produced numerous scenes of anarchic joy celebrating goals and victories – arguably the best of the tournament. None required mass drenching. What may have felt natural and bacchanalian when we were all outside in the glorious sunshine of 2018 now feels as organic as astroturf. The vibe has long since dissipated. Lads, don’t throw your pint in the air. Pour one out for a craze that should have been left in the past. Chris Godfrey is a commissioning editor on G2