[Remember Shaggy Dog stories? You don’t hear them any more. They don’t work on TikTok. For those of you who never stayed awake until 3 am in a college dorm room with four other people doing absolutely nothing other than wasting each others’ time, a shaggy dog story is an anecdote that goes on for a very long … a very, very long time … that then culminates in an anti-climactic, groan-inducing punchline. (The most famous shaggy dog story is The Aristocrats that was inspiring enough to provide the premise for for a full-length feature film, a trailer for which follows this article.)

Two things to know about Schlitz beer. It was the beer with “gusto,” a word that sounds right for beer, even if no one knows what it tastes like. And two, for years the company slogan was “the beer that made Milwaukee famous,” which gives you a heads up on a very long story that involves Casey Stengel, the New York Mets, all seven games of a World Series, and a young pitching phenom named Mel Famey. SB SM]

https://www.bostonglobe.com/2026/05/21/lifestyle/eulogy-schlitz-cheap-beer

A eulogy for Schlitz, the cheap beer that made me a beer lover

The last batch of the 177-year-old beer will be brewed this weekend

By Kevin Slane Globe correspondent,Updated May 21, 2026, 2:54 p.m.

A former titan of the beer industry is bidding drinkers farewell this week, as Schlitz — once the best-selling beer in the world — is quietly brewed for the final time.

After photos of empty shelves began circulating on social media, Pabst, which purchased Schlitz in 1999, told Milwaukee Magazine that a number of its cheaper beer brands, including Schlitz, were being put “on hiatus.”

Created by August Klug in a Milwaukee tavern in 1849, Schlitz was the top beer producer in America for long stretches of the 20th century, and even pioneered the now-ubiquitous use of brown bottles to prevent its fermented creations from getting skunked by sunlight.

The brewery eventually fell victim to labor unrest and cost-conscious owners who debuted a “new” (read: cheaper) formula in the 1970s, beginning an inexorable slide into obscurity.

None of that storied history was relevant to me in 2008, when I first encountered Schlitz as a college student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. (Please don’t do the math on exactly how old I was if you’re reading this, Mom.)

Attracted partly by the retro label but mostly by the price (less than $3 for a six-pack), I was pleasantly surprised to find that Schlitz — a punch line on “SNL” and in movies like “Super Troopers” — was not only drinkable but actually quite pleasant.

I can still remember the malty aroma when I cracked open the first bottle, pouring it into one of the free glasses Schlitz provided as part of a promotional push for the return of its “classic” formula from the 1960s. (The beer’s original recipe was lost to history, but Pabst claimed that it consulted old Schlitz company records to recreate the beer.)

Schlitz had a flavor profile more complex than the other cheap lagers my friends and I drank, whose dominant tasting notes ranged from “water” (Milwaukee’s Best) to “water light” (Keystone). The first sip reinforced the sweet beer’s sweet scent, but wasn’t cloying. And the finish had a bitter, floral taste thanks to a light infusion of hops, a foreign but not unpleasant concept to my unrefined 20-year-old palate. (OK, I did the math. Sorry again, Mom.)

Though a Pabst spokesperson told Milwaukee Magazine it would examine “opportunities to bring back beloved brands” with enough customer feedback, Schlitz’s future looks hazier than a New England IPA.

Rather than give the 177-year-old beer its own swan song, Pabst is letting a different brewery (Wisconsin Brewing Co.) brew the “final Schlitz” at its facilities on May 23. Wisconsin Brewing brewmaster Kirby Nelson is following Pabst’s lead by consulting historic company records to recreate a Schlitz of yesteryear, telling the magazine he was aiming to emulate the “golden era” of 1948, when Schlitz was the world’s most popular beer.

Nelson’s efforts to give Schlitz a proper farewell are laudable. But it’s easy to see why Pabst is comfortable letting the once-iconic brand fade away.

The number of drinkers who imbibed Schlitz at its best is decreasing by the day. Baby boomers, who might reasonably reach for a cool glass of nostalgia as they ease into retirement, only remember the degraded version that followed. (Case in point: I texted a relative who reached legal drinking age in Wisconsin in the ’70s for his thoughts on Schlitz. His response: “It tasted like it sounds.”)

Nevertheless, Schlitz will always hold a place in my heart. It exposed me to a world beyond beer sold exclusively in kegs and 30-packs. It prepared me for the fast-approaching craft brewery boom of the 2010s, when I inexplicably developed strong opinions on West Coast vs. New England IPAs. Most importantly, it provided a six-pack of adequate suds for the cost of doing a few loads of laundry — and when forced to prioritize my budget, I knew which one to choose. (For the final time: Sorry, Mom.)