Chapter XVIII East vs. West The Great Brewer’s Guild Rivalry was coming to a head. The East Coast Clan, with their juicy, citrusy Grand IPA Philosophy marched forward, brandishing their Molotov-hoptails and frankly unintelligible accent. The West Coast Tribe, and their devout adherence to the hoppiest of hops stood their ground, hoisting pine bough clubs in their friendship-braceleted, chain mail arms. Neither side seemed ready to surrender. And there I stood, in the middle, quietly humming, "Why can’t we be friends?"