You are meant to stand there, hands on hips in a manly way, staring at the beer mat.
When the barman puts the beer onto the mat, you then have to stare unsmiling at him, as if mutually acknowledging the fact that both of you could wrestle a bear to the floor, if you wanted to.
Then stare at the beer, this is one on one now and only one of you is going down (usually the first ten beers, then you).
You notice the swirling bubbles, the heady froth on top, then it's in your hand and with no more than four gulps it is down your neck.
You wait, feet apart, beer dripping from the corner of your mouth, like a salivating hound of hell. To hold onto the bar rail at this point would mean shame and possibly having to join the Foreign Legion.
Then with one manly swipe, you clear the froth from your mouth, stare around the room to see if any women have been watching, then return to staring at the beer mat.
The barman knows that this is fight to the floor and will already be pouring another.