I had a Pepsi last week. It was a spur of the moment decision. See, I don’t drink pop that often, but when I do, I drink Coke. I live in Atlanta, I mean c’mon. In fact, Coca Cola has been so ingrained in me down here, that I probably haven’t had a Pepsi since my college days. And I’m talking straight up Pepsi, not Mountain Dew or Dr. Pepper (I’ve noticed down South you could mean Dr. Pepper, 7UP, Pepsi, or Mountain Dew, yet they still say “Coke” for everything).
It’s not because you can’t find Pepsi here, though it does seem scarce at times. There are those loyal chains that carry the brand, but I don’t usually eat at those restaurants, and again, I don’t usually order pop.
I digress … the bottom line is, for whatever reasons (mostly my proximity to Coke country), I had a Pepsi, and I never have a Pepsi. It was a sunny summer day, the kind where you can smell the fresh cut grass and the BBQ burning in the backyard down the street. And suddenly I was taken back to Hoover Field in New Paris, IN.
The great Hoover Field.
The trusty old scoreboard. Wait – is that a Pepsi logo I see?
Hoover Field is the ball diamond where I, along with thousands of other kids over the years, played little league during our summer breaks from school. Keep in mind the town itself boasts a population of right around 1500, so pretty much no matter how coordinated or not you were, little league was what you did as a kid.
I loved little league.
Look at that awesome third baseman just waiting for action.
My t-ball, coach-pitch, and softball playing years weren’t the kind players have nowadays. Travel leagues weren’t the trend; there may have been an end of season all-star game against a neighboring town at best. A friendly competitive spirit kept the games alive. We didn’t have moms arguing with umps; we had moms stepping in as third base coaches. Our dads weren’t schmoozing a scout; they were in the dugout readying the next player at bat.
Where waited our turn to be on deck.
Ball games were a family affair. Tiny tots ran around the grassy grounds playing tag while their siblings practiced their throws. Parents chatted up one another while their children took the field. Runs counted. There were winners and losers. We had fun team names like Royals, Cardinals and Phillies. We drank water from a hose, unfiltered, and lived to tell the tale. We had actual human beings chucking balls across the plate for coach-pitch. Those were great summers.
One of my brother’s little league teams back in the day. Way way back in the day.
Families sat together in the stands.
The diamonds were our playground for the entire summer.
The best part? A win. A win didn’t just mean you were the best at your game. A win meant the coach was going to treat you to a drink of your choice for a game well-played. And what did those old Lion’s Club members serve from their little concession stand in the sticks? Pepsi. It was ice cold and melted in your mouth. It was the best fix on a hot summer’s eve, and tasted even better because it was earned. There were no health nuts saying the soda would dehydrate us or that it wasn’t good for our teeth. It was just the universal drink of champions, and often losers, too. Whichever you were, we all shared that moment together.
Though Pepsi was king, if you were the daring sort, like me, there was a different order of the day. A good old fashioned suicide. For those of you uncool cats that have no idea what I’m talking about (my husband included), a suicide was a mix of Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Dr. Pepper and 7Up. And it was awesome. Next time you’re at a chain, try it. You won’t be disappointed.
Do something out of the ordinary this week – have a Pepsi and just sit back and enjoy. Be reminded of a time where having something as simple as a soda meant all your worries went away. Take a moment to remember what quenched your thirst after a tough game – especially for my friends still spending their summers at Hoover Field. And to my peers that played ball but are now sitting on the sidelines watching your kid at bat– share with them that tiny bit of happiness you were granted when you came flying off the field. Those kinds of summers are short and don’t last forever. No-take-backs.
Best summers ever.
