Gatorade – Life In A Word

In the refrigerator of the beach house where my family and I vacation every summer, you’ll find an extensive collection of aging condiments. With different people in the house almost every week, the mustards, ketchups, salsas and spreads breed at an alarming rate. And the beverages aren’t far behind. Forage past the wine and beer bottles and you encounter all sorts of curious cans and contents. One in particular tempted me this time around but I couldn’t muster the courage to take a sip. I mean, would you try something called “Liquid Death”?

If you’re already familiar with Liquid Death, you know the joke’s on me. Liquid Death (“Murder Your Thirst!”) is nothing but drinking water, carefully sourced, packaged in a can covered with horror-movie graphics. The company believes their distinctive can means a) one less plastic bottle into landfill and b) one more serving of water into you (instead of something less healthy). Liquid Death also cans flavored sparkling waters and iced teas, and – no joke – invites you to sell your soul to the company. The company’s sales are no joke either – $130 million last year alone.

Liquid Death is one of countless examples of “packaged water” available to consumers these days. Since 2017, Americans are quaffing more bottled water than any other drink. 86% of us purchase water regularly, in addition to the H2O we drink from our faucets. Why? Because we’re waking up to the downsides of the sugar/chemical concoction known as the “soft drink”. We’re also subscribing to the belief we’re healthier if we drink more water. Finally, single/double/triple-serving containers appeal to us because we’ve already become so conditioned to them, thanks to… Starbucks.

Here’s a story to prove the statistics hold water. At a volleyball tournament in Atlanta last weekend, I ventured to the nearby snack stand to buy a drink. The cashier invited me to fish around in his giant coolers for whatever I wanted. What I wanted was water, but all I could find were dozens of neglected bottles of soft drinks, “sports drinks”, and energy drinks. So I asked the cashier, “What, no water?”, to which he replied, “Oh, we sold out of the waters hours ago”.

Then I went in search of a drinking fountain and couldn’t find one in the entire arena. Drinking fountains are quickly going the way of pay phones. In their places: dispensers designed to fill your personal bottle. I’m on board with this trend, especially because it reduces the use of plastic. But don’t forget your water bottle like I did or you’ll be forced to settle for one of those more colorful concoctions.

Lest you think otherwise, the bottled waters dominating the marketplace are brought to you by the same companies behind soft drinks. Accordingly, Dasani = Coca-Cola, Aquafina = PepsiCo, and Poland Spring = Nestlé. On the other hand, Arrowhead is only Arrowhead water, as is Evian’s natural spring variety (and whether “Evian” is intentionally “naive” spelled backwards is for you to decide).

We’ve taken water one step further now. Into our personal water bottles, tumblers, and jugs we add “flavor enhancers”, designed to a) give us more of what we lack (ex. electrolytes) or b) encourage us to drink more water by adding flavor. Crystal Light and Gatorade set this tone years ago. Today we choose from a dizzying array of powders, drops, and tablets, all designed to make water more appealing. But if we’re thirsty, shouldn’t water be appealing enough just the way it is?

A final sip of this subject. The average person has thirty-five “beverage occasions” a week. With each occasion you choose the container, contents, and quantity of whatever you’re going to drink. So even if your every day begins with a “Venti half-soy nonfat decaf latte” and ends with a fruit-forward, moderately dry Cabernet Sauvignon, you still have twenty-one other occasions for a tall drink of water. Liquid Death, anyone?

ESPN broadcast college football’s national championship Monday night. As the game moved to lopsided late in the second quarter my mind drifted to details besides the football itself. Hard Rock Stadium in Miami Gardens, FL is a striking facility, especially at night from the vantage point of the Goodyear Blimp. 15,000 football fans spaced randomly into 65,000 seats (thanks, COVID) looks awfully sparse. And speaking of awful(ly), the television commercials… well, let’s just agree college football ain’t the same thing as the Super Bowl, folks.

Super Bowl commercials are more entertaining than the game itself, unlike the advertisement drivel I saw Monday night. Super Bowl plugs cost $5 million for thirty seconds while Monday night’s spots were six figures at best. Finally, Super Bowl ads are desperate to be memorable (even if you can’t remember the product itself), which is why you have office pools for “best commercial”. You’re not gonna have an office pool for what I watched on Monday night. This was the reverse of the Super Bowl: great football, lousy commercials.

To say Monday night’s commercials paled in comparison to Super Bowl ads is like saying Sprite’s a little clearer than Coke. These product pushes were awful. For starters, you had what seemed like five advertisers over a four-hour broadcast. Dos Equis showed up every fifteen minutes. Their beer (excuse me, their lager) ads included a closeup of a glassful, with a commentator calling the movement of the bubbles as if they were players on a football field. Really? I hope his was a big paycheck.

Then you had AT&T, who seems to be promoting the lovely Milana Vayntrub (as salesperson “Lily”) as much as their products. Perhaps they’ve watched too many Progressive Insurance ads with Stephanie Courtney (as salesperson “Flo”)?

Finally, ESPN promoted itself. Normally I’d harp on the host network for advertising some of its own programs even though they paid millions to broadcast the game. But part of me thinks ESPN really does need the promos. COVID took a big bite out of sports over the last year, as well as a big bite out of ESPN’s workforce. When the network brought us Korean baseball and American cornhole competitions I thought, “Okay, the end is near”.

But forget ESPN because I need to be a Davey-downer (i.e., slam) on one more commercial. I’ve been building to this moment since the first paragraph. Gatorade just launched it’s first new beverage in twenty years: “Bolt24”. It’s low-cal and loaded with electrolytes, so naturally the target audience is athletes. And Gatorade also selected athletes to push its product. Enter Serena Williams. She’s one of those athletes I’m on the fence about. Her athletic skills and accomplishments on the tennis court are unquestionable. She’s garnered enough championships to earn her place in the tennis player “GOAT” discussion (greatest of all time).

But Serena also has her not-so-role-model moments. She does not take losing well. She does not welcome constructive criticism. Countless broken rackets, lectures (threats?) to chair umpires, and disqualifications would have you wondering if there isn’t a permanent child lurking within the adult. Wah wah wah. But the Bolt24 ad was the last straw in my Serena drink. Why? Because the tagline goes, “you know you’ve made it when the whole world knows you by one name”. Oh, so when I say just “Serena advertises Bolt 24”, you knowingly say in response, “oh, her?”

https://youtu.be/9n2SXqYyXg0

Yeah, I get the pitch. Bolt24 is a one-word drink. Serena Williams is almost the only Serena I can think of (besides Serena van der Woodsen, the entitled main character of the TV series Gossip Girl). But I just can’t buy into the loftiness of the catchphrase. Get the world to recognize you by first name only and “you’ve made it”? Sting. Madonna. Cher. Bono. Enya. See the pattern? It’s an actor/singer thing. Also, an athlete thing. Lebron. Tiger. O.J. (Maybe that last one should just be “Juice”?)

Okay then, shutting down my rant now. Holier-than-thou personas don’t deserve any more press. I like to keep “Life in a Word” positive; simple; modest. Like me. You know… Dave.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Tag: Gatorade

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