Farewell Zima, You Are Gone But Not Forgotten

It's rare (if ever) that we veer completely off the sports track here at The Legend. We are, in fact, a self-proclaimed sports blog and have no intentions otherwise. However, once in a sunshine-on-a-dog's-ass, there's a story that is simply too important not to be shared. In this case, the news is unfortunately tragic in nature - in fact, it is of unspeakable horror. Yet, it is in these toughest and most melancholy of times that we must not only persevere, but pay tribute.

Ladies and gentlemen, our old friend Zima has been laid to rest.

If I'm the last to get the memo, well then f-me and f-you to those so-called "friends" of mine out there who may have already been privy to this information but failed to relay it. Those of you who refuse to acknowledge your previous connections to the Zima brand are either:

(a) completely full of sh*&
(b) too young to have experienced this bastion to clear malt beverage-like things at its peak
(c) so completely overwhelmed by the news that you've been rendered temporarily speechless

Me, I'm a 31-year old dude who is not to afraid to admit I rocked a Zima or two in my younger days. For you wee chaps, or those skeptical based on perceptions of these newer Zima incarnations, Zima was the balls back in '93 when it exploded on the scene. The slightly sweet alcoholic delight "tasted like Sprite" (as I recall) and packed more punch than a light beer. Plus, it came in these wicked cool bottles.

I recall many a time tucked in the corner of a shaded parking lot or gathered in the shadows around our HS track where a six-pack of Zima was revealed much to the delight of our teenage posse. And more than a few times those sneaky, little 10-proof bottles went down like water only came up like daggers later. Yes, Zima was one of my earliest blackout facilitators long before I had access to real blackout facilitators.

In retrospect, it was one of those ideas that just defied all logic - in a bad way. A malt beverage in a clear, lightly carbonated liquid form? Malt beverages as I know them come in large 40-oz. bottles with names like Silver Thunder, Mickey's and OE, affixed with labels that espouse their respective benefits, such as charcoal filtering (wait, what?). They look the color of piss. Often taste like it. And, by the time you hit the bottom of the bottle, are as warm and flat as it. I knew as much at the time and should have declared Zima a threat to all things holy and sacred.

No, Zima certainly didn't make any sense. It was like making cola clear. I mean, c'mon? Who would ever think to even ponder such a thing? Yet, Zima was a cultural phenomenon at the start. But it's success was short-lived, and the loveable clear malt beverage fell on tougher times, soon becoming the butt of many jokes. Now, finally, it's met its end as manufacturer Miller is turning to other "malternatives," a fantastically-ridiculous term in and of itself.

We were contemplating bringing this all around to sports, but, honestly, we have neither the time nor inclination. Frankly, we're still trying to regain our bearings. However, that is not to say we don't think there's potential for a sports connection here. In fact, we were bouncing around in our heads the coining of a new phrase called "The Zima Theory." Borrowing in a sense from the spirit of Simmons's Ewing Theory, but not really.

Here's the beginning of the concept: The Zima Theory is applicable to sports figures who experienced mercurial early rises in their career (even if fueled more by hype than production), only to quickly crash and fade almost entirely from memory. And, if remembered, are retrospectively done so in what is often a mocking manner.

We've yet to really fine tune The Zima Theory, but we somehow feel this guy could be a great early candidate. Tell us what you think, dear readers. Of high school in the mid-90s, malternatives, life and The Zima Theory. We need you. We thrive on your enthusiasm.