An Unopened Bottle of Zima Can Be a Trophy

Trophies come in many shapes and sizes.

The NFL has the Lombardi Trophy, awarded to the winner of each year’s Super Bowl;

the NHL of course has the Stanley Cup, earned by the winner of the final playoff series each year;

the NBA has the Larry O’Brien Championship Trophy, delivered to the team winning the NBA finals;

and the MLB has the Commissioner’s Trophy, awarded to the World Series winner.

Trophies, medals, and other types of commemorative items are awarded to team and individual winners for a vast array of accomplishments - many of them for achieving wins in sporting competitions, but also for besting others in journalism, literature, and musical composition (Pulitzer Prize);

promoting peace (Nobel Peace Prize);

and for film industry excellence (Oscars).

The Masters golf tournament not only provides the winner with their name engraved on a 132-pound silver trophy, which remains in the clubhouse at Augusta National Golf Club, and a more-manageable 20-pound Sterling silver replica which the winner gets to take custody of, but also a striking green jacket, which is quite fashionable, as long as it’s worn south of the Mason-Dixon line, and never after Labor Day.

And then there’s the “Longvalley Road Neighbors Zima Traveling Trophy”. . .wait, what?

Perhaps I should explain. More than twenty-five years ago, I lived on Longvalley Road, in Chicago’s North Shore suburb of Glenview. We visited a neighbor of ours, whom I will call Julie (because that’s her name) one evening, and, because I was taught that you don’t show up empty-handed to a party at someone’s home, I proudly presented Julie with a six-pack of Zima, touted by its purveyor, Coors Brewing Company, as a “refreshing citrus beverage.”

Although we can all agree that I was right to arrive at Julie’s home that evening with a gift of some sort - a bottle of wine might have been appropriate, or even a six-pack of a trendy, craft beer (no, Schlitz would not have qualified), I now recognize that my propensity to turn to a quirky solution in social situations such as this one was wrongheaded, and contrary to the mores of polite society. Witness the Christmas party offering executed some ten years earlier, as recounted in a recent Rule of Three column. . .

Have you shown up at someone's home bearing a gift that you later came to regret?  Been there, man!  Perhaps you can assuage that guilt by simply clicking the button here to subscribe to Rule of Three - it's free!  

We must have sampled that “refreshing citrus beverage” that evening, and, if memory serves, we decided that it was crappy - hell, even Coors Brewing Company (which subsequently became known as MillerCoors LLC) bailed on it in 2008, discontinuing the unpopular brand. Now, you might think that’s the end of the story. You would be wrong.

Because, at least one of those bottles of Zima survived the evening, and over the course of the next couple of years, resurfaced in truly surprising ways. I say, “surprising,” because I honestly do not recall under what circumstances it appeared, other than to remember that it did indeed appear. . .many, many times.

My imagination is as active as the next guy, and I can suggest to you that the aforementioned surviving bottle of Zima might have appeared gift-wrapped at a birthday party for either Julie or me; it might have been mailed via the U.S. Postal Service to the other from one of us (likely a federal crime - I hope the statute of limitations has expired); it may have appeared in her son’s baseball glove left on the bench before a little league baseball game; it might have been standing atop the garbage can, the morning after garbage pickup; it might have appeared at the top of the slide on the children’s playset in the backyard; it may have surfaced in the wading pool in the yard; it may have been stuffed into a briefcase, to be discovered later at the office; it might even have been ironically provided as a gift when visiting the other’s home for a party - you get the idea, the opportunities were endless.

So, why was this “Longvalley Road Neighbors Zima Traveling Trophy” so well-travelled? Although the requirements for earning this coveted trophy were never committed to writing, I would posit that the trophy was awarded “entirely at random, spurred by the desire of bemusement,” which, aligns quite nicely, all these years later, with Rule No. 3 (“Amuse yourself”).

You know what would be truly remarkable? If, when I arrived at the local movie theater this evening, the guy behind the refreshments counter handed me my popcorn, and then passed along another item, indicating that, “Here’s your popcorn, sir, and your Zima - enjoy the movie.”

That would prompt a slow clap sequence from me, accompanied by a look of admiration on my face, and unequivocal praise, acknowledging, “Well-played, Julie. . well-played.” And, Julie’s immediate nomination for membership in the “Merry Prankster’s Long-Game Hall of Fame”.

You have the opportunity to be inducted into the "Rule of Three Dedicated Reader Hall of Fame" right now, by clicking the button here to subscribe to Rule of Three - it's free!