Andy Young: When does Gatorade go bad?

By Andy Young

Gatorade, the liquid thirst quencher, was invented by scientists at the University of Florida in 1965. It originally came in one variety: green. I didn’t try the stuff until after I had turned 10. Perhaps that was due to its cost at the time, or from a lack of its availability where I lived.

My interest in this skillfully marketed, ubiquitous source of electrolytes was reignited recently when I was gifted with three bottles of it, and from a most unlikely source.

However, in order to effectively protect the privacy of the individuals involved in this real-life tale of intrigue, I’ve opted to use a pair of three-letter pseudonyms.

“Amy” and I went to see a mutual friend (and former colleague) one afternoon last month. “Joe” has been retired for 15 years or so, but he’s still as vital, witty, and caring as he was when the three of us served as English teachers together. He’s universally acknowledged as one of the best educators to ever roam the halls of the high school where I’ve been employed for the past 23 years. He’s also, incredibly, an even better person than he was a teacher; his kindness and generosity of spirit are both palpable.

When we arrived at his home, “Joe” greeted us with hugs, handshakes, and an offer of refreshments. Then he asked a question I had not been anticipating. “Andrew,” he intoned in the same stentorian voice that mesmerized his students and colleagues alike for decades, “do you drink Gatorade?”

Even more unexpected than that odd inquiry was its source. “Joe” has never hidden his aversion to perspiring. He pronounces the word “exercise” with the same level of disgust most people my age reserve for such terms as “racist,” “human trafficker,” or “social media influencer.” Why he had three bottles of Gatorade in his possession is unclear, since someone who detests exercise needs Gatorade like Helen Keller needed binoculars.

Still, when I’m asked an honest question I provide an honest answer, so I responded, “Sure … if it’s free.” “Well then,” he intoned. “I’ve got three bottles you can take home with you.”

Our thoroughly enjoyable visit flew by, but as dinnertime approached and “Amy” and I reluctantly had to depart, “Joe” reminded me not to forget the Gatorade. “Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “it may be a little, ah … old.”

A couple of weeks later, after taking a lengthy bike ride, I downed the contents of the bottle containing orange-flavored (or more accurately, orange-colored) Gatorade. It tasted normal, which is to say not even remotely like oranges. But then, remembering the parting remark “Joe” had made about the libation’s age, I thought I’d check to see if there was an expiration date on the outside of the container.

There was. It read, “Oct 24 21.” Then I checked the other bottles. The one containing what I had just consumed was the youngest of the trio.

Since I’m still very much alive, and it’s apparent I’ve suffered no harmful after-effects from gulping down 32 four-year-old ounces of Gatorade. I’ve yet to sample the lemon lime (expiration date; Sep 30 18) variety yet, nor the kiwi strawberry (expiration date: Aug 07 18), which is an indistinct, indescribable color I have never encountered anywhere in nature. I’m saving those two bottles for a special occasion, like maybe after they’ve turned 10.

There are, as I see it, two takeaways from all this.

One is that it’s safe to drink four-year-old Gatorade. The other: pseudonyms only work if you use a name different from the actual one of the person(s) whose identity you’re trying to protect. <