When I was a student at WVU, the dominant drink of choice was beer; it was cheap and readily available.  I think the two phrases I heard most during my time at WVU in the 1970’s were, “I have to drop this class” and “Let’s get some beer.”

Wine had not yet become popular and mixed cocktails were just too complicated.  I recall something about a confusing state law where only “private clubs” could serve liquor.

That created hurdles like membership cards and fees.  Who needed the hassle when you could walk to any number of joints in the University City and get a beer for a quarter?

There were, however, times in college when we abandoned the simplicity of beer and ventured into the more perilous region of hard liquor, and for that I must blame Mountaineer football.

For games at old Mountaineer Field, the drink of choice for our group was rum, specifically Bacardi’s rum.  Every home football Saturday started with a pilgrimage down High Street to the state store.

That was back when the state ran the liquor outlets, which meant the stores resembled a down-and-out retailer about to close for good.  The bottles were lined up on bland beige shelves. 

Racks of plumbing fixtures were more interesting.  There were no catchy or colorful signs like you see in the privately operated stores today with scantily clad women or buff young men pitching chocolate martinis. 

For me, buying liquor in the sterile old state stores, even though I was of age (which was 18 then), made me feel as though I was doing something illegal, if not immoral. 

But back to the rum.  Our brand loyalty was based less on the taste than on design.

Bacardi’s pint bottles were narrow with rounded edges.  I imagined that someone in the company’s design department was trying to create something aesthetically pleasing, but in doing so they also came up with a bottle that fit comfortably and securely between the waist of your jeans and your lower back.

That meant you could walk easily into old Mountaineer Field with your rum undetected. 

Once in and securely tucked into the bowl with other like-minded students, the bar was open.  A large Coke and one pint of rum could last a whole game, though by the end the ice was melted, the paper cup was breaking apart and, well, things were getting a little fuzzy.

After the game, the bowl of the old stadium would be littered with liquor bottles, including lots of those Bacardi pints.  It was a scene that would have brought a tear to the eye of ol’ man Bacardi, if there were such a person.

The end of college brought the end of my rum drinking.  It just didn’t taste the same, leaving me to conclude that the wonderfully illicit sweetness of my rum and Cokes were all about time and place. 

I tried a rum drink again recently, but it didn’t go well.  It was at a restaurant in Morgantown and I ordered a mojito, only I pronounced “mo-GEE-to.”  The waitress coolly asked, “Do you mean a “mo-HE-to?” 

I’m sorry.  I’ve missed a lot of the new drink creations.  When it comes to liquor, I’m still wandering around the old state store, comparing price vs. volume and looking for a bottle with a svelte design. 

If only the waiter has come out from behind the bar and pulled a pint of Bacardi’s from behind his back, then I could have ordered correctly.