What was...the Secret of the Tomato Paste?

I remember reading the Hardy Boys (and, truth be told, Nancy Drew) mystery books growing up. It was great when they had a dust jacket...there would always be some cheesy blurb about the story.

"One by one the tomatoes were disappearing. Tom and Ato were drawn into a dangerous investigation in a canning factory. What was the chilling secret of the Tomato Paste?"

All of which has absolutely nothing to do with this post, other than the title. It is like a classic Simpsons episode that starts off with a trip to watch a flower open but is really about Moe being a psycho baby stalker who finds his reason for living in taking care of another families' child. Huh? What did the flower have to do with anything?

I remember (another deep dark secret from my past) playing soccer. It was hilarious. They always gave us oranges as if they would replenish the sweat and energy lost in a frenetic half of watching grass grow...I mean, demonstrating the passion and creativity of a well-played game of football. But always it was oranges. We might have Gatorade one week, water another, and even occasionally soda depending on who the team mother was, but the supply of oranges never dried up, never wavered...it was always there.

And they were always cut in quarters. Have you eaten a quarter of an orange? The peel totally gets in the way. And the math never added up. We played halves, ate quarters, and wanted eighth's. But always there were oranges. Before the game, we got oranges. During half-time, we got oranges. After the game, we got oranges. It is a minor upset our skin wasn't orange. I mean, oranges were the answer to everything.

Tired? Have an orange, it will give you energy. Thirsty? Have an orange, the juice will refresh you. Did you lose? Well, with us, that never came up, we did not. But if you did, have an orange. No clue how that would help. Win? Celebrate with a rutabaga. Okay, not really, I just like the sound of that word. Rutabaga. Let's say it together, slowly, as it should be said...rrrrrooooooooottttttt--uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh-----bbbbbbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggguuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh.

I can't think of anything oranges could not solve. Probably if someone had snapped their leg like a twig, the coach and team mother would have put their heads together for a moment and then brought him an orange. Cut into quarters, I would think. What was the secret of the oranges? These days I consume anywhere from 2 to 5 a day. I properly cut them into eighth's for easy eating. It amazes me they do not restore my flagging energy, assuage OR quench my thirst, comfort me for my life of scholastic endeavor and daily routine worklife instead of life of thunder and lightning surrounded by beautiful, shapely half-clad women hanging on my every word...Strangely, oranges do not heal my disappointment at my current life instead of that one, they do not heal my shattered foot or really do much other than taste good. I think one word sums up everything there is to say about the Secret of the Oranges.

Rutabaga.