Forget football. At many high schools, the fiercest competition is between Coke and Pepsi

over exclusive "pouring rights" to sell on campus. But last week Jeffrey Dunn, president of Coca-Cola Americas, called a timeout: Coke's machines will now also stock water, juice, and other healthful options—even rival brands and their facades will feature school scenes and other "noncommercial graphics" instead of Coke's vivid red logo. "The pendulum needs to swing back" on school-based marketing, said Dunn.

Coke's about-face—particularly the call to end the exclusive deals that bottlers make with school districts—comes amid rising concern over kids' health. American children are growing ever more obese and developing weight-related diseases usually found in adults. While inactivity and huge helpings factor heavily, a recent study in the Lancet fingered soda pop as a likely culprit. Communities—and legislators—are already on the case. Last year, for instance, parents in Philadelphia detailed a proposed contract with Coca-Cola that would have netted the school system $43 million over 10 years. And in a searing report to Congress last month, the U. S. Department of Agriculture recommended that all snacks sold in schools meet federal nutrition standards (the requirements are loose enough that Snickers bars qualify),

Spare change？ Activists hope Coke's capitulation will help curb commercialism in schools altogether. From ads on Channel One, which broadcasts current-affairs programs on classroom TVs, to middle-school math texts that cite Nike and other brand-name products in their word problems, to company-sponsored scoreboards on football fields, American pupils are bombarded. But Andrew Hagelshaw, executive director of the Oakland, Calif.-based Center for Commercial-Free Public Education, views Coca-Cola's policy shift as a "partial victory". Schools sign contracts with local bottlers; the parent company can only urge them to back off. Moreover, Coke's machines will remain in place, although with healthier options.

And don't expect teenagers to suddenly swear off the stuff—or school districts to give up the revenue. At Wheeler High School in Marietta, Ga., where students arrive before 7 a. m. and stay as late as 11 o'clock at night, they rely on the machines. And the $50, 000 in annual vending revenues have enabled Principal Joe Boland to refinish the gym floor, install a new high-jump pit, and pay $7, 000 for two buses. "If someone made an offer to me to take the machines out, I'd consider it," says Boland. "But nobody's offering me any money."

"Forget football" in Paragraph 1 suggests that football has been ______.

A．the fiercest competition at high schools

B．thought to have ill impact on students

C．competing with commercials on campus

D．brought into disrepute by Coke and Pepsi