Long ago, I learned speed-eating to fit junior high yearbook editing into my lunch break. My first two dates with my wife featured the Bonanza Steakhouse buffet. IƵve gone Ƶplague of locustsƵ on deviled eggs and pimento cheese sandwiches at countless church potluck dinners.
So I couldnƵt just sit on my buns and pass up writing about NathanƵs Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest (and the world of competitive eating in general).
Every July 4, ESPN makes a coast-to-coast event of the Coney Island gastronomic tradition. (IƵll leave it to others to analyze the irony of ESPNƵs audience being gobbled up by streaming.)
If you remember GMƵs 1974 jingle ƵBaseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet,Ƶ youƵll understand the perfect patriotic timing of the contest. ItƵs a bonus that the pig-out session leads into The Flush Heard ƵRound the World.
The televised contest goes beyond stirring up warm, fuzzy feelings for the Founding Fathers. It also shows how far our species has progressed from caveman days. WeƵve advanced from hunter-gatherers to a gorger-voyeur society. And weƵll have the best of both worlds when scientists start cranking out those 100 percent wooly-mammoth frankfurters!
(IƵm supposed to keep this hush-hush, but IƵve heard rumors that the contest may become part of an Olympic event. Synchronized Heimlich Maneuver, anyone?)
You might wonder why anyone gets into the crazy world of competitive eating. (And itƵs not for everyone. Math whizzes tend to freak out when their mind wanders to Ƶx parts of permissible insect parts per million times 50-plus wienersƵƵ) It might be a quest for the ƵcoolƵ factor, the allure of an offbeat challenge or the sharing of a genuine talent.
Or it can be the result of years of indoctrination by Grandma. (ƵYouƵre skin and bones! Eat! Eat!Ƶ) Thank goodness other grandmotherly advice has enjoyed less impact, or weƵd have NathanƵs Famous International YouƵre So Handsome YouƵll Be Beating the Girls Off With a Stick Someday Contest.
Beyond the world of NathanƵs and less well-known destinations on the competitive circuit are the one-off opportunities for amateurs at small-town fairs and festivals. ItƵs good, clean fun when local lawyers, teachers and insurance agents race against each other to chow down on pie or some other homemade delicacy.
Stressful scandals may ensnare politicians, however. (ƵI wish I hadnƵt vetoed the ordinance to zone the festival grounds for barfing! There goes my re-election!Ƶ)
Some people view competitive eating with bemusement and passing interest. Some are rabid fans. And others relish lecturing about risks such as aspiration, perforation of the stomach and chronic indigestion.
Even some retired competitive eaters bemoan their ailments. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you! (IƵm lookinƵ at YOU, buddy. I know fingers are shaped like Ƶtube steaks,Ƶ but thatƵs no reason toƵ)
LetƵs not forget the crusaders who preach that glamorizing gluttony can be a bad influence on impressionable youngsters. Listen, the bike-crashing kids who idolized Evel Knievel back in the Seventies turned out just fine Ƶ or at least they will if they win $10,000 and the Mustard Belt and can finally finish paying off their medical bills.
Whatever your stance on the competitive-eating spectrum, I hope you have a happy Independence Day. Me? IƵll be putting on my old junior high pants the same as everyone else Ƶ one can of WD-40 (and one crowbar) at a time.
Sigh