By the time I get all the pictures loaded it will probably be July 4. And what's more American than hot dogs? How about...way too many hot dogs? There's really nothing more American than gluttony and excess.
The day of the competition was very rainy, and the eating podium just outside Citi Field in Queens was uncovered. As we signed in, received instructions, and watched cart after cart of dogs and buns wheeled over from the stadium, they had us sign a medical waiver. Immediately after signing, I wondered if it also applied to pneumonia. It was raining hard. I spent the next half hour sizing up my opponents as we huddled under our umbrellas. Miraculously, the rain let up almost entirely about three minutes before the eating began.
I got off to a good start, relatively speaking. Although dampened by rain and then immersed in my cup, it was obvious that these dogs were better-tasting than the ones I practiced with, not to mention thinner. My first dog was down in less than 30 seconds.
I'm not condemning, by the way. I'm a willing participant in the American lifestyle. Here, finally, just a few hours before Joey Chestnut and Kobayashi lock horns (and stomachs and esophagi) in another epic Coney Island showdown, here's a rundown of my recent debut in the world of competitive eating. (Thanks for taking the pictures, Seth.)
The day of the competition was very rainy, and the eating podium just outside Citi Field in Queens was uncovered. As we signed in, received instructions, and watched cart after cart of dogs and buns wheeled over from the stadium, they had us sign a medical waiver. Immediately after signing, I wondered if it also applied to pneumonia. It was raining hard. I spent the next half hour sizing up my opponents as we huddled under our umbrellas. Miraculously, the rain let up almost entirely about three minutes before the eating began.
Getting ready to begin, apparently in "just happy to be there" mode. Or maybe I'm enjoying the feel of my new t-shirt. The man in the yellow is George Shea, who along with his brother Rich is the public face of the International Federation of Competitive Eating. George plays the part of the old-timey carnival huckster to perfection, pumping up the crowd and giving each event a sort of high-class freak show feel. He introduced us one at a time as we ran onto the stage. I'm not sure if he thought I was someone else, or just didn't put much thought into my made-up bio--he said I was a recent graduate of the University of Phoenix. He added something after, but I was so thrown off by the lameness of my intro that I didn't catch it.
There's the setup I had--three plates of five dogs each, with two big cups of water. Some people used iced tea, and I saw the guys bring some coffee over, so it's possible some one was dunking their dogs in decaf. As if this event wasn't unhealthy enough already. The mustard was strictly for promotional purposes--nobody uses any condiments on their franks when they compete.
The countdown is on. I'm in the zone. Ready to enter full-on Chuck-A-Rama/Golden Corral/Ponderosa Steakhouse/Cannon Center mode.
I got off to a good start, relatively speaking. Although dampened by rain and then immersed in my cup, it was obvious that these dogs were better-tasting than the ones I practiced with, not to mention thinner. My first dog was down in less than 30 seconds.
As I mentioned in one of my training posts, one of many factors that will keep me from ever becoming an elite eater is my daintiness. I was going fast, but I was still taking bites. The top competitors shove and smash the dogs into their mouth as quickly as they can, not caring how messy they get, as you'll see later on.
Oh yeah, there were other competitors. Though not nearly as many as I thought there would be. I was expecting somewhere between 50 to 100 eaters; there were nine, giving their best effort in front of literally dozens of spectators. I don't know if I was one of the lucky few given the chance to gorge, or if there just weren't many people who wanted to do it. The guy in the hat next to me ate nine dogs, two better than his first try the year before. The guy next to him (not pictured) finished ten, I think.
At the other end of the table were the other also-rans. Baldy downed around 20, I think. The guy in the hoody is like a skinnier version of me: he works as a freelance production assistant but wants to be a comedian (he's taking improv classes and performing at open mic nights), and he entered the contest because he thought it would be a cool thing to say he had done. He ate nine dogs. The guy in the fedora was wearing a black bowling shirt before donning the Nathan's tee, which made him look just like Blues Traveler. When I first arrived at the stadium he was giving a lengthy interview to some college newspaper reporter (yes, there were people there with press credentials!) about his technique, his goals, his nickname ("The Eater"...sure, it's what his last name means in German, but it's still pretty boring, especially compared to "The Love Handle"), and the "sport" in general. His size and blow-hardedness made me think he was a veteran of the IFOCE circuit, but it turns out he was a rookie too, and he managed 13 dogs and buns before the ten minutes were up.
There were two guys there who I had seen in the July 4 contest on ESPN in previous years, and they put the "name" eaters in the middle of the stage (and gave them five plates of dogs to start with as opposed to my three). The George "The Animal" Steele look-a-like next to me is Pat Philbin. (I bet George would be the champ if the IFOCE ever held a turnbuckle eating contest.) And then, of course, there's Eric "Badlands" Booker. He raps, he drives the 7 train, and boy does he eat. Check out his resume. Remember when I said the big-time eaters were sloppier than me? Here's some proof. These guys put the rest of us to shame. I won't reveal the results just yet, though.
As you can see, I began to wear down as the minutes dragged on. Once I passed the threshold I had reached in my practice sessions, I slowed down drastically. I had nine dogs finished at about the seven-minute mark, and if I hadn't set a goal of ten I might have stopped there. I slowly munched the tenth, and felt like I was going to die. Then, when Shea began the countdown for the final ten seconds, I realized this was likely my final moment as a competitive eater, and stuffed as much of #11 in my mouth as I could as time expired (that's the last picture there). So I finished at 10.5 HDBs (hot dogs and buns), approximately.
Winning would have been great, but I knew it wasn't possible. I did, however, accomplish all of my realistic goals: averaging at least one dog per minute, not throwing up, and not finishing in last (I was 6th out of 9).
But I never stood a chance against Badlands. Pat ate 32 dogs, a noble effort that would've won several of the qualifiers on this year's circuit, but it wasn't enough on that fateful day in Queens. As you can see, Booker ate an amazing 40 hot dogs and buns in ten minutes! As several of my friends have pointed out, that's an average of one every 15 seconds for the duration of the contest. Unbelievable, impressive and more than a little revolting.
Wait...why am I laughing just moments after feeling like I had swallowed a bowling ball? For starters, about three minutes after time was called, I let out two huge belches that made me feel much better. I certainly didn't feel like eating more hot dogs, but I did feel I could walk off the stage under my own power. But the biggest reason I'm laughing is that Shea is giving the results, and he just announced that the guy who ate in between Pat and Badlands, who finished in third with 20-something dogs, the one contestant I haven't shown yet...had "narfed." What is a narf, you ask?
Be careful what you ask for. A narf, you can clearly see if you enlarge these pictures (which I wouldn't recommend), is a "nose barf." Kind of a gross slang word for a culture that calls throwing up a "reversal of fortune" (interestingly, vomiting will get you disqualified but narfing is apparently ok).
After the contest, Shea started handing out a bunch of tickets to the Mets game that was about to start across the parking lot, and my friends Tamara, Evan, Jessica and I took advantage. We all got free Mets caps, provided by Nathan's of course, and enjoyed our first visit to the new ballpark. It's so much more attractive than Shea Stadium was, a great place to watch a game. I didn't eat anything the rest of the day, but I didn't feel sick either. Around the 5th inning they showed a recap of the contest on the big scoreboard, probably the only time I've ever been on a Jumbotron in my life, no matter how many times I pretended to pick my nose at the Marriott Center.
There you have it. My first and probably last foray into the world of competitive eating was fun, memorable, and unabashedly American. USA! USA! USA!
2 comments:
Hofmann, you amaze me. All the props in the world to you.
I am behind on reading your blog, but I have been waiting to hear all about your competitive eating. Way to go! I was completely intrigued and fascinated.
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