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It
was a classic match-up: the grizzled veteran faced down by a brash
and fearless newcomer. In a sport dominated by men the challenger
was a woman, intent on claiming her place with the best. The battle
surged back and forth, the crowd cheering their favorites, until the
clock ran out. When it was over the world had a new
fruitcake eating champion, with 4 pounds,
14 ¼ ounces slammed down in 10 minutes.
This was no county fair sideshow. The World Fruitcake Eating
Championship held December 30, 2003 in Buffalo, New York, was an
officially sanctioned event of the International Federation of
Competitive Eating.
Yes folks, that is an
actual organization, not something cooked up on “Seinfeld.” I know
it’s real because it has a website and a logo. And aficionados
swear it is a real sport too, even if it lacks certain basics like
trash talk (“Your momma eats watercress!”), megabuck product
endorsements (Metamucil? Girdles? Pacemakers?), and tabloid
headlines.
The new fruitcake champ,
Sonya Thomas, holds records in the
chicken wing, egg, hamburger, pulled
pork, and taco divisions. She’s considered a lock for 2003 “Rookie
of the Year” honors, having already racked up more records than any
competitor except her vanquished fruitcake foe, 420 pound Eric
“Badlands” Booker, and Cookie Jarvis, a 409‑pounder from
Nesconsett, New York.
She is single, if you can
imagine that, though it’s not because of her bulk: heavyweight
eater Thomas weighs in at a scrawny 105 pounds, about as much as
Badlands Booker’s shoes.
The
IFOCE claims competitive eating is the fastest growing sport in the
United States, at a time some claim obesity is an epidemic. While
the Centers for Disease Control don’t use the word, their annual
review of the shape of the nation shows that we are indeed bulking
up.
Experts in children’s health urge kids to put down the double
burgers and remote controls and pick up a sport. Competitive eating
probably isn’t what they have in mind, but its rising popularity
does make a certain amount of sense.
Baseball, football, basketball, and hockey all began as sandlot
sports, simple pastimes that could be enjoyed by anyone with a few
hours to kill. Early professional athletes usually took other jobs
to make ends meet; even the DiMaggios and Ruths came off like
average Joes, guys you wouldn’t mind having as neighbors.
Sports heroes of the past weren’t always the role models they were
made out to be but they at least had the decency to play the part.
Today’s average professional sports team has a rap sheet more like
a street gang’s.
Athletes with obvious talent are set apart young and idolized
early. Pampered in school, they are recruited by college and
professional teams with the lure of fame and big bucks. LeBron
James – by all accounts a decent young man – went straight from high
school last year to a $90 million contract with Nike, not to mention
the piddling few million he’ll get from the Cleveland Cavaliers.
Word has it he also plays a mean game of basketball, but the loot
gets the most buzz.
Competitive eating, on the other hand, is about hometown heroes,
personal triumph, and the guy or gal next door. If you want to hang
out with Sonya Thomas it might be
wise to get a discount card at the local buffet, but you
probably could. I’ll bet you can’t get within 50 feet of LeBron
James outside of official appearances, yet the only professional
record he holds is for endorsement money.
As easy as it would be to
write off competitive eating as a modern day geek show, its real
appeal might be its accessibility, the sense that the competitors do
it for fun and are folks like us. If for no other reason, perhaps
the “real” sports should take notice.
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