As I was watching Joey “Jaws” Chestnut chomp his way to another championship in the Nathan’s World Hot-Dog-Eating championship, I had a startling thought: Is that the way I look to others, particularly members of the female persuasion, as I work my way through a meal?
On the Fourth of July at Coney Island – the one on Long Island, not the one outside Cincinnati — Chestnut wolfed down 72 dogs in 10 minutes, breaking the record of 70 he set while winning last year’s title. To see Joey at work is both awe-inspiring and disgusting. He got off to a fast start, leveled out, and then came home strong, still stuffing while his competitors either had dropped out or were seriously considering regurgitation.
Personally, I think Joey may well be The Last American Hero. He owns the Fourth of July unlike any competitor has ever owned any date or event. He’s amazingly humble, for someone who has captured the coveted Mustard Belt so many times. Plus, he has a, ah, lunch-pail mentality about the way he approaches his work, sort of like Pete Rose.
To see Joey Chestnut at work is both awe-inspiring and disgusting (Photo from Nathansfamous.com)
Joey is an honest workman who takes pride in his craft. He’s a patriot who reveres our heritage. He astounds people – or grosses them out – in a bi-partisan fashion. In other words, he is everything our political leaders are not.
Some Phillistines, however, recoil from anyone who eats hot dogs at the race of 3.6 every 30 seconds. As he stuffs himself, Joey occasional sprays his adoring fans with spittle that includes bit of bun. It is not a pretty sight, I admit, but neither is watching Kellyanne Conway sing the praises of The Big Hot Dog in the White House.
I used to eat a lot faster than I do now. Almost into middle age, I was being admonished to chew my food and slow down. I never reached Joey’s level – who has? – but I always seemed to be done before everybody else at the table, except when I dined with Bobby Knight, D. Wayne Lukas, or Denny Crum. In their prime, those guys would have gobbled down a basketball if you had put a little relish on it.
I read one that a guy’s appetite for food and sex were roughly the same. I have no idea if that’s true, but I used it to console myself when the Manners Police stopped me and gave me a speeding ticket.
I was told that food should be savored, like a fine wine, and mixed with good conversation. That meant putting down your utensils every now and then for the sake of digestion and manners. This always has been difficult when a nice filet mignon is on the platter before me, crooning my name.
I have gotten better over the years, but sometimes I still go Joey Chestnut if confronted with something particularly delicious, such as the corn on the cob my friend Wade Warren sells at the Kentucky State Fair. Of course, you can get away with eating habits at the State Fair that just wouldn’t do at your basic five-star restaurant.
On my best day, however, I don’t think I could eat 72 of anything in 10 minutes. Maybe Jelly Bellies, but they don’t count. Much as I love Wade’s corn, pumpkin pie, cheeseburgers, fish sandwiches, chocolate glazed doughnuts, five-way chili at Skyline, and tacos, I’m quite confident I could not eat 72 of them in 10 minutes.
But how do I look to others when I’m eating? I know I don’t drool, belch, or swallow without a least a modicum of chewing. On the other hand, I realize I’m not James Bond having high cuisine on the Riviera. Women, those dainty eaters, notice things like this. When they watch me eat, do they think of Joey Chestnut? Chris Christie? Conan the Barbarian?
Even as I admit I must do better, I’m also tempted to explore my limits. It’s the American Way. I love hot dogs. I love them with chili and cheese. I love them with mustard and onions. I can’t go to a baseball game without eating a hot dog because the adage is true: Hot dogs always taste better at the ball park.
I also love corn dogs, which are sort of little brothers to regular hot dogs. So I wonder: Would it be possible for me to go to a game and eat one corn dog per inning? As long and slow as some games are, digestion would not be a problem. Let’s see. Most baseball games last around three hours. That’s 180 minutes. So I would have to average one corn dog every 20 minutes to do nine in an average game.
I think I could do it, if I could only mustard – ah, muster – the courage. If promoted properly, it might even get me a VIP pass next year to the Nathan’s Hot-Dog-Eating Contest, where Joey surely will try to break the hallowed 75 barrier.
I need to think about this. I need to ask some of my female friends if they can see me knocking off nine corn dogs in nine innings. Then again, maybe I should just forget the whole thing and be content to admire that incredible eating machine that is Joey “Jaws” Chestnut, American hero.
Billy Reed is a member of the U.S. Basketball Writers Hall of Fame, the Kentucky Journalism Hall of Fame, the Kentucky Athletic Hall of Fame and the Transylvania University Hall of Fame. He has been named Kentucky Sports Writer of the Year eight times and has won the Eclipse Award twice. Reed has written about a multitude of sports events for over four decades, but he is perhaps one of media’s most knowledgeable writers on the Kentucky Derby
