Fans Hungry For NASCAR Could Relate To This Race
Guest Column By Cathy Elliott
On Labor Day weekend, I went out and watched a race.
I was not alone. A huge crowd had come out to watch the guy currently ranked No. 1 in the standings do what he does best.
He is young, only 23 years old, but he has proven to be a shooting star in his sport. He surprised a lot of people with a string of dominant performances, and speculation is heated as to how long he can continue to win so frequently and so convincingly. His successful pace appears impossible to maintain, yet he keeps right on gobbling up the competition every week.
It was a race day like any other. It was hot, and heavy with a combination of humidity, anticipation and the smell of roasting meat. The athletes were introduced to the fans, waving as they crossed the stage one-by-one amid cheers of encouragement.
The strains of the national anthem still lingered in the sultry, late-summer afternoon air when the contest commenced. The command was given, the spectators went wild, and the race was on.
The favorites predictably pulled away to take an early lead. Others packed it in early, simply unable to keep up.
Debris from the competitors’ equipment was flying in every direction. Spectators in the front row were wearing quite a bit of it by the contest’s end.
The front-runners were clearly superior to the rest of field, and at the end of the day it came down to a two-man shootout. Fans of NASCAR Sprint Cup Series racing have grown accustomed to that type of finale this season, so this didn’t come as much of a surprise.
Except for one small detail: These athletes weren’t piloting their stock cars through 42 other teams and around 500 miles of asphalt. Instead, they were plowing their way through platters of pulled-pork sandwiches.
I wasn’t at the race track on Labor Day weekend. I was a spectator at the International Federation of Competitive Eating’s pulled-pork sandwich championship chow-down, and man, are those guys fast.
Southern pulled-pork barbeque is like New York bagels or San Francisco seafood. It is ubiquitous, a familiar part of everyday life. It smells and tastes fantastic, but not for one second have I ever considered the possible appeal of watching someone else eat it. Because that seems kind of weird, and it would probably be boring, and it would definitely make me hungry.
Wrong again. It was remarkable. The main attraction was Joey Chestnut, from San Jose, Calif., probably best known as the guy who unseated Takeru Kobayashi in the Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs and Buns contest on July 4 at Coney Island. Chestnut also holds the current consumption records for deep-fried asparagus, chicken wings, Krystal hamburgers, pork ribs, grilled cheese sandwiches and jalapeno poppers. He’s the Kyle Busch of professional eating, hard to beat.
Top competitors included Mohawked likeable Pat Bertoletti from Chicago, who likes the sweet stuff, apparently, as he holds the competitive eating records for things like blueberry pie, key lime pie, strawberry shortcake, doughnuts, and ice cream, giving the term “brain freeze” a whole new twist.
Bertoletti is ranked second in the nation, coming up just a tad short of Chestnut. Carl Edwards, along with a lot of other guys, has experienced similar feelings during the 2008 Sprint Cup Series season so far.
Also going for the win was “Humble Bob” Shoudt, a vegetarian who eats pig only for fun and profit, and Hall “Hoover” Hunt, a MENSA member whom I’m guessing gets his nickname from a vacuum cleaner.
These guys have cool nicknames, and distinctive looks, and very different competitive philosophies. They travel and compete together on a national circuit. They have fans.
All sports are unique, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded how much they have in common. My world is mostly made up of gas and gauges and rubber and asphalt, and it looks very different from this one. But when I closed my eyes that day and heard the enthusiasm of thousands of people rooting for their favorites, it reminded me of those fans–you know the ones–who faithfully rise from their seats to give Dale Earnhardt Jr. or Kasey Kahne the thumbs-up sign each and every lap for an entire 500-mile race. They care.
I had traveled out of my comfort zone, but I felt right at home.
Regardless of what our jobs may be, we have a natural tendency to imagine ourselves as the pebble in the pond, producing a ripple effect of many concentric circles all revolving around the most important thing in the world – us.
Some call this focus, and others consider it full-blown egomania, but really it’s just human nature.
It’s how I can watch a bunch of guys cramming more barbeque down their gullets in a fraction of an hour than I will eat in the next three years, and find some correlation to NASCAR in the experience. It’s the reason that, according to your own business or personal interests, you can watch exactly the same event while different visions dance in your head, perhaps involving things like stain removers. Or antacids.
For the record (literally), Chestnut consumed 49.5 pulled pork sandwiches in 10 minutes. That’s about one every 12 seconds, what I would call a blisteringly hot lap. He barely nudged out Bertoletti, who devoured 49 sandwiches even.
The finish was close and exciting, just the way we NASCAR fans like it. With a side of slaw and a handful of hush puppies, it would have been perfect.
I opted not to stick around for the post-event festivities, though. I suspect that’s one Victory Lane best celebrated privately.
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