Memo on Your Competitive Eating

I think competitive eating is absolutely disgusting. That’s right, I said it.

Just these last few years I can feel the Glutton Bowls, the Tour de Gorges, and the Krystal Square-offs of our country obscuring and delineating what it means to consume food today.

I can count on one hand the number of experiences I’ve had watching such competitions.

Over the summer, I went to a donut eating contest during Hot August Nights. The competitors ranged from a few zealous college students, a handful of goofy middle– aged amateurs (both male and female), and one gaunt homeless gentleman.

Upon the shrill of the referee’s whistle, bare hands shot down onto the table and shoveled donut after donut into every contestant’s mouth. It wasn’t until the third donut or so that many people couldn’t swallow the amount of food in their mouth, and each person’s face was reduced to a puffy, red-cheeked, overly exerted, and cherry-jelly saturated jumble of degradation.

I didn’t see the winner, I couldn’t stomach watching. I was actually surprised at my reaction; the whole afternoon had turned from fun and entertainment to shame and disgust.

So I came to wonder, who in the history of our country decided it was cool to stuff as much sustenance into our pie-holes in the shortest amount of time possible, and then call it a sport, or dare I say, fun?

I took it upon myself to find out.