As I sit in bed tonight dazed from my testosterone test failure while trying to get through a bad stretch of the ‘meat sweats,’ I realize my wife seems to have a popular 90’s song stuck in her head. Jenn keeps repeating, “Do you have…do you have…do you have to let them linger?” She hasn’t suddenly become a Cranberries fan, but rather is reacting to the results of my stomach gurgling and doing the Macarena.
…. Well, as I write these words my location has changed to the couch. I did not think it was fair to interrupt Jenn’s sleep by my attempts to smoke her out of the bedroom. Hopefully, my toots won’t peel the paint off our freshly painted living room walls. You shouldn’t feel any pity for me. After all, I was the mastermind behind this idea of taking on the Big A Challenge. The task before me was to completely devour in less than 30 minutes almost 50 oz. of meat on a burger bun, with at least four trimmings, a side of fries and a 24 oz. soft drink. I guess you can call me a glutton-y for punishment.
From the moment the platter hit the table, I knew almost instantly I was in trouble. I look across the table to my friend and partner in crime, Rich, and I see fear in his eyes as well. It is a very bad sign when you can hear the ground chuck chuckling through the bun calling you a pathetic excuse for a man. I try to shake off its’ taunting and harness my inner Takeru Kobayashi, the grand master of competitive eating.
A few minutes into the ordeal, I begin to find a solid rhythm of eating half a patty, then a handful of fries and finishing it off with a few sips of soda. This method keeps me from realizing that I have to eat the entire backside of a cow all in one sitting. I am shocked when half way through I am confident that I have this challenge in the bag.
Then it happens. With Rich dry heaving across from me, I eat my last French fry and am faced with the task of finishing off the last 2-½ cheeseburger patties all by themselves. This is a problem because the burger ceased to be tasty shortly after the first one. The fries served as a meat wedge of sorts. Time begins to fly by and before I know it the crowd that has gathered around us is screaming that we only have 3 minutes left. In a last ditch effort, I use the classic competitive eating maneuver, the tummy shake, in attempt to shift the food around in my stomach to make extra room for more beef. It’s like by playing the game Tetris only that the blocks are your small and large intestine.
Time is up. Looking down at less than ¾ of a patty, I am faced with the reality that my first testosterone test is a gassy failure. My opportunity for admiration has come and gone. The depths men will stretch themselves and their bodies (or bellies in my case) for their shot at glory is astounding. Whether it is out on the sports field, in the boardroom or through the amount of toys they purchase, men will sacrifice everything for fame and recognition. At the end of the day, they want to be the one sitting on the throne with everyone else astounded by their accomplishments.
Unfortunately, it looks like I’ll be sitting on a different type of throne throughout the rest of the night. As I walk out of Andy’s, I glance over at the Wall of Fame and look at men way more manly then myself. Wait, there is a girl in that picture. Ouch, that hurts…now someone please pass me some Tums.