Philly eating contest becomes popular tradition

	Gentleman Jerry (l) and Obi Wing engage in an intense battle. John J. Bossong

By Joseph Santoliquito, Special to SI.com

PHILADELPHIA -- It's 5:30 in the morning and Bill is already teetering. He's risking losing his wife and his job just to see 25 fat men eat chicken wings, then oggle the 75 scantily clad women who jiggle by the competitor's sides with every bite.

For the past 15 years, Philadelphians have added a pinch of industrial-sized inane debauchery to their morning coffee the Friday of Super Bowl weekend. The extra dash usually comes in 350- and sometime 400-pound packages, with hotwing sauce dripping from their faces and a few well-endowed women more than happy to show their wares to any crazed -- and often drunk -- man within arm's length.

It's called Wing Bowl.

Believe it or not, some father's have even been known to even bring their 8- and 10-year-old sons to what is uniquely Philadelphia. Indianapolis has its 500. New Orleans, Mardi Gras. Philadelphia has, well, Wing Bowl, a fun, raucous celebration of losing. And there's nothing like it. Nor anything anyone too proud to admit they were there, either. At least not to their wives or fiancées.

Bill, who is reluctant to release his full name, has not-so-proudly been witness to 13 of the 15 Wing Bowls. He's screamed like a banshee at women in T-shirts, strategically placed throughout the Wachovia Center, to show him their, well ... things. He's taken vacation time and even called out sick, all to witness what Caligula might have called a tame Friday night at the Coliseum.

Imagine the bar scene from Star Wars and you get the picture of the characters involved. Only these characters come with monikers such as "Dr. Slob," "Black Death," and the "Blind Beast," who was Bernard Taylor, a legally blind person who was led on stage with a walking cane. Little people and Mohawks. Pageantry and puke. Grown men dressed as Cupid and porn stars. That's Wing Bowl.

The genesis of the event, which annually attracts 20,000 fans, is the brainchild of Al Morganti, a former sportswriter at the Philadelphia Inquirer and now a host at Philadelphia sports radio station WIP 610 AM, which hosts the event each year.

"I came up with the idea in the early-1990s when the Buffalo Bills were losing all those Super Bowls and the Eagles weren't going anywhere each year," Morganti said. "I just never thought it would grow the way it has. We just thought it would be something we would hold in a bar, or something. It just caught on somehow."

Caught on, it seems like a rite of passage to any Philadelphia sports fan. What started out in front of maybe a few hundred people in a hotel lobby in 1992 now has people tailgating at midnight the night before to get a prime spot in line when the doors open at 5 a.m.

Wing Bowl champion Joey Chestnut successfully defended his title this year. John J. Bossong

A line of more than 1,000 people circled the Wachovia Center this year, as the theme of the event was Philadelphia vs. The World, pitting 20 local Philadelphia-area eaters against five professional eaters, including 23-year-old Joey Chestnut, the defending Wing Bowl champ from San Jose, California.

This is where the event takes a serious turn. There were two winners this year, the top Philadelphia eater, which turned out to be Jerry Coughlan, or "Gentleman Jerry," and the overall winner, which again was Chestnut, who downed an event-record 182 chicken wings in 30 minutes. Each was presented with a brand new $17,000 Suzuki Grand Vitara.

"It is entertaining," said Candice Byrd, who was taking in her first Wing Bowl. "I was going to go with my girlfriend, but my boyfriend nixed that, saying 'No way.' So I'm here with my boyfriend and his buddy. I hear how these guys talk to women, but not it's offensive to me. What the women do is their choice. It is amazing. They fill this arena each year with drunk people who watch fat guys eat wings."

Not everyone is drunk. High school pals Giacomo Di Lisi and Dino Sebastiani were there to view their first Wing Bowl. They saw people staggering out. They did their share of people-watching, and women watching, especially when they took off their tops. The guys they came with started tailgating at midnight and were already asleep in their seats by 8 o'clock.

"It is uniquely Philly," said Sebastiani, whose father gave him his tickets. "It's like a drunken pep rally. We're so used to losing in Philadelphia, we have to celebrate something. It's great, definitely something you have to experience once."

All except Bill this year, who was drooped over his seat and snoring heavily by the time the eating began, hoping his wife or his boss don't catch him.

Joseph Santoliquito is the Managing Editor of Ring Magazine. He can be reached at JSantoliquito@yahoo.com.