An All-consuming Hunger For Victory

Maybe it's his training. Before a contest, he will eat a lunch of 10 to 12 bowls of ramen every day for two weeks—yet he can't put on weight. There were rumors that he had a surgically installed superstomach, until he was examined on the steps of New York's City Hall. "It is only that I hate to lose," Nakajima says.

We couldn't resist. We bought him a Jethro Bodine-sized bowl of ramen and asked for just a glimpse of his greatness. We handed him some chopsticks. We took a step back. As he broke them apart and began feeling their weight in his hands, a tingle came over us. This was Ted Williams with the pine tar, Horowitz warming up on scales, a Kennedy fingering the drink list.

Suddenly, he summoned a huge glob of noodles to his over-sized maw and Hoovered them down with sickening speed, as though something horrible deep inside him were pulling furiously at the noodles, hand over fist. There was no chewing. There was no swallowing. The noodles were just gone. The bowl was empty in 30 seconds. He dabbed at a small droplet on his chin, smiled and bowed slightly in apology. If you want just a quick bite for lunch, Nakajima-san is your man.

Me, I'd bet the kitchen that on the Fourth somebody at Coney Island will be placing a mustard-yellow belt around the waist of the Black Hole of Kofu.

If I were the presenter, I would take off my rings and jewelry first.