The Sinatra Of Franks

Everybody's an expert.

One of six kids born to a middle school marching-band director, Merlin Chestnut, and his wife, Alicia, Joey gets his scarfing skills from his dad, who used to push himself away from the table, rub his belly and go, "Well, that really hit the spot! Unfortunately, it's a very large spot. What else you got?" Joey's mom, his girlfriend and his doctor worry about him, but Joey is quite healthy. He says his cholesterol is fine, his weight is average and his digestive track is normal. For a boa constrictor.

"The key is to get a very strong esophagus," Joey says. When pressed, he can swallow an entire hot dog. "I can't imagine myself choking," he says. "It'd be like a runner imagining himself tripping."

But he seemed to be tripping on the next five dogs we ordered. The record-breaking 21st went down stubbornly, and he looked at the last four with great sorrow. His red face was covered with sweat. "My jaws are tired," he moaned. "And I'm feeling the frickin' grits."

But Joey Chestnut's mom taught him to never leave food on his plate. He rose up in his seat, took a big breath and downed the remaining franks. The 25th went fastest of all—two bites and he was done. Believe it: The man ate 21 feet of wiener. At $4.75 a dog, plus five bottles of water and a Coke, I figure it all would've cost $151 elsewhere in the stadium—more than a $100 profit.

Of course, as we walked to the car, it was hard to say who had won. Joey was badly misshapen. He listed to the left. He looked like a man who'd eaten a box of bad clams.

Worse, in two weeks he's getting $3,000 for an exhibition at a bar mitzvah. God, please don't let it be matzo balls.

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