My Sick Mind

It dawned on me , after 250-something page hits today, that I should have written something about The Wing Bowl, Philadelphia's annual Slob Festival. However, I ascribe to the old saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything." But that was yesterday. Most (almost all) of the "unique visitors" linked to the essay I wrote last year about Wing Bowl 15, titled "Food as Sport". I didn't write about Wing Bowl 16 because everything I said last year still applies, plus one. I didn't get one hit from yesterday's Super Bowl post. That's me, always picking the wrong bowl. Although they keep promising that each one is "the last one", the gang at WIP's morning show put on another Wing Bowl today. It's such nonsense, that on Thursday night I patrolled the house changing my radios to WXPN so that my alarm wouldn't wake me to the screaming nonsense as it has the previous 15 years. There's noth...

"Good things don't end in 'eum,' they end in 'mania' or 'teria’ ." - Homer Simpson They also end in "Bowl" - as in Super or ... Wing. Thank whatever God you pray to that some heathen invented the CD player. Why? I’m glad you asked. Today, WIP and my favorite morning radio show is hosting something they call the Wing Bowl , (the 15th one, really ) an eating contest where 20 endomorphs sit on a big stage and try to throw down as many chicken wings as they can in an hour. In today’s Inquirer , columnist Frank Fitzpatrick called it a “rodeo for the repulsive” and a “bacchanal for bozos”. Good ones, Frank. Somehow, it became a radio show, and every year for the last 15, the Friday before the Super Bowl is Wing Bowl day in Philadelphia. The station’s ads call it a “Sporting Event”. Uh-huh. If eating is a sport, then sex should be in the Olympics. That, at least, is something I’d watch. I’m not a big fan of eating contests to begin with. I l...