Citywide Blog

What separates humans from our animal brethren? Crows and chimpanzees use tools. An elephant can recognize itself in a mirror, as can dolphins. The truth is that of course humans are animals, and a depraved and vicious species of animal at that. We may gaze up towards the heavens, but we are doomed to forever wrestle in the mud. What hope have we of transcending our animal nature? These are some of the thoughts that crossed the mind of this reporter at 4333's Second Annual Hot Dog Eating Invitational, as she found herself covered in sweat (not all her own) and chanting "VOMIT! VOMIT!" at nine strangers choking down hot dogs. The rest of the year you may be a loving husband, a devoted friend, perhaps an avid birdwatcher - someone who has a shot at seeing heaven. But at the hot dog eating contest you are the same as everybody else - a sick fuck.

At first, the contest seemed like it might be a more civilized affair than the previous year. I mean, they were making print-to-order T-shirts, for god's sake. There was even an Inquirer reporter there, looking nervous in chinos and a backpack. The controversy that had engulfed last year's contest seemed unlikely to reignite, given that provocateur and horrible British child Jim E. Brown was nowhere to be seen. His rival Deacon had forgiven Brown for cheating him out of second place; readers may recall that someone (possibly Brown, possibly deranged contest host Brace Belden) planted hot dogs in Deacon's back pocket last year. But instead of arriving full of bitterness and resentment, Deacon exuded the benevolent calm of a Buddhist monk. Just kidding! He told me that if he didn't win, he would jump off the Ben Franklin Bridge. So the stakes were high.

The question on everyone's mind was: Could Jesse "The Wildcard" James, last year's winner, repeat his success this time around? There were nine contestants this year - one more than last year, and it was a pretty fearsome slate of competitors. They included a hideous half-pig mutant in overalls named Spanky the Pig, who I was too scared to talk to. There was a celebrity too: Alex Tominsky, who readers may know as "The Rotisserie Chicken Guy." You remember: a few years back he ate a rotisserie chicken every day for 40 days, and in doing so electrified the city and spawned a thousand imitators. Alex looked really unhappy the whole time. There was also a hairdresser from Brooklyn, and a man who openly admitted to being from Boston.

Most importantly, this year's contest had two entrants who are not cis men! Yes, although our government is busily rolling back back access to gender-affirming care, reproductive healthcare, and everything else good, the cause of gender equality took a huge leap forward in the hotdog-eating world this summer. "Big Dawg" Breck and Kellar "America's Sweetheart" Moore were at the contest to crush hot dogs and emasculate the competition. Their names shall be anointed in the hallowed archives of hot dog history, although to be honest neither of them put up very impressive numbers. But more important than the number of glizzies gulped was the number of hearts warmed, and I can confidently say that the two of them were crowd favorites. Big Dawg Breck kept barking which was really cool.

Now, the question that undoubtedly throbs at the front of your perverted mind, dear reader: Did anyone puke? Those of you who read last year's recap will remember that last year there was an absolute cascade of vomit. I will admit a certain nervousness this year when it was revealed that the organizers had not provided enough puke buckets for every contestant, and I positioned myself well out of the splash zone. However! Only one competitor succumbed to nausea, and it was a guy whose name I forget who signed up at the last minute and had eaten a full dinner. The worst moment came after the contest, when Deacon drank a glass of water that was full of wet hot dog bun chunks for basically no reason. Man, what is wrong with that guy? Spanky took an early lead, downing hot dogs in between pitiful, agonized squeals. Tominsky was close behind but started dry heaving and had to slow down, leaving the field open. And for an electric few minutes, it was anybody's game. But when the allotted ten minutes were up, Jesse "The Wildcard" James had defeated his competition by downing 12 hot dogs.

Are we witnessing the birth of a dynasty? An unbeatable juggernaut? It certainly felt that way on the night. On the sidewalk outside the venue, Jesse was quickly surrounded by friends and well-wishers, including a guy who was carrying a three-foot-long dildo over his shoulder but was weirdly hesitant to explain why. The other competitors vowed to return next year to challenge the champ. They had better bring their A-game. In the eyes of this reporter, Jesse James is close to cementing his place in Philly sports stardom, alongside luminaries like Jalen Hurts and Joel Embiid. Other hot dog eating hopefuls would do well to step up their training; the next contest will be here before we know it. For now, we congratulate the 4333 Collective on another horrible, wonderful event, full of the most disgusting sights, sounds and smells you could ever hope to avoid. You once again shook this reporter to her core and challenged her self-conception as an essentially decent person. Can't wait to do it again next year.