Countdown to Fireworks and Feast: And the Logic of Sports

This Friday marks not only the joyous time of the year that us Americans celebrate our independence from the tyranny and tea tax those lonely Brit's put upon us, but it also marks that time of year where men of all race, size, and endurance come together in all their might for a...ready for this? Hot dog eating contest. 

An American pastime that has, in recent years has been of this brink of respectability, most notably for a 95 lb. Godzilla who can pound down 50 hot dogs.

I will agree, there isn't much better things than waking up on the Fourth of July, not to see fireworks, not to see parades, Veterans, or family, but to see a bunch of fat overweight men, who pride themselves on becoming bigger slobs than they already are for their five minutes of fame. What a scam.

It’s great for Coney Island.  It’s great for Nathans’ wieners, but are you really going to look me in the eye and say this barbaric event is a sport?

Kudos to those who actually had to get up at 6 a.m. for practices while growing up. To those whose dads pushed them to the brink of tears for striking out. To those who might have had to put their-selves through a spec of endurance, training, and actually gave a crap about their own well-being.

You got to be kidding me.

The tale of sports has heroes come and go. There is a magic moment of pride in one's favorite team, favorite player, or heck, even favorite logo. Here, what do we have? A favorite man-beast?

Don't get me wrong, I will probably indulge in the ESPN bona-fide coverage of this contest, but I will never take a second to think that what these repulsive men are doing is in any way more than a 10 minute feast, where they are lost in translation of countless amount of grub they don't have to pay for.

The only loser here is the wiener...A Nathan wiener that is.