I say MEAT, you say BALLS!

The 2005 Carmine's Meatball Eating Competition
By Liz Kellermeyer and Krista Overby

Some competitors define it at 6 minutes, while some of the iron-stomached among them put it closer to 8 minutes, but there is an inevitable wall competitive eaters hit during a 12-minute contest. In a shorter contest, you can argue that it is just about shoving as much food down your gullet in as short of time as possible. In an extended contest, especially one focusing on a heavy food like meatballs, the competition becomes a battle of skill, endurance, and technique. In addition to the speed and efficiency with which you shove the food down your throat, of course. Standing in the middle of the Tropicana Casino in Atlantic City, outside Carmine's restaurant, Krista and I are watching fourteen top-ranked competitive eaters devour plates heaped with Carmine's famous meatballs, and as the eaters enter the sixth minute, something happens we weren't prepared for: we hit the wall. The smell of the meatballs has permeated the first few rows of screaming fans and the reality of people masticating piles of mushed meat starts to lose some of the romantic sheen. Floppy pieces of basil escape from their mouths, greasy marinara sauce stains shirts and clouds the outside of drinking glasses, and the competitors' eyes are tearing. We have to look away periodically and breathe through our mouths. But we didn't come all this way to give up on them now, and they sure aren't giving up anytime in the next six minutes. So we do what we came here to do and shout encouragement as loud as we can. "Looking good, Chestnut! You can do it, Sonya! Keep it together, Crazy Legs! Do it, Eater X! C'mon Chip! Brian, looking good!"

Jason (my husband), Krista, Tom, and I arrived at the Tropicana about an hour and a half before the competition was due to start in the Quarter, an enclosed courtyard made to look like a festive Havana street. Y'know: strings of lights, fake facades, street lamps, palm trees, blue sky mural on the ceiling. The giant lit Christmas tree amidst all this broke the mood only slightly. I've always been a fan of competitive eating, though my knowledge was fairly limited to the annual Nathan's hot dog competition. So when Mike asked if I'd be interested in covering this meatball competition in Atlantic City for Digest, I jumped at the opportunity. And here we were. The table was set up outside Carmine's, a few camera crews were getting organized, and we were debating if we could convince someone to let us backstage.

Krista, the real go-getter of the group, decided that there was no way we were going to stand around for an hour and not at least try to get in on the action. She assured me that our lack of much to offer them in the way of information wouldn't be a problem. And, in what turned out to be the first of many such incidents of genuine kindness and friendliness, this turned out to be true when the restaurant manager introduced us to the man running the show, George Shea. He only paused for a second when, after asking where we were from, I answered stupidly, "New York!" Krista luckily slid in with the right answer: "A publication. Out of Portland. Called Digest." and he escorted us backstage. George welcomed us brightly with a rundown of what he thought would be the crux of today's competition: Sonya, the returning champ, or Joey Chestnut, an up-and-comer who upset the world of competitive eating by almost beating the number one ranked eating champion, Kobayashi (the Japanese hot dog dude), in the recent Krystal Burger competition. Joey ate 62 hamburgers to Kobayashi's 67. I had sent J out earlier for a notebook and he returned with a snowman-themed pad of paper, the only thing he could find, and I scribbled notes furiously while Krista asked very interviewy questions. George showed us around a bit, while other members of the International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE) made themselves busy preparing handouts, getting the contestants to sign affidavits, which they wouldn't let us see, and what we can only guess contained legalese such as: signer agrees not to sue the Tropicana, Carmines, or the IFOCE if they choke or their stomach explodes, and getting t-shirts on the backs of contestants. I can't tell you how many times I heard the phrase, "Do you need a double or triple X."

J and Tom went with the camcorder to secure a good spot outside, and Krista and I were approached by the two eaters who had already arrived, "Beautiful" Brian Seiken and "Krazy" Kevin ("That's with two 'K's.") Lipsitz. I admit it: I was feeling a little intimidated. We were about to meet a whole crew of well-known, well-ranked competitive eaters and I just didn't know enough about their world to really ask any hard-hitting questions. I pictured them an aloof group, focused on the upcoming competition, annoyed by reporters, and eager to win. Beautiful Brian eagerly introduced himself and Kevin, who was wearing a baseball hat with a polar bear's head making up the front and rim. He asked a little about where we were from ("A small publication out of Oregon.") and before we knew it, we were talking about his and Kevin's pickle eating rivalry, namely that Brian had just unseated Kevin from his previously-held title. It became clear, as they ribbed each other and began to warmly greet other eaters as they entered, that the rivalry was friendly and that they seemed to really enjoy the other's company. Rather than be put-off by our questions, they seemed to get a kick out of talking about their competitions and strategies, filling us in with other stories and personal information along the way.

Beautiful Brian: Carnegie Deli Pickle champ (2.7 pounds of Kosher dills, though his favorite are sour garlic). Ate 2.65 pounds of meatballs in last year's competition and hopes to double the amount this year, saying he now has the experience to pull this off.

Krazy Kevin: Practices on the buffets in Staten Island, where he eats very quickly. Has a fan club run by "a pretty girl in the UK." He hopes to eat six pounds of meatballs this year. Minimum.

The meatballs, we learn, will be larger-regular Carmine's sized-than last year's. They had made them smaller for the first competition in 2004 so that the number of meatballs eaten by the winner would be the most impressive amount possible. However, they ended up calculating quantity eaten by weight, instead on individual meatball, so it turned out not to matter. Sonya "The Black Widow" ate 6 pounds last year and holds the current meatball championship title. She is the woman to beat and is the IFOCE's number one earner, making over $44,000 in 2005 alone.

Next we meet Allen "Shredder" Goldstein, is wearing a black Carmine's shirt. All the competitors wear the uniform Carmine shirt and loose-fitting, stretch waist pants. Allen soon fashions his into a tough man version with cut-off sleeves. He's with his wife, Greta, and believes he may have an edge because Greta helped him train by learning Carmine's recipe for meatballs and preparing them for him in advance. He ate 3.5 pounds in last year's competition and hopes to eat five pounds this afternoon. Though he holds the current bologna eating title, he doesn't anticipate defending it. His exact words are, "Never again." Apparently it was an early morning competition and something about large quantities of processed meat and 9:00am don't mix well.

So far, all the men we've met so far are middle aged, so when we meet Chip Simpson, we are immediately struck by his age, as he is decidedly younger than the average person there (Crazy Legs Conti will later refer to this emerging demographic of competitive eaters as the "Saved by the Bell Gang.") This is Chip's seventh competition, his last one being turkey (he at 3.38 pounds). Though the dark meat was easier, the white meat got dry and difficult to eat very quickly. "Other people were dipping it in gravy, but I don't like gravy."

Goal: six pounds of meatballs. Though he usually works out before a competition, he didn't get a chance to do so this morning. He ate a granola bar and protein shake for breakfast.

Moisture, we would learn, is an integral component to the competition. The meatballs will be in a marinara sauce, which we were told would add a needed layer of moisture to the food. Although, when it comes down to it, the key is just getting it down, Allen Goldstein tells us. He has covertly waved us over from the other side of the room, which is starting to fill up, to give us a sneak peek as he unpacks his bag of competitive eating essentials. He pulls out the following: two tall cans of Arnold Palmers, an Arizona iced tea, a bottle of water, a bottle of generic antacids, a scale, a stop watch, and his very own secret weapon: a latex glove. Last year, he tells us, his hand started stinging from the acids in the tomato sauce, so this year he came prepared with the glove. The drinks are arguably the most important tool available to the competitive eater. Allen is the first to mention the 6-minute wall to us, telling us that after the wall, you just need something to mix up the taste in your mouth. It's not a question of enjoyment; it's a matter of getting whatever is on the plate past your mouth and into your stomach by any means necessary, and if ice tea helps accomplish that, then bring it on.

A tall guy with dreadlocks and an easygoing gait is chatting warmly with a group of eaters: Crazy Legs Conti. One of the more mediagenic competitors, Crazy Legs comes off as a very sweet and sarcastic guy. He admits that last year he was a bit overwhelmed by Atlantic City, briefly mentioning too much whiskey and peer pressure , so he thinks this year will be better. He's not feeling overly confident about this competition due to the heavy nature of meatballs; his real specialty is seafood. Crazy Legs puts his goal at five pounds. Krista says, "Krazy Kevin says he'd like to eat six pounds, minimum." Crazy Legs guffaws and says, not-unkindly, "If you want leftovers after the competition, go hang out by Krazy Kevin's plate." When asked about goals, he hopes to stave off Humble Bob, who he believes to be a close competitor. Here's where he drops the line about the "Saved by the Bell Gang;" he thinks it's the responsibility of the more seasoned competitors to make a good showing so that the younger guys don't get too cocky. As far as technique, he feels strongly that it's a matter of "mind over stomach," and lets us in on some exclusive information: this coming year, he's off to Japan to go study eating techniques with Kobayashi and hopes that after his return he will be able to really gives these guys a run for their money, or at least be a little bit more intimidating. He calls it a "tour to gorge scenario." I get the impression the entire time we are speaking to him that his striking vocabulary and humorous turns of phrase about competitive eating are somehow what he enjoys most about the whole thing, but I could be wrong.

The backstage area is brimming with excitement as everyone starts to arrive and greet each other with hugs and handshakes. Joey Chestnut has come in and we corner him for a few questions. He may be one of the younger competitors, a "rookie out of the asparagus circuit," but his recent showing-especially coming in the close second to Kobayashi in the Krystal Burger competition-is making people talk. People are talking him up as Sonya's real competition today, though you wouldn't get that from the conversation we're having. He's soft-spoken and smiles a lot and the closest we get to him admitting the real competition is an admission that he believes between Sonya and him, they will break a world record.

Though pre-competition meals are a matter of personal technique, we've found most competitors have eaten something so far today. But Joey looks at us like we're crazy when we ask if he's had breakfast. Just a gallon of water last night to stretch the stomach.

Everyone gathers for some group photos even though Sonya hasn't shown yet, but competitor Larry McNeil stays nestled by a doorframe. A black beard and mirrored aviator sunglasses take up most of his face, and you get the sense that he's happy to be hidden in the background and doesn't much want to intrude. When asked how much he hoped to eat today he estimated 5 or 6 pounds, but said, "I just don't want to come in last." He's a mysterious dark horse. One gets the sense he could easily be either a CIA operative or mass murderer. Either way we want to stay on his good side.

Eater X shows up not only with his face painted, but with a costume and accessories including a skull cap and a pair of blue nylon overalls. He explains that he has a big fan who calls himself "The Whaler" and runs a website at eaterx.blogspot.com, so in tribute to this fan, he's decided to dress the part of a whaler. We think this is very sweet and I take a picture thinking I can send it to the fan. (It wasn't until we got home and checked out the website that it became clear The Whaler and Eater X are different personalities of the same man, both of whom write a very funny website.) Krista admits later that he seemed really familiar to her, which is funny because I thought the same thing. Even J and Tom admitted they thought he seemed like someone they knew, but no one could put a finger on it.

Do you know this man? He eats jellybeans for breakfast, because they burn off fast. He's also single. In case you were wondering. And he's totally that cute in person. By the way, Eater X, so is Krista.

If you want to inadvertently insult a competitive eater? Ask him if he's an ex-competitive eater. Which is what Krista did when she started talking to Badlands Booker, a self described man mountain, who wasn't wearing a Carmine's shirt. It turns out he missed the deadline to compete so is going to rap instead. He's putting out his second rap album, Ingestion Engine II, based on his life as a competitive eater and is promoting it today. He appears wistful about today's competition and lets us know that if a seat opens up he's ready to go.

Finally, the woman of the hour walks through the door: Sonya, "The Black Widow" Thomas, She is greeted affectionately by everyone. A handler tries to whisk her away to get situated, but she lags behind nonchalantly to chat with eaters as they come up to her to say hello, and she gives us a huge smile when we get her attention. Her listed weight is 105-lbs, but she comes off even tinier. Her Carmine's shirt is neatly tucked into her belted jeans and her lean arms poke out as she perches her hands on her hips. She, like Chestnut, did not eat today. She won the competition with almost six pounds last year, and has been strategizing about how to beat that weight by one or two pounds. Because meatballs are such a heavy food, she believes you really have to have a good technique going into the competition.

The eaters are told to get ready and Krista and I head out to the front to watch. A large crowd has grown and there are a few hand-drawn signs of encouragement being waved around. Some of the crowd have come to the Tropicana expressly for the event and others were drawn in by the news cameras and lights. It's not uncommon to hear a southern drawl shout out, "What is going on he-ah?" George Shea comes out in his signature straw boater hat and welcomes everyone. It seems this moment is what George Shea lives for. He has a rapt crowd and a sound system. He is in heaven. Badlands Booker soon joins him on stage and his beats start and his rap begins. It's pretty good. His rhymes are catchy and you got to love any man who can rhyme "feast nor fowl" with "Colin Powell." He, however, really gets the crowd going when he starts yelling, "I say 'meat' you say 'balls'! MEAT!" "BALLS!" the crowd shouts. "MEAT!" "BALLS!" This goes on a few more times and Krista and I are probably having too much fun yelling, "BALLS!" at the top of our lungs in a crowded public space. The rap ends and soon George starts elaborately announcing the competitors to a soundtrack of popular hip hop songs, and the competitors begin to take their place at the table as he calls their name.

One by one they line up along the table. Two glasses of water have been carefully set out for them, but it becomes apparent that they are mostly obligatory as eater after eater comes out and sets up their own personal bar made up of Gatorade, water bottles, Arnold Palmers (a mix of iced tea and lemonade), or, the overwhelming favorite, ice tea. Allen Goldstein keeps his glove hidden until the last minute. Joey Chestnut is put in the middle, next to Sonya, the last eater to join the stage, and who is carried out to greet the cheering crowd. We count down together from ten, and suddenly BANG it is on!

Technique is varied. Some eaters stand, some kneel, some sit. Sonya stands but bends forward over her plate, first pulverizing the meatballs with her fingers so it more closely resembles a dog food puree and then shoves the food in and making little bobbing motions with her body. Right off the bat Joey Chestnut is not looking good. His eyes tear up immediately and he seems to be battling the urge to, er, reverse the eating. He stands up and looks to the crowd. He looks like he wishes someone would take him away from the insanity, but no one comes to his rescue, so he gets himself together and crams more meat into his mouth. Crazy Legs is moving at a respectable pace and seems entirely present, though focused. The others, Sonya, Chestnut, and The Locust, in particular, seem to be in their own world. You can tell they are responding positively to the cheers, but other than that there is no indication that they are aware you're there. You can tell right away why the number of meatballs eaten would be merely academic anyway, as the balls quickly become general mush, which is reshaped by the eater as they cram it into their mouths. They alternate cramming down handfuls of meat with pouring their liquid of choice over the contents of their mouths. It's a little sickening and a lot fascinating. Unfortunately, our placement in the crowd makes it hard to see what's going on at the far ends of the table.

Minute six-difficult minute six-passes for all of us and it's a race to the end. Each plate holds over three pounds of meatballs and several eaters are on their second plates. Third plates are brought out for a select few. The tension rises and the cheers rise with it; we all count down again to cement the close of the 12 minutes. The players look pained, but they know they have to finish what's in their mouths and they methodically chew away as George instructs them to clean up all the pieces on the tablecloth and place them on the plate. Everything counts. The plates and eaters are whisked away backstage.

The Carmine's workers are left to clean the stage, and though we can't see the carnage they're sweeping, their faces tell a whole story. Chip Simpson, who was doing particularly well, may have had an eating reversal of his own under the table. Apparently he disappeared under the table after the competition, to much finger pointing by his neighbor.

Krista then goes to see if she can get backstage for the weighing. Incredibly she's given full access. Amid the cameramen with fancy equipment she isn't questioned as she takes pictures with Jason's little Canon digital camera.

Krista:

As the contestants filter off the stage and stand in line with their greasy plates and the remains of crushed meat there is an odd mix of relief and...something else. I can only describe it as the air at the table after the Thanksgiving meal. Everyone is so full that even uttering a single word seems too much. I notice that a few of the competitors still have a mouth full of meatballs minutes after their plates have been weighed. Beautiful Brian's cheeks are stretched to the limit and I wonder if he will ever get up enough nerve to swallow the remaining meatballs.

The plates are each weighed by Carmine's restaurant manager using a kitchen scale. Each weight is scribbled onto a scrap of paper and cell phone calculators are used to count up everything. I don't know what I was expecting, but I know it was something more official than two cell phones and a pencil.

Always the intrepid reporter, I learned everything I needed to know by watching court tv, I saw a man in a chef's jacket being interviewed. I jumped right in. "So you are the man who made the meatballs!" "Yes I am," he replied. After that I couldn't think of anything else to say. It seemed like that about covered it so I took his picture and moved on. I could kick myself now for not asking him how long it took and how many eggs and bread crumbs it took to amass the contest's meatball needs, but that never occurred to me. Next year Krista...next year.

After about 10 minutes George comes out with the results. In fifth place Rich "The Locust" LaFevre. Tim "Eater X" Janus comes out to claim fourth place, followed by (incredibly enough) vegetarian "Humble" Bob Shoudt who ate 7.6 lbs for third place. Second place: Joey Chestnut who won $1,000. Though he came in second, he demolished his goal, last year's winning weight, and a world record: 8.3 pounds. Which only leaves one person for first place, Sonya with a dizzying 10.3 pounds. She is ecstatic as she hops onstage and shakes her fists in triumph as she claims the $2,500 prize. Her previously flat belly puffing out from beneath the tee shirt. To the crowd, she reveals her technique: last year she chewed and only ate 5.95 pounds, this year she just crammed as much down as possible. After a final, victorious cheer, the crowd disperses.

Carmine's gives out samples of the meatballs, but Tom is the only one of us who takes the plunge, declaring them good. He is unwilling to eat a baby's weight in them, however...amateur.

Though it is past lunchtime and we haven't eaten, we all feel a little sick, but we set out for some Chinese food anyway (the furthest thing from meatballs we can think of). It seems we of queasy stomachs aren't cut out for participating in the rigors of competitive eating, we who are slightly sickened by merely watching the eating. The eaters we saw today were of a different stock: hearty, optimistic, uniformly kind and generous, and Hungry. Maybe they can be summed up by Allen Goldstein's parting words to Krista, "I could really go for some spaghetti."

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