Excuse Me?
"Bwayla is a stupid man and a hopeless player. He has a huge nose and is cross-eyed. Girls hate him. He beat me because my jockstrap was too tight and because when he serves he farts, and that made me lose my concentration, for which I am famous throughout Zambia."
-Lighton Ndefwayl, a Zambian tennis player, responding to a 1992 defeat at the hands of countryman Musumba Bwayla.
Lighton Ndefwayl may once have been a pretty good athlete, but a pretty good sport he was not. That quote? I kinda like it, but only because it's funny. Otherwise I'm not a big fan. I don't think athletes should make excuses when they lose.
I think they should make them beforehand.
If they feel good, say, "I feel bad." And if they bad, say, "Oh, it's the worst!" A good excuse, if laid properly and long before an endeavor begins, is a simple way for one to save face. I believe that much with all of my heart.
And so too does Eater X, although you'd hardly know it by what's been printed lately. By all accounts in all the papers, Eater X is a gracious good sport. Not a single excuse to his credit.
"But it's not like I haven't tried," he said when I saw him in Austin last week. The stress and the worry were evident on his face and in his voice. "I've been trying to plant good excuses. Honest. I'm always trying. You know that."
"So then what's gone wrong?" I asked him.
"No one will ask me 'The Question," he said. His words were pointed. His tone was deadly serious.
'The Question' to which Eater X was referring is a question typically asked by most reporters: How do you think you'll do on Saturday? Whenever possible Eater X embraces the query as an opportunity to explain why he'll fail.
The contest is too short.
The food is too chewy.
It doesn't suit my strengths!
He's got a million of them. He believes them all. And he loves to lay them down.
"I swear to God those things matter," he told me one time long ago.
"I know they do," I told him back.
And it's true. They do. They matter. But people often overlook them. And so Eater X has made it his mission to call attention to them whenever possible.
Before the Pretzel Twister World Pretzel Eating Contest two weeks ago in Miami, Eater X paced backstage nervously. He'd combed through the morning's papers and read every article. Each one had painted him as confident. He worried what people would say when he lost.
"They're gonna think I had a bad day," he said, "when in fact I truly can't win it. This food is too chewy for me. It doesn't conform to the size and shape of my throat. It's gonna be a swallowing contest, not an eating contest!" He was panicking, and soon so was I.
"Can we blame it on Y2K?" I asked.
"I doubt it," he said, "but I'll try."
But fortunately he didn't. As Eater X took the stage that day a few minutes before the contest began, he scanned the crowd and, finding me, winked. "He's got it!" I thought. "An excuse. He's thought of one at last." I hoped he'd found a reporter in time to record his concerns beforehand. I studied his face. He looked comfortable, which convinced me that he had.
As the contest began and the eaters dug in, Eater X took a curious tack: he untied each of his pretzels, wasting precious time. And when the dust had settled and the food had been chewed and all the pretzels counted, Eater X had finished a distant second to the winner, Joey Chestnut. It broke my heart, it turned me red and made me want to break things.
"Eater X," I said shaking my head as I approached him after the contest. "What were you doing up there? You looked awful. Why on earth untie them?"
Eater X smiled and took a bite of a piece of pretzel and spoke through a mouthful of food. "I needed to have an excuse for losing. I gave them one today."
And I looked at him and, getting it then, I finished his crafty thought: "And you didn't do it after the fact! Good job!"
But now you'll know better for garlic knots.
I always untie my Nathan's hot dogs and Krystal hamburgers, and it really does slow you down....but, I never get a knot in my throat, except when I look at the lovely Helen Haggerty.
Excuses you need? Excuses can't begin to explain the living hell I've been through. I was waylaid and captured like a dolphin in a net. I was bound and made to walk the door (The Shrimper's boat doesn't have a plank, its a leftover door from his and Lobster Larry's one semester at college). I escaped as only a master private dick can and now I am in the Brazillain jungle under the kind recupretive care of Mr. Dooley (The former janitor, now god-head of an entire tribe of pygmies). I can only write so much, as my strength is weak. Its all true, Castro Intestinal and Edgar hoped a ride on the Shrimper's Boat and sailed to Japan where they picked up a hideous creature known as, "Custard Baby" this libdeo-laden blob apperently escaped on an illfated mission to Atlantic City (late, I might add). Without radio contact, I can only surmise what damage Custard Baby's reproductive attack style may have caused. That is when I was taken from my captive jail cell and off to Cuba we sailed...Castro Intestinal and Edgar got off there (to join some renegade commie-based underground eating league) and while we were rounding the coast of South America (don't ask, Lobster Larry can't work a compass because of his missing forearm, and The Shrimper's one glass eye can't see well), I made my daring escape. I'm faint, but please if this message gets through (Dec 29th) know that The Shrimper is on his way to the West Coast to board and plunder the Queen Mary Boat...It will be the Bloody Queen Mary, if the shrimper has his way. Oh perilious times...I must have some more of this ginkolong root drink, that Dooley insists is for my health. I wish I could find a blender in this jungle. I could use a daquiri. Beware california, The Shrimper is on his way...
Well, Exxxxxxxxxxcccccuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse Me!
THIS IS DON MOSES LURMAN. JOEY CHESTAUGHT AND ALL THE OTHER INGRAYTS BETTER BIWARE . I SHALL RETURN LOSE THE WAIGHT AND DEFEAT EVERYONE. I PIEONEERED THE WINGBOWL AND PAVED THE WAY FOR THE JOEY CHESTNAUGHTS AND SONYA TOMASES OF THE EATIGN WORLD. AND THATS FOOOR THE WRECKORD !
This is Rex Ord and if Don Lerman (If that is your real name) keeps misspelling mine I am going to get plenty mad. And that's for the Rex Ord, the one that came before me, my Dad.
That post above is not from the real don lerman. I do believe that don's mind has perfect spelling and grammar, but maybe his fingertips fall asleep all the time or his glasses don't work. Heck, maybe's typing with his tounge just to stay in eating shape. Regardless, his posts seem like a cross between a foreign exchange student, a 4th grader, and Donald Trump. They are not like the man at all. He is a modest, kind, gentleman of leisure. He deserves our praise for not only his eating feats, but for raising custom embroidery to the level of respect it has today. Don, I may not agree with what you have to say, or even understand it, but I will defend your right to say it, mispell it, garble the message, or bewilder the masses...you sir, are the wind beneath my wings. This is Don's site, correct? I'm writing in for a friend who has no arms and cannot type.
IT IS TOO! IT IS TOO ! MI NAME IS DON MOSES LURMAN. MI ANT RHODA GAVE ME THE NAME MOSES IN 1981 WEN I GRU A FUL BEIARD .I TAEKE OFFENSE WHEN I AM ACUSED OF STEELING THE NAME. IT IS MY NAME AND I UNTEND TO KEEEP IT
I just say nah
I just say nah
Hey Rex Ord, you jackass, when Don Lerman wrote "AND THATS FOOOR THE WRECKORD!" in his first comment, he was not referring to you or your nobody B-grade ass father, he just happens to misspell just about everyother word and was trying to say "AND THATS FOR THE RECORD!". Once again rex ord, you are a fucking jackass. Also, The Whaler, or whoever the hell posts the shit on this website, you are a little bitch. The fact that you think it is a respectable idea to make up an excuse to lose before you ever do anything is fucking pathetic. First of all it will save you no face because everyone will know that you are making up this excuse simply to cover up for your impending loss. Second of all, you shouldnt need to make an excuse before everything because if you were fuckin worth anything you would succeed at the things you do, ya piece of shit. And finally, i give a shit about Eater X or competitive eating in general because although i find it interesting it is not at all the type of sport to follow regularly or make fan sites about, but nevertheless, after having read just this past story i am 100% positive that this is absolute bullshit. You have never met Tim Janus and if you ever did, he would probly not give you the time of day because you are a scrawny little bitch most likely living in your parents basement. The fact that you make up these supposed conversations with your idol and act like you could ever be on the same level as him is simply pathetic. Well hopefully you'll benefit from this and possibly get a real job and maybe try talking to a girl sometime, in person.
kobayashi making excuses?
Thank you for ruining the end of Harry Potter. I will forever hate you.