Disclaimer: I was not there.
What, you may ask (and well you may) is Wing Bowl?
Wing Bowl began nineteen years ago as a promotional stunt by a Philadelphia sports radio station as consolation for the fact that the Philadelphia Eagles never managed to make it into the playoffs. It was an eating contest, originally held in a hotel lobby, in which contestants vied to consume the largest number of chicken wings in a specified time; and it was sponsored by local strip clubs.
It grew over time, rather like the collection of mold on stale guacamole. It moved to the
First Pennsylvania CoreSates FirstUnion Wachovia WellsFargo Center in 2000, with free admission on a first-come, first-served basis. They began issuing tickets in 2006 for crowd control.
The contestants enter the arena with their entourages, featuring
nekkid scantily-clad ladies generally employed by local strip clubs the event’s sponsors. They are called the Wingettes. According to Darling Spouse, in previous years there were ancillary contests for these women as well, apparently utilizing things like mechanical bulls and trampolines. It seems these contests no longer occur, although the mechanical bull remains. The entrance entourages are now judged; prizes are awarded. There are also prizes for the eating contest winner. All prize moneys are provided by the sponsors; all ticket sales go to charity.
Repeating the disclaimer for good measure: I was not there.
Darling Spouse attended Wing Bowl for the first time several years ago with a group of neighbors. He tried again in 2005, this time taking along the Jock, who was about to turn 18. Sadly, they were turned away. This year DS was able to get the Jock’s birthday weekend kicked off in fine style by obtaining tickets, and heading off to Wing Bowl yesterday.
Oh; did I neglect to mention that the event takes place at SIX F-ing O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING?!? Historically, the idea was to go directly from last call at the bars straight to Wing Bowl, continue drinking (both tailgating before the event, and purchasing and consuming beer during it), and then heading back to the strip clubs afterward for breakfast.
It was decided that they should leave at 5:00 am. DS bemoaned the fact that he would have to re-learn how to set his alarm. Then he decided that he is such a poor sleeper anyway (true), he would probably be awake by 4:00 anyway. He was. I was not. He cheerfully bopped around the bedroom getting ready. He fed the cats, though he left the dog for me.
“She’s still trying to sleep,” he said.
“So am I!” I growled back at him.
Repeating the disclaimer yet again for anyone who may have missed it: I was not there.
Much of the experience of Wing Bowl is provided by the other spectators. Although those of the female persuasion were in the distinct minority, a certain number of them were persuaded by assorted means (crowd encouragement; dares; money; large quantities of previously-imbibed alcohol) to show their boobs.
Many spectators were clearly inebriated; some spectacularly so. DS related the tale of one such gentleman who was essentially passed out in a sitting position. Others proceeded to stack cups atop his head. He was then provided with a scarf-like neck ornament having the appearance of large male gonads. Others then stood behind behind him and had their pictures taken from strategic locations, making it appear as if the gonads were their own.
Images of scantily-clad ladies riding the mechanical bull were displayed on the Jumbotron.
Beer was available for sale. DS did not indulge. Neither did the Jock, although DS related that the only reason he abstained was that he was too damn lazy to get up out of his seat and go get it. Either that, or he didn’t want to miss one second of the sordid exercise in puerile debauchery.
There was also eating. “Super Sqibb” won for the third year in a row, narrowly edging out “El Wingador” (by only one wing, in a “wing-off”) for the championship.
Repeating the disclaimer once again, just so there is absolutely no mistake: I was not there.
Final observations about Wing Bowl, courtesy of the Jock and Darling Spouse:
- It’s a guy thing.
- Everyone likes to look at boobs.
- No need to go more than once or twice.
Thus endeth Wing Bowl XVIIII (or XIX?). Time to get ready for the newest national holiday, another excuse to get together with friends to eat and drink way too much: the Super Bowl Commercial Party! (I think it may have something to do with football, too.)