The contrast takes a moment to digest. Ed "Cookie" Jarvis - a man of NFL-lineman proportions - has been explaining the mostly genial rivalry among competitive eaters on the pro circuit. Seven of that community's ranked American members are due here at the DeVille Lounge in Boston to decimate large trays of chicken wings in a 10-minute display of gustatory gusto.
He stiffens slightly at the arrival of Sonya Thomas, "The Black Widow," No. 2 in the world behind Japan's Takeru Kobayashi. Ms. Thomas, an unassuming Burger King manager from Alexandria, Va., weighs about 100 lbs. - at least at the start of contests like these.
Think you packed it away on Thanksgiving? This petite Korean-American woman has consumed 65 hard-boiled eggs in under seven minutes, 35 bratwurst in 10.
Mr. Jarvis, the world No. 4 and a Long Island real-estate agent, acknowledges her with a nod, then leans in and lowers his voice. "She can be beat," he confides, reaching up to adjust his signature Old Glory bandanna.
That the pro game's personalities come in such radically different physical forms - Jarvis and fellow big man Eric "Badlands" Booker are, in fact, increasingly atypical body types - will be just one of the day's revelations. This superlative-stuffed subculture has its own lexicon (wings and ribs, for example, are "debris food"). It has corporate sponsorships (often food purveyors, though Verizon VoiceWing banners hang here today). It even has a governing body, the International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE). And it's growing.
"The most noble and inherent sport known to man," says Rich Shea, the IFOCE's president, adopting a hyperbolic tone one might expect from a man who wears a boater to work. Mr. Shea stalks stages like a carnival barker, and his midway has expanded. The number of sanctioned eating events in the US will pass 100 this year,up from a dozen six years ago. Sponsors will pay out more than $200,000 in prize money.
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