Fear and Loathing at Bluffs Run 7.9.01

It was hot Saturday. The kind of heat that zaps the sweat off your skin before it can do its job. It was the kind of heat that makes you want to sit in a cold, dark room and slowly sip iced tea for hours. And it was only 9.
I had been drafted into a five minute rib eating contest at Bluffs Run's 4th Annual Barbecue Festival set for 2 later that afternoon. The weather man was predicting 95 about the time I was supposed to strap on the feed bag and eat like a fool alongside other small-C celebrities, local TV cameramen, AM radio disc jockeys, Fox anchor Pam Wiese and Council Bluffs Mayor Tom Hanafan.
I had friends, family and colleagues coming to watch this spectacle. I had been promising a good show for two weeks, but that was bold talk. Inside I was scared. I could have a massive coronary from too much meat, something that doesn't usually happen outside of cruise ship buffet lines.
I could pass out and lose control of all bodily functions while my mother watched horrified shouting "not again!"
I showed before game time with two hipster friends from Ames who drove three hours to act detached. Whatever. They were high on life, diesel fumes and a 12-pack of Zima I chilled back at my squat. I was on water for 20 hours.
The heat, my nerves and low blood sugar were making me dizzy, but I knew I had a job to do for the Nonpareil, for Council Bluffs.
Show time came and the small-Cs were introduced. Besides Pam and Tom, I didn't have a clue who anyone was and they didn't know me. We had one thing in common though, desire.
The ribs were slapped down in front of us, a mountain of steaming tender pork dripping with juices and gourmet sauce. Then they slapped Cookie's on them.
A bottle of water was all that stood between most of us and embarrassing asphyxiation.
The countdown began and we were off.
The Cookie's Inferno Sauce had a kick like a Wint-O-Green Lifesaver, but I tried not to let it stop me.
Pam Wiese was pounding down ribs like a wolverine while Mayor Hanafan looked on in horror keeping his fingers away from her mouth.
Brian Daschel of Omaha Beef Rump Roasters was going head to head with last years winner Mark Steffun. It was brutal. Five minutes can seem like an eternity and 30 seconds into it, we all knew one of these guys already had it. I just had to keep up. Anything less than ten ribs would call my manhood into question.
My vision was gray, but I kept pulling off ribs, shoving them down while gasping for air. The crowd cheered like in Roman times and for similar reason.
Brian Daschel won with 19 ribs and walked away with a coupon for a free meal. Ironic, I suppose. I had 14.
At midnight, I was taking Immodium AD, thinking about Icarus, another man who flew too close to the sun and failed with explosive consequences. Next year, I thought, next year.