On the Scene | Wing Bowl celebrates carnal desires

Let's start out with a couple of riddles.

What has thousands of wings but has never flown once?

If you said 'ostrich farm' or 'penguin colony,' think again.

Here's another.

What's full of booze and sex, is home to the finest and fattest to ever grace Philly and floats?

No, not Charles Barkley's private yacht.

The answer to both is the Wing Bowl, the annual wing-eating contest and ode to debauchery that serves as Philadelphia's answer to the Super Bowl.

Friday morning's Wing Bowl 17 was no exception. Like always, the event displayed its penchant for all things big.

It's got big appetites, some of which have routinely put away over 200 wings in a half-hour sitting.

It's got a big following - the Wachovia Center was packed at 6 a.m., with all eyes on the elaborate, parade-style floats.

It's got big hangovers - parking-lot beer bongs at 2 a.m. have been known to have that effect.

And the ladies have big, um . confidence - the Wingettes, the eaters' skin-showing cheerleaders (often supplied by strip clubs), along with the brave women in the audience, have been known to supply an intentional nip slip or two throughout the morning.

With the Wing Bowl, all of this comes standard. But this wasn't your standard Wing Bowl.

In light of the departure of long-time fan favorite Bill "El Wingador" Simmons and reigning champion Joey Chestnut, WIP Sports Radio - the creator and host of Wing Bowl - decided to bring the competition back to its roots, making it an "amateurs only" event.

While the lack of the contest's old vets was disappointing to some ("I'm a Wingador man," said former middleweight boxing champion Bernard Hopkins, who had a front row seat), the new rule lent a Philly neighborhood feel to Wing Bowl.

For some competitors, it's a welcome change.

"We built the event and then the pros came in and stole this stuff from us," said "Damaging" Doug Canavin, who, despite being the odds-on favorite, failed to qualify for the second round due to an error in wing calculation. "That's not right."

With the big dogs held out, the way for a Wing Bowl rookie was paved - Jonathan "Super" Squibb took home the hardware (a crown made of rubber chickens) by inhaling 203 wings in 30 minutes, edging Richard "Not Rich" Razzi of Schwenksville, Pa., who scarfed down 180 wings.

"I went to a lot of all-you-can-eat wing places," said Squibb, whose wiry frame belies his voracious eating habits. "Ate a lot of lettuce, drank a lot of water. It wasn't easy, but the ends are better than the means."

For his efforts, the 23-year old New Jersey native drove home in a brand new Mini-Cooper - which, incidentally, looked as miniature as ever juxtaposed against the 504-pound frame of "Damaging" Doug.

But at the Wing Bowl, the actual outcome is of little concern or consequence. It's the audience's base desires that take precedence. First and foremost, there's the pure, unbridled lust. And then there's a more peculiar infatuation - a passion for all things puke.

Wing Bowl's "You heave, you leave" rule was put into effect several times on Friday, much to the delight of the crowd.

With the field pared to ten in the second round, two eaters - Doug "Obi Wing" Petock and Frank "De Fraud" Farrell - couldn't keep their wings down.

Farrell had been consuming his wings at a steady clip and believed he would have had a legitimate shot at making it to the final two-minute sprint if his stomach hadn't failed him.

"I was going pretty good," Farrell said. "But I took a wing and something didn't feel right."

If there's a life lesson to take from Wing Bowl, it's just that.

You win some, you spew some.

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