Lord of the Wings
IFOCE officials met with WIP and suggested weighing the wings, for scientific precision. WIP held firm. Says Cataldi, "We’re keeping it the way we started." But how long can they hold out?
Because at Wing Bowl, an event designed to celebrate a citywide culture of losing, winning has become important. "When I first started out, it was like doin’ a spring training game," says Eric Gregg. "Now it’s like a goddamn World Series." The audiences and prizes have grown, the field has gotten tougher, and now, says Gregg, "The average guy has no shot."
But WIP’s agenda with Wing Bowl is not to make sure Philly eaters have a chance. It’s to have fun, yes, but it’s also to make money. According to Dave Helfrich, WIP’s former promotions manager, Wing Bowl is the largest pure-radio promotion in the country. It not only comprises what Helfrich calls "a significant chunk" of WIP’s business in the first quarter — which, without football or baseball, is a slow time for sports stations. Because WIP sweetens ad packages by offering Wing Bowl sponsorships, Wing Bowl drives sales through the whole year. As Wing Bowl grows, so does WIP. And the best way for Wing Bowl to grow is to raise the stakes by attracting top eaters. The higher the stakes, the bigger the spectacle. If you add to the spectacle, says Cataldi, "You’re in the event. It’s that simple."
When Dave Helfrich told me the story about Cataldi’s helicopter stunt, he never said whether Cataldi caught the ball. So I asked Helfrich. "No," he said, and laughed. He laughed, because it was a stupid question.
This is what’s so poignant about Bill Simmons. He’s like Cataldi, standing in the parking lot, under the helicopter, waiting for the ball to drop. But Bill chose to pretend that catching the ball, in a sense, was important. He tried really hard, at great personal risk, to catch it.
And he caught it.
He caught it four times.
And nobody cares.
Wing Bowl will survive the onslaught of national eaters. A few years from now, no audience members will moan about the lack of local champions. "Philly people are just fans in general," says Wingador. More simply, "It’s a day of partying and seein’ girls half-naked and drinkin’ and takin’ off work, so, that’s what Philly’s about, you know." Beer and babes. End of story. Though we feel we own the Eagles, that they’re our team, we don’t feel the same way about the Wing Bowl competitors.
We do, however, feel that way about the event itself. If there is something great about Wing Bowl, it is the elevation of sheer groaning effort to the level of heroism. The tragic thing, for Bill, is that the effort is collective. Wing Bowl works because it’s such an erectile upswelling of the Philly spirit, a potent kiss-off to the world. It is something, finally, that is authentically ours. Nobody owns it, everybody owns it. No one man can define it. Only a city can. Wing Bowl is so successful that it has made irrelevant its greatest champion. Wing Bowl, like any foul beast, eats its own.
