Wide World of Eating

Cue theme music - upbeat and techno.

Camera - flashing in and out to scenes of intense competition, replete with grimaces, brilliant wins and crushing losses.

Camera pans to two stout men in dark blue blazers seated next to each other at the commentator's table. Bob, fiftyish, on the right, has an almost unnoticeable hairpiece. Mark, younger with a close-cropped, military haircut has an unmoving, too-white smile.

"Thank you for joining us here at the Wide World of Eating! Mark, I don't know when I've seen a more competitive, driven group of feeders!"

"Too right, Bob. With new training techniques and the use of carbon graphite cutlery, we're seeing performances only dreamed of just five years ago!".

The camera focuses on Bob's intent, jowly face. "The top story in this competition is the use of illegal condiments during the main course qualifiers. Joining us now is Brenda at the Cafetorium. Brenda?"

"Bob, the hall is fairly on fire with talk of Earl Smithton's use of illegal condiments during the roast beef heat."

A new screen pops up with a mechanical bell sound. The subtitle enlightens us - "Earlier today". A monolithic man, head crowned with dark curly hair and enormous sideburns, sits at a table, arms hovering, encircling a platter piled with slabs of steaming meat. His jaws are already grinding, in anticipation of annihilating the foe before him. Eyes dark and unblinking, a single drop of sweat jumps from his brow to its death on the table below. The klaxon sounds and the great man explodes into a blur of motion. The meat vanishes in a rapid, alarming rate into the ravenous eating machine. Suddenly, the tape goes to slow motion, as the giant reaches just under the lip of the plate and shakes an unmarked packet onto his food. The unaided eye would have missed the moment. His shark eyes glance to the right, directly into the camera, and then back to the target.

Brenda's voice over as the scene freezes on the sleight of hand.

"Bob, lab tests confirmed the worst."

"Say it aint so, Brenda!"

"The official statement from the judges' panel identified the mystery substance as...WASABI!"

Collective gasps are heard from Bob, Mark, Brenda and most of America.

Scene goes back to the commentator's table.

Bob and Mark pause, eyes downcast, heads shaking in disapproval.

"Smithton had a bright future ahead of him..."

"Bob, I just don't know what to say..."

Another pause. Suddenly they both turn to the left camera, the moment over, grieving complete.

"Now we go to competition in progress at the Hall of Steak. Tim, this is Mark, can you hear me?"

A whispered voice responds.

"Shhh...Mark, sorry, but this is intense. With me are Raquel and Jim, medalists from last years' table battles. Maybe they can fill you in."

"Mark, this is Raquel and we are witnessing an epic battle at the steak podium. The Brit Gordon Highlander is going toe to toe with the American favorite, Hayes Finkle."

The feeder nearest the camera has long, red hair framing a broad beard. Highlander is nearly as broad as the table is wide. His posture is absolutely perfect. His build screams he has never met a meal he didn't like, but his poise is polished and indifferent. A dancer at the plates.

Another whispered comment.

"Bob, this is Jim. Tell me this isn't deja vu of '78 with Carlson."

Pause.

"Jim, I see what you're saying, but I was thinking Winter Feeding of '82 with Banford."

"You are too right. The polish and the form, but still maintaining that mind-boggling volume. What do you think of Finkle?"

The camera obliges, zooming in on the favored son of the US of A.

The Wisconsin native has a shaved head and large, blue eyes that constantly move back and forth, from the platter to his opponent across the table.

"Jim, what sets this fighter apart is his incredible discipline."

"Exactly, Raquel. His form is perfect: a flawless 3 centimer cube cut from a slab of filet mignon. Now watch that chewing motion. Poetry."

"I'm getting misty, myself."

Mark narrates, as the camera continues to admire the blue-eyed beast consume steak like a sculptor.

"Everyone knows the odds this young man overcame to get here."

"Do you mean the tsunami that killed all the cattle in Wisconsin last year?"

"The very same Raquel. That tragedy nearly snuffed out this young man's bright dreams. Amazingly, the kindness of strangers brought him through."

"A heart-warming story, to be sure, Mark. California cows rejoiced to have a part in this year's competition after disaster struck their northern cousins." The picture flashes to an orderly line of apparently happy cows, with the flag shaved into the fur on their flanks.

"Later reports told us that thousands of volunteer cows were turned away."

"What an outpouring of love, don't you think Bob?"

"Well-"

Tim breaks in.

"Excuse me, Bob, but this contest has just taken a dramatic turn! Wait! - wait! What is he doing? No! He can't be!"

"Tim, I don't believe my eyes, but Finkle has just completed his consumption of the steak with a perfect double-triple cut and chew while drinking his beverage!"

"No, he didn't!"

The professorial Bob is now screaming.

"Yes - he did! Ladies and gentlemen, you saw it first, here on the Wide World of Eating!"

Highlander slams his ham fists on the table, platter and meat jumping a good four inches from the dark wood. The crowd draws back, knowing they are now too close if something bad happens. He stalks around the table to where Finkle is standing, dancing with his fans. He stops abruptly and faces his nemesis. Their bellies of gravitas are nearly touching, as their eyes narrow, menacing. The hall is silent. The crowd gives the behemoths space. The labored breathing of the broad flanked competitors becomes the music of anxiety.

"Raquel, I don't like the look of this. In '95, this kind of throw down seriously injured 35 and nearly destroyed the Dessert Wing in London." Tim's gulp is audible.

Suddenly, Highlander lets out a baritone whoop, and seizes Finkle in a friendly bear hug. All is well. Thunderous applause washes away the recent memory of near death. The spectators mob the champions like ants swarming two large trees.

The crowd is dancing, chanting. The camera man is apparently also enchanted, as the picture is bobbing in time with the chant.

"Fi-in-kle i-i-s the ma-a-an!"

Another camera shows the scene of thousands gathered aroung the Hall of Steak, candles in the dark dancing, people chanting, arm in arm.

Bob and Mark reappear.

"Mark, as usual, it has indeed been an honor to watch history being made on the Wide World of Eating".

"Bob, all I can say, is that I feel blessed to have witnessed today's events with my own eyes!"

"From both Mark and myself, America, have a great evening! God bless. Join us tomorrow as we watch a fascinating new sport called the Condiment Revolution!"

The credits roll.