Wing Bowl 19: the Recap - NBC 10 Philadelphia

Wing Bowl 19: the Recap

Victor wins by 1 wing, eaters stuffed.

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    NEWSLETTERS

    Wing Bowl 19: the Recap
    Dan Stamm

    The wet wipes have been abused, vomit cleaned, Wingettes re-clothed, and jaws massaged.

    In short, SportsRadio 610 WIP’s Wing Bowl 19 is over.

    And the victor, for the third consecutive year, is Jonathan “Super” Squibb, a 6-foot-4, 215 pound accountant from New Jersey.

    But even though he was the favorite, it was not an easy battle. After two 14 minute rounds of eating, the field was picked clean of lesser men, like meat from a tiny chicken leg. From a field of twenty-seven, only two previous champions remained: the legendary El Wingador, out of retirement to stage a gustatory resurrection, and Super Squibb, the reigning champion. Squibb even entered the final round with a one wing disadvantage. He needed to take off the bib and eat like a champ in order to pull through.

    But the second round may have proved too hot for El Wingador, who was the only competitor visibly sweating by the end, according to one eye witness. Mixed with Squibb's reported cleansing between the final rounds—stretching, water, and a hearty cough—the legend appeared busted.

    In the final, championship round, the pair sat, matched gullet to gullet. To the naked, unsauced eye, Squibb and El Wingador kept a steady pace. Onlookers knew this Wing Bowl would come down to the wire as the two kings of consumption stuffed their majestic faces. The men even ate in a similar manner, shearing precious meat from golden fried wings.

    By the end—after the viscous red sauce was mopped away and the chicken bones were tallied—the target on the champ’s back proved to be not big enough for the contender to hit. Out-eating El Wingador by 2 wings—edging the five-time winner out by 1 wing —Super came home with the chicken crown, showered with fake money and confetti. And the runner-up couldn't have been more gracious.

    The final tally: 255 wings to 254.

    The estimated final tally for Squibb’s heart: 13,000 calories; 765 grams of fat (255 saturated).

    The final tally for our souls: incalculable.

    Sure, anybody can dress in skimpy clothes, eat until they purge, and wear ridiculous outfits. But it takes a true champion to participate three consecutive years in a row, and a true city to do it for nineteen.

    And we have the pictures to prove it.

    See you next year, Wingadelphia.