Like Father, Like Son?

Grif recently attended the Blue & Gold Banquet for the Cub Scout pack that is associated with his Boy Scout Troop. Part of the annual event is a ceremony of "crossing over" for the older boys that are going to transfer from Cub Scouting to Boy Scouting. Hence, Grif's attendance at the feast as a member in good standing of Troop 41. When I picked him up afterwards, I noticed some (initially) quiet moaning in the car. The volume and frequency of the moans increased as time passed. Grif explained that he had earned the unusual title of "Food God" by exhibiting a prodigious ability to ingest a staggering amount of food in a short amount of time. As you can see, he started with a rather impressive first pass at the banquet table. If you didn't know he was a Williams, you might guess his bloodline based on this photo alone. He proudly notes that this picture does not entirely display the full array of his gluttonous course. After the initial glorious acceptance of the honors bestowed by his incredulous peers, Grif spent a rather uncomfortable night.

I don't want to take away anything from Grif's triumph. He earned the dumbfounded admiration of his peers. But, I could not help reminiscing about a time, long ago, when another young man had similar ambitions...


Of course, being a Food God was more difficult back in the old days. Why, to even begin to be taken seriously, a fellow had to begin with a hearty supper prior to engaging in competitive eating.

And, unlike young Grif, who seems to have over-loaded his gastro-intestinal system merely to draw attention to himself, there was a time when we food warriors were considered to be competitors.

It wasn't all fun and games.

As Frank Sinatra might say:

"There were times I'm sure you knew,
when I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out."



In other sports, reference is often made to the importance of the fans. They are frequently considered to impact the game. It is customary to consider, at times, that the crowd itself has the impact of an extra player. No one knows that more than The Old Curmudgeon. Yes, even when he wanted to quit, encouragement expressed by the many sophisticated academics who had gathered renewed and invigorated him to press on to victory.

There are no pictures of the revelry following this hallowed contest -- the triumphant march to Nelson House to be greeted by a pajamaed Dr. Sease and Mama; gathering in the New Dorm bathroom for the purification ritual and some sympathetic emesis by Dave Lofland (an unforgettable duet) and the lighting of the incense by Ronald Garner (eerily foreshadowing priestly function) just before his cowardly retreat to seek lodging in a region of the dormitory with a less sulphurous atmosphere.

Of course, as with any event of this magnitude, there was media coverage. No doubt, choosing to cover this event was a wise career move for the young Rolf Peter Noot. The journalistic notoriety gained by his fair and balanced reporting no doubt brought him to the attention of his present employer. Is it just a coincidence that he is now the Publications Director for the University of Indianapolis (nee ICC, ICU)? I think not!

Well, old men do seem to enjoy reminiscing. I admit it has been pleasant to recall old faces and events (carefully and selectively arranging the memories in a way most acceptable to me).However, the future belongs to the young. I have had to retire from eating spectacles like this. As I pass the mantel on to Grif, I wish him much success. To the rest of the family I can only say: Try to get in line in front of him at the reunion.