I do not like mindless noise. Excessive excess bothers me. Hyperbole really turns me off. I’m about two steps short of get-off-my-lawn-hood” I suppose.
If your noise is important enough to demand my attention, I’m all yours. If it isn’t, go someplace else (meaning away from me) and make all you want.
Trying to watch “Hamilton” on the Disney Plus streaming channel Friday night was pointless because everybody and his brother, sister, mom, dad, aunts, uncles and cousins were shooting off illegal fireworks in the park behind my house. For years, I’ve heard about what a smashing spectacle “Hamilton” is, and almost immediately my back gets up because, well, my name should have been Thomas and I should have been born in Missouri.
The jury is still out, though, because those fireworks were so loud we couldn’t even hear the show. Good thing this was Disney Plus and not $500 a ticket in New York.
Saturday, the fusillade of fireworks was louder, possibly, than the night before. The “grand finale” actually shook my house a few times.
As I like to say, nothing exceeds like excess.
I can’t get too angry at people lighting off firecrackers and blowing off steam, especially this year, with the COVID-19 pandemic and the cancellation of the official civic fireworks display. People had nowhere to go, and no real way to celebrate what they usually celebrate.
And wowie. There were a ton of people who stepped into the breach — at considerable cost, I might add. There were moments Saturday where it sounded as if they’d raided the national armory for sticks of dynamite and carpet bombs.
In between all this noise there occurred one of the nation’s annual paeans to wretched excess: Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, held, as usual, at Coney Island — but without the usual spectators who cheer the gluttons on with abandon.
After all, we must observe social distancing protocols, right?
So, this year, the competition was scaled down. There were only a handful of contestants — both men and women — and the eat-off was inside a “bubble” rather than out in the open. Any allowed inside the bubble had to wear face shields, let alone masks. I thought I was watching “Close Encounters of the Gross Kind.”
The emcee, who hovered behind the contestants as they chowed down, looked like an old-fashioned Coney Island carney barker. But at least he wore a mask. Sometimes.
I’ve watched this contest for years, and I’ve always understood that overstatement and hyperbole were integral parts of the schtick. If nothing else, watching grown men and women stuff hot dogs down their throats can be entertaining the same way watching a train wreck is. You cannot take your eyes off either.
What always made it special was the outrageously over-exaggerated hyperbole of the commentators (this year, Mike Golic’s son, Mike Jr., was one of the ESPN broadcasters. I’ll bet he loved that gig).
I’ve always revelled in the sheer ridiculousness of it, rolling my eyes when one of these dolts called Joey “Jaws” Chestnut “the best athlete in the world.” Fake praise.
It was always harmless fun. You’re about to go to your own cookout, but first you have to prepare by watching Joey nearly choke himself with wieners. Such fun!
It’s just that this year the hokeyness was overshadowed by the more sobering backdrop of the times. As of Sunday, there were 129,226 COVID deaths in the U.S. With this latest re-escalation of the pandemic, we’ve now seen 2,766,366 people infected by this virus.
Moreover, we are in the middle of a national reckoning of sorts when it comes to racism, and it shows no immediate signs of abating.
Somehow, watching a group of entitled people two-fisting franks down their gullets, preening around as if they’ve actually accomplished something beyond not spilling mustard all over themselves, was a bit more off-putting than usual.
Since ESPN broadcast this, let’s talk sports. A couple of Red Sox pitchers tested positive. David Price says he won’t play, nor will Mike Trout. Ever since sports made some inroads into resuming normal activity, athletes have come up positive all over the place.
As much as we want it to happen, it’s not happening. Life is still on hold.
People have lost jobs, lost businesses. Kids have been deprived of vital rites of passages. We’re all running around looking as if we’re about to rob a bank.
But, by all means, let’s parade Joey Chestnut through Coney Island and watch him choke down 75 hot dogs (a record, for the record).
Another year? Another time? When the country’s on a little bit better footing than it is this year? Absolutely. The competition’s not to be taken seriously, and it’s pretty easy to get swept up in the joke.
But not this year. Not under these conditions. It just seemed obscene.