How to eat 20 hot dogs in nine innings - The Globe and Mail

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Writer Graham Isador took on the challenge of Loonie Dogs Night at the home of the Toronto Blue Jays, the Rogers Centre.Graham Isador/Handout

Since 2019, Loonie Dogs Night has been a beloved tradition in Toronto. Every Tuesday during the regular season, Blue Jays fans at the Roger Centre line up en masse to purchase the dollar dogs, consuming upward of 60,000 franks per game. Some view Loonie Dogs Night as a feel-good PR move for the team, an affordable evening out in a city that is becoming increasingly more expensive. Personally, I’ve always viewed it as a challenge.

As a journalist, I’ve eaten 50 McNuggets in under 40 minutes. I’ve tested the limits of Mandarin’s Chinese buffet. If I had to guess, my desire to commit these culinary atrocities is rooted deep in childhood. The all-consuming plight of the younger sibling, perpetually acting out in a desperate attempt to prove my self-worth. Since finding out about Loonie Dogs Night I have been quietly scheming. I wanted to know how many hot dogs I could eat over the course of a game.

Asking someone how many hot dogs they could eat in one sitting is a surprisingly intimate question. During an informal survey of co-workers, friends and acquaintances, there were debates about whether to use condiments or go at it raw dog. Cost-benefit analysis over performance enhancers such as alcohol and marijuana. Would it be better to space things out or opt for speed?

Most people reasonably assumed they’d tap out after four hot dogs. An amateur strongman from my gym wagered he could force down eight. My goal was much more brazen. I was going to try and eat 20. A number notably shy of the 62 competitive eater Joey Chestnut consumed at this year’s Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, but much more than anyone should probably down at one time.

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The game plan was simple: two dogs per inning, plus an additional two dogs in the seventh-inning stretch. I’d undertake the task sober, opting for BBQ sauce and sauerkraut to lube the buns. Close friend John Sharkman would join me for the experiment, ostensibly for moral support. While Sharkman is always game to enable a crazy scheme, he expressed real concern: Legend has it that Babe Ruth once consumed a dozen dogs and eight bottles of soda between games on a doubleheader. It sent him to the hospital. Did I really understand what I was about to do?

Twenty dogs – bun included – come out to roughly six thousand calories. Approximately five times the amount of sodium and six times the amount of saturated fat an adult is supposed to have in a day. I’d decided on 20 dogs through estimating the equivalent volume of food I’d slammed during other challenges. Unfortunately, it’d been almost five years since I last tested my consumption limits. I was not entering the game as a youthful rookie. This was the performance of a tired veteran, decidedly worse for wear, the signs of age obvious to everyone but the player himself.

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By the time we passed security, the hot-dog queue snaked around the stadium, dozens of fans jonesing for a fix. In line for the first round, I bounced back and forth like a boxer. Sharkman kneaded my shoulders as we finally made our way to the cashier. The first round of franks would be split: 12 for me, three for my pal. “Fifteen hot dogs, please.”

The cashier silently turned to her co-worker. Was this allowed? Are they serious? Looking back with a scowl, there was no attempt to hide her disdain. She shook her head. Shamefully, I grabbed my wieners, which are objectively bad: grocery-store buns coupled with limp franks. The type of food you’d serve at a child’s birthday party if you didn’t like the kid.

The only condiments available were ketchup and mustard, each bottle so empty that squeezing produced nothing but wet toots. Abandoning my strategy, I immediately crushed five dogs. Taking the last bite there was a real problem. Only a fourth of the way in, I was starting to feel full.

Eating five hot dogs is not a story. Stopping so soon would bring a shame I couldn’t live with. At dog eight bile danced in the back of my throat. I swallowed. Unwrapping the tinfoil casing of dog No. 9, my hand began to shake. If I threw up, there was no way I’d make the bathroom in time. Even a garbage can was out of reach. Sensing distress, Sharkman checked in. What did I want to do?

“I think I have to eat more hot dogs.”

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At inning five I started wandering the Rogers Centre, Don Quixote fighting windmills, carrying around the last dog of round one like a burden. If I wanted to get through dog 12, I needed distraction. The Blue Jays offered no help. After eight innings only one run had been scored by either team. In a genius turn, Sharkman suggested eating something sweet to cleanse the palate and change the texture.

Adorning the dog with Crunch ‘n Munch, he cheered as I gagged down my food. But from there I needed to make a choice. According to a study by the University of Michigan, eating just one hot dog can deduct 36 minutes from your lifespan. Were 20 dogs really worth it? Was it even possible? I flashed back to other food challenges.

They say that a biological function of childbirth is forgetting the pain once it’s over. If anyone actually remembered the process, they’d never have another kid. My hot-dog experience was exactly the same. Doing Lamaze breathing, I forced down dog 14 and was done. This was my limit. Embarrassed at my hubris, I turned to Sharkman in shame.

“Buddy, you should have quit at four.”

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How to eat 20 hot dogs in nine innings - The Globe and Mail
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