FOX Hits New Low With ‘Glutton Bowl’

After having failed to gain an audience with such torturous TV shows as “The Chamber” and “Ally,” FOX simultaneously exemplified a lack of programming creativity and significant social commentary with its 2-hour extravaganza called “The Glutton Bowl.” The ultimate champion: Japanese hot dog inhaler Takeru Kobayashi.

So it’s come to this. Entertaining a nation of overweight, unmotivated, apolitical trash with their favorite pastime — binge eating. Don’t take this criticism the wrong way, the special was engaging. There’s something particularly satisfying about seeing a 300-pound man with gelled hair sweat through his Big ‘ Tall Regis-style shiny shirt while eating. I will not deny my frantic handclapping and various gesticulations as mastication was inevitably interrupted by the retching of portly participants desperately staving off reverse peristalsis. I suppose if you lose after swallowing 3 liters of mayonnaise, you have reason to be sickened with yourself. But why did the cameras continue to cut away? The signs were there: watery eyes, deep breaths, puffed cheeks, and the gag and hand over the mouth routine. It looks like he’s going to … cut to another contestant drinking water? What? This is Fox and we don’t get to see vomiting? Along with the cancellation of “The Tick” and the endless pre-empting of “Futurama”, this is the third time this season FOX has denied me.

These wasted opportunities pale when one considers the incredible amount of wasted food. Prior to each round, a vat — yes a vat, one of those cylindrical metal canisters “Return of the Living Dead” zombies are sealed in by the military — lowers from the ceiling, tips and spills a few hundred pounds of whatever food must be consumed. Much of this crap falls into what looks like a worn-out trampoline probably used by any one of these contestants. Most food ends up in there. Some of it, however, misses Clifford’s bowl and hits the stage floor. Yes, food on the floor.

Somehow, between each round, the mess on stage disappears. Though the cleanup process is never shown (this must have something to do with the magic of television), I picture a few old guys with wide push brooms walking across the stage, similar to the way baseball field dirt is swept. If American TV reception was available in third world countries, I believe this is the part when the villagers would weep. And isn’t that a fine example of tugging heartstrings? After awing them with the sight of 400 hamburgers hitting the floor of a brightly lit American arena followed by some fat people (who some of the starving may endearingly call “kings”) down a few of them, FOX turns and makes them cry when they take the unused burgers and sweep them into large black garbage bags.

Sound extreme? Perhaps. But does a morbidly obese man with the nickname “Boondock” really need to eat 4 feet of a 15-foot stretch of sushi? Aren’t there children starving in this country? Is heart disease not the number one killer in the United States?

The stage is a major detail, at least because it was able to hold up a bunch of really fat guys without so much of a shudder. There was a lot of steel (for both form and function, I would imagine), a large circular video screen centered behind the stag and an entrance ramp under the screen. Competitors came out to the same music and made gestures and the geniuses at FOX split-screened their statistics with their stature. Clearly, many of these were men too fat to be what they once dreamed of: professional wrestlers. Not everyone was overweight, though. Some of the men were downright fit, especially the champion. They probably purge themselves after each round. Others might not. I have nothing against fat people. I was fat for most of my life and still retain a pudgy center. Santa is fat. Al Roker is fat. Fat people have a lot to offer. But when you consider London broil an appetizer — I’m sorry— you are a target. And the fact that you can’t move fast makes you even easier to hit.

The commentators were careful not to make insensitive comments about the spherical stars of the night. They referred to these human Hutts as “athletes.” If couch sitting is considered a sport, then by all means herald the heavies. One announcer was just some guy, but the other was Greg Shea, a member of the International Federation of Competitive Eating. They were very happy, perhaps because both sported high-tech, sleek headsets. Having cool looking crap makes many people content. Take a look around and you’ll realize this — my stereo is better than yours.

The penultimate round was a wild card struggle with bull scrotum as the runners-up from rounds previous faced off for a shot at the finals. Each was asked if he wanted to go through with it. The eventual victor, a Canadian who doesn’t care about Olympic figure skating, proclaimed, “I’m in it to win it.” Two spots down the line from him, another guy said the same thing. What an imitating idiot. You deserved to lose, you unoriginal slob. However, considering that the Canadian’s medal fell off the ribbon around his neck, I do question the significance of his victory.

I’d like to see The Glutton Bowl annually, with qualifying rounds and playoffs televised during weeks leading up to “The Ultimate Food Competition.” I would look forward to seeing these “athletes” work their way to their goal — winning a trophy large enough to heave in. I want 30-second pre-recorded profiles with dramatic music showing them during angioplasty, carefully sitting down after playing with their kids for a few moments on the front lawn, and talking about their favorite meals. Fox has a viable competitor to the Olympics — one that knows the difference between sport and competition. Eating is not a sport and neither is luge or Nascar.