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The, um, story, I guess, speaks for itself. The Mets are filthy, greasy gluttons.
In Philadelphia, Mets eat cheesesteaks better than the rest and break records
PHILADELPHIA — In the dining room of the visitor’s clubhouse at Citizens Bank Park is a leaderboard. And no matter where the Mets lay in the National League East standings, they stand atop this one.
This April, on the last day, as they sat marooned in that clubhouse, awaiting rain to pass to see if they could play that night, and then waiting to leave after the game was rained out, the Mets decided to set their aim for the team record for most cheesesteaks eaten in a day.
Cheesesteaks are Philadelphia’s delicacy — a greasy stuffing of beef and lining of cheese inside a sub. Visiting teams are welcome to eat as many as they want or can, with the meal made for them at the ballpark, and a scoreboard tracks their feats. There are individual and team records for a single day or series.
On April 30, over some ten hours, the Mets ate 103, they say, setting the new single-day team record. Though baseball may be a sequence of individualized events, this was the work of a collective. It was planned two cheesesteaks per person, or more for those that were willing to help out where other teammates could not eat their share.
By the time the Mets left for Denver, distended and at over-capacity, they were now record-holders, breaking the previous mark that stood somewhere in the 80s.
Though impressive, perhaps it should not have been surprising. When it comes to eating cheesesteaks, the Mets are the 1961 Yankees, and their bullpen catchers, Dave Racaniello and Eric Langill, are the Mantle and Maris.
Last season, from April 8-10, Langill set the three-game series record by eating 17 cheesesteaks. He broke Racaniello’s record of 14 -- which had stood for years.
The cheesesteak eating competition is not without rules and calls for prior planning. To viably set a record, cheesesteaks can only be eaten after getting to the ballpark until batting practice, from the end of batting practice until the game begins, and for an hour window after the game has concluded. There are moratoriums during batting practice and the game, likely, so that players and coaches can proceed with their day jobs.
As the Mets arrived in Philadelphia last season, Brandon Lyon, then a Mets reliever, egged Langill on to set the new mark.
In chasing the record, Langill followed the necessary stratagem. He did not eating [sic] breakfast in the morning. He took the early bus, at 1:30 in the afternoon for a night game, to Citizens Bank Park to allow him more time to eat.
The first two were easy, but by the fifth it became a challenge. To ease the burden, he vacillated between chicken and steak fillings. When he came home at night, he felt overwhelmingly bloated. After the second game, the night of his birthday, he could barely finish a beer.
When the Mets left for Minnesota, Langill’s pants could barely fit.
“It’s torture,” he said. “It’s not fun. But at least you’re on the there.” [sic]
Racaniello took the lost mark with aplomb. As Langill shot for his title, he set about trying to become the single-day champion. In eating seven and a half cheesesteaks, he did, waking up the next morning with a face puffy from all the sodium he had consumed.
“We were going for it together,” Racaniello said. “Then I did that and, alright, I’ll hold the single day record, you can have the three day record.”
But several weeks later, Racaniello received a text message from Joe McEwing, a former Met and now the White Sox third base coach. Bobby Thigpen, the team’s bullpen coach, had topped him.
Thigpen, who had once held baseball’s single-season saves record with 57, had eaten eight cheesesteaks in one day.
But there was controversy. He had done so over the course of a double-header. Like Maris taking eight extra games to best Babe Ruth in the home run record chase, Thigpen had been the beneficiary of more time.
“Exactly, asterisk,” Racaniello said. “I’m crossed off. I’m like I should at least still be up there.” |
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