by Mr Moth
A crowd of hyped-up regulars, bemused tourists, small children (always small children), drunks and staff cheer relentlessly for a man they’ve never met performing a feat they’d never attempt for a prize they would never want. At one point a – probably drunk – young man steps up from the audience and whoops ‘Come on, you can beat this, you’re a MACHINE! WOO!’. If he was in a football stadium he would have his shirt off, and writing painted across his torso. If he was in a war, he would be charging at the enemy, balls-naked and armed only with a pocket knife. A pretty young woman – let’s be honest here, also drunk – dashes up to the man at the centre of the attention, kisses him and yells ‘You can do it, I believe in you!!’. The man at the table looks up, briefly, from his task, smiles like a man facing a firing squad and dives back in. Seconds tick by, minutes pile up, discarded husks of the man’s enemy pile up too. Something momentous is going to happen.
He’s going to win. The crowd’s belief, their simple willingness to cheer him on, has been rewarded. He stands on a chair to take in the final moment. His face a burning, greasy, sweating mask of triumph, he bites down on the last chicken wing and looks at the camera. ‘In the eternal battle of Man vs Food,’ he intones, his voice conveying the solemnity of the occasion – he is Adam, the first man, doing battle with Man’s oldest friend and most ancient enemy, Food – ‘this round GOES TO MAN!’
Then he is given a T-shirt.
MostlyFilm 