Every year, on the third Saturday in March, respect is given to three of America’s greatest and dirtiest pleasures: corndogs, tater tots and Pabst Blue Ribbon.
This tradition started more than twenty years ago when a few college basketball fans decided to pair their spectating with these three gems. As traditions go, they continued to do this each year after and coined it “National Corndog Day.” Five years ago, I stumbled upon their tradition and decided to make it a tradition of my own. I can’t say how I learned of this fine day but I can say it is not because of my interest, or lack of interest, in sports. It was not until this year that I discovered there was a significant difference between March Madness and the Pac-12. Details.
I’ve celebrated this special day alone, with one who doesn’t eat ‘swine’ (Alice’s words, not mine, and she may eat her words one day), with many friends and I almost celebrated in a strip club last year. This year, I had the privilege of celebrating with some deep-fry die-hard; which, if we keep doing this we will probably die with hardened arteries. Again, details.
We all met at my house for a few pre-drinks: boxed wine and PBR, of course. Once we had a few drinks we grabbed our score sheet and convoyed over to the local fast-food joint – known for corndogs and tots – for a little consumption.
Due to state liquor laws and the fact that this is a ‘family-friendly’ fast food restaurant, we had to pair our deep-fried foods with juice or soda. When I say ‘we,’ I mean everyone but That’s Not Chinese. She packed her coffee cup for proper pairing.
With the score sheet taped to the window the competition began: corndogs, tots and beers were being tallied. Tree was in charge of the tick marks and, wisely, opted for corndog bites over the traditional corndog on the stick.
“I’ve had two corndogs so far,” he smuggly informed us.
“Excuse me, I think you mean corndog bites. Those bites barely make one full corndog,” That’s Not Chinese argued.
“Well somebody should have made the rules before I ordered,” Tree replied, popped another bite in his mouth and gave himself another point.
“Well in that case mark me down for six beers because I’m pretty sure one glass of wine is the equivalent of three beers and I’ve got at least two glasses in this cup,” That’s Not Chinese advised then took a swig.
Not one who likes to lose, Beaner’s daughter was putting the deep-fried potatoes away for the win, “I’m still eating with a tummy ache. That’s like a world record.”
The competition was fierce and, just as they had hoped, Tree, That’s Not Chinese and Beaner’s daughter won the competition.
As she distributed the “Winner Winner Corndog Dinner” prize packs – which consisted of a coupon for a free family pack of corndogs and bottles of ketchup and mustard – Beaner’s daughter congratulated the winners.
When she gave That’s Not Chinese the prize pack she also gave her the compliment of a lifetime, “Thank you for drinking the most.”
Like many competitors, Tree and That’s Not Chinese departed after the award ceremony. The rest of us, however, pressed on and decided to end the day with a plan we had made at the beginning of the day: with a Deep Fried Pride Parade. We grabbed corndogs out of the bag (we brought home extras for this purpose) and began marching down the street – corndog in one hand, PBR in the other – shouting, “Deep Fried Pride.”
Several photo opps later we retreated to the porch where we enjoyed a few more beverages. While we did so, Beaner’s daughter decided to give away the rest of the corndogs. She grabbed the bag, planted herself on the retaining wall and shouted out, “Free corndogs! It’s National Corndog Day! Deep Fried Pride!”
Wanting to assist with her efforts, we turned an empty PBR box inside out and made her a cardboard sign that read ‘Free Corndogs.’
She did this for at least 40 minutes and, at one point, I thought she might have competition but quickly realized the ‘competition’ was Beaner replaying a video she had made of her.
“Well played,” I told Beaner while she barreled over with laughter.
The persistence of Beaner’s daughter paid off and, after telling herself, “Don’t give up, don’t give up;” telling us, “If there was a homeless person nearby I’d walk over and give him one of these;” and yelling to passersby, “Free corndogs for sale;” she successfully sold, for free, all of the extra corndogs. She could not have been more proud.
