Superstars of Weird Sports

Even the most bizarre contests have their Michael Jordans. Meet the world champions you'll never see on a Wheaties box

Ed "Cookie'' Jarvis, Competitive Eater

When International Federation of Competitive Eating 2001 Rookie of the Year Ed "Cookie'' Jarvis (opposite) went to Las Vegas for the all-you-can-eat buffet competition last September, he knew he was facing "the marathon of all competitions''--three days, five buffets: breakfast, lunch, appetizers, dinner and dessert, Vegas style.

"I knew if I made it to the finals--dessert--that was my category,'' he recalls. "It was half a gallon of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, six ounces of chocolate fudge with toppings and a banana, a pound of strawberries, plus a lemon meringue pie.'' Five and a half minutes later, Cookie had won another eating competition. "Most people, they have a pastry, they have a can-noli. They don't have 21. That's what I do.''

Six-foot-six, 409-pound Cookie is a 36-year-old real estate agent on his native Long Island, married and a father of two. He's also a man who has inhaled record amounts of food since competitive eating became an organized sport in 1995: six pounds, 14 ounces of ice cream in 12 minutes; 21 cannoli in six minutes; 15 and a half zeppole in four minutes; and a 17-inch pizza in three minutes.

Destiny came calling in the form of a newspaper ad for an IFOCE-sanctioned matzohball event. Ever since, Cookie has had a thirst to quench, a need to win. "This is my professional sport,'' he says. "The goal is to be number one in the world. The glory is major to me, but money would sure help.'' Purses are scant (and primarily edible) in this sport; the promise of true riches comes in endorsements. "I'd like to do a Tums commercial, or maybe I could get a commercial like the Subway guy.''

Like the Subway guy, Cookie is losing weight. So far he's lost 60 pounds; only 120 more to go. Why the diet? Competitive eating is a sweet science. "There's a theory--it's called the Belt of Fat,'' says Cookie. "The girth of your waist prevents your stomach from expanding to your skin, because there's more fat there. If you're thinner, there's obviously less girth in front of you, which allows the stomach to expand out. More stomach, more food, more world records.''

The age-old image of competitive eaters as "big fat Americans,'' as he puts it, is giving way to a smaller, slimmer figure from the Far East--Japan, where competitive eating has become a national obsession.

"If you're in this game to win, you're watching how these ridiculously tiny Japanese guys are putting it away,'' Cookie explains. "Exercise has given their smaller bodies bigger stomachs as well as better eating endurance. That's the lesson, and all of us are taking notes.''

But Cookie still knows strategy. "Every food has a challenge,'' he says. "Take ice cream, for example. Most guys get brain-freeze. If you face the spoon up, the ice cream's hitting the top of your mouth, which makes you get brain-freeze. Face the spoon down, no brain-freeze.'' Then there's his cannoli-disappearing act: "I brought four cups of coffee. Everybody looked at me like, What do you have in that bag? I said, 'It's my secret weapon.' You dunk them, and it softens them. It makes it easier to swallow them, because cannoli are very rough.''

Cookie is a champion, but he remains grounded. "We were at the cannoli championship, and after me and [fellow champion] Eric Booker were done, these women were like, 'We want your autograph! We're your biggest fans.' And these were real-good-looking women. But I'm married to the most beautiful lady of them all. I'm taken.''

"As long as my arm will let me throw, I'll keep throwing,'' says James Pratt, three-time World Cow Chip Throwing champion. "My goal is to beat the record of 185 feet. I'm not about to quit until I get it.''

Beaver, Oklahoma, a quiet town with one school and one coffee shop, has hosted the World Cow Chip Throwing Championship every April since 1969. In 1990 Pratt, his wife and their two daughters moved to Beaver to be close to his inlaws. Once they settled in, Pratt, 45, assumed dual roles of city maintenance supervisor and fire chief.

"This town takes its cow-chip throwing seriously,'' he says. "Working for the city, we had to set up the throwing arena every year, and 10 years ago I started thinking, I can do this!'' The rest has become fecal folklore. Pratt was a natural. He has won the 1996, 1999 and 2002 Men's Division Cow Chip Throwing titles, and the Beaver fire department has captured top team honors six out of the past seven years. The championship has become so competitive that chips used in the contest are stored under lock and key to prevent dung doctoring, such as applying fishing weights to enhance balance and distance.

The rugged six-foot-four, 260-pound Pratt keeps his arm prepared for all comers. "Say I'm out hunting, looking for deer or pheasant, and I see a cow chip that's about the size I like to throw. I'll just pick it up and toss it. You've got to keep the arm in shape.''

"You need a good arm and a running start. And you need a good feel for the chip,'' Pratt says, emphasizing that a firm grip means minimal breakage. "But here's the secret to a good throw: Lick your fingers between the first and second throw. It's good luck. A little doo on my tongue don't bother me none. It's just grass come around the long way.''

"A lot of folks don't realize that 90 percent of chip throwing is mental,'' he says. "I don't pay attention to who's talking to me, who's around me, nothing. I get in the zone, man--focus on the orange cone where the record sits. I pay attention to the chip, my arm and that cone. The rest, I believe, will happen on its own.''

Bobby Cleveland has a philosophy: "Live to mow, mow to live. What else is there, man?'' The seven-time U.S. Lawn Mower Racing Association champion is known around mower racetracks as Turbo Bob. "When it comes to racing mowers,'' he says, "you don't choose it--it chooses you. It's in the blood.''

Mowing and racing are in Cleveland's blood. The 45-year-old native of Locust Grove, Georgia has been doing both since he was a kid. "I used to cut grass for my parents and neighbors to make spending money. But I was always thinking, How can I cut it faster than anybody else? I'd always race go-carts, minibikes, scooters and motorcycles, too. I guess you could say I was a speed demon.''

"It all came together for me when I went to work at Snapper,'' he recalls. He was 18, fresh out of school and looking for work. His dad knew somebody at the famed lawn mower manufacturer. "When I got there, I had access to all these mowers. When you're young and you want to go fast, it's like being a kid in a candy store.''

Cleveland explains the sport's allure: "It's cheap fun. Instead of buying a car for $5000 and spending $20,000 to make it go fast, you can spend $1000 on a mower, drop $500 in there and you're ready to go.'' The Association sponsors 20 regional races per year; the crown is handed down at Labor Day weekend's Challenge of Champions.

The 5'10'', 180-pound Cleveland, who set the 85 mph mower speed record at a 1985 Atlanta 500 prerace show, is serious about his sport. "I got about 10 mowers,'' he figures. There are the four "wheelie machines''--rear-engine riding mowers he uses for show in parades. The rest? Front-engine lawn tractors, or, as he calls them, "pure speed machines.''

His crown jewel: a candy apple-red Snapper LT 2820 BVE, with a 20-horsepower overhead valve engine. "That's my main racing mower,'' he says. "I take her to 75, but she can go 100.'' Over the past year, Cleveland's been coming home from his day job as Snapper design engineer to his evening job. "I would pour me a drink, go to the garage and get to work on my baby. I'm talking about a V-twin, 45-horsepower beauty with 31-inch tires, racing shocks and springs, four-wheel drive and four-wheel steer. You've heard of monster trucks? Well, this is the monster mower. I got about $10,000 in there, and $20,000 worth of my time. I'm going to crush all the other lawn mowers with her.''

"I'm infatuated with them,'' says Jerry "Catfish'' Rider, explaining the passion that not only earned him his nickname but also made this Oklahoman the world's foremost catfish noodler. "It's the look of them--they're prehistoric-looking, and they got these little beady eyes and long whiskers.''

Rider's affection for catfish prompted an epiphany: While there were plenty of bass-fishing tournaments, not a single tournament was devoted to bare-handed catfishing--a hunter-gatherer technique currently practiced as a sport called noodling. He changed that with the Catfish Noodling Tournament.

After work and on weekends, the married father of two jumps into his pickup, drives a mile to the North Canadian River and wades into the water up to his ribs. He then scours the water for mud banks or hollow logs--anywhere a catfish may be guarding its eggs. Then he wiggles his fingers, waiting for a catfish to chomp.

The noodler's opponent should not be underestimated. A catfish clamped to an arm--one too heavy to pull to the surface--can drown a man. And a poke by a catfish spine can hurt for weeks. Snapping turtles and snakes hide in the same holes as catfish. "I been bit by copperheads, and a turtle can take a hunk out of you. The big ones can lop a finger off.''

A variety of corporations, from Budweiser to Eagle Claw hooks, sponsor the June Catfish Noodling Tournament. The tournament rules are simple: 24 hours of hands-only fishing with a three-fish limit--flathead catfish only. All fish must be brought to tournament headquarters in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, alive and bearing no hook marks. Two prizes are awarded: biggest fish, $200; biggest stringer (combined weight of all three fish), $300.

Despite the sport's dangers, Rider, 46, is now coaching his 17-year-old son to eventually take the championship mantle from the old man. "This is the greatest sport of them all,'' Rider declares. "Your game fishermen need tackle and a rod and reel, but we don't need none of that junk. With us, it's man against beast, the way that God intended it. When you're dealing with that catfish, you have to be just as much of an animal as he is. But if you win, you not only got yourself the thrill of victory, you also got yourself dinner for four.''

"Every food has a challenge. Take ice cream, for example. Most guys get brain-freeze. If you face the spoon up, the ice cream's hitting the top of your mouth. Face the spoon down, no brain-freeze.''

"A lot of folks don't realize that 90 percent of chip throwing is mental. I don't pay attention to who's talking to me, who's around me, nothing. I get in the zone, man. The rest, I believe, will happen on its own.''

How to Power-Eat a Cannoli

How to Toss a Cow Chip

How to Soup Up a Mower

How to Noodle a Catfish

"This is the greatest sport of them all. With us, it's man against beast, the way God intended it. If you win, you not only got yourself the thrill of victory, you also got yourself dinner for four.''