Bangers and Cash

At lunch today, I joined some of my friends on the Network team, along with many more spectators, down at the pub for the Great Sausage-Off.

What is the Great Sausage-Off? It's when two people - the big-mouth ("No-one can eat more sausages than me!") and the challenger ("Wanna bet?") - spend a lunch hour consuming as many hot dogs as they can until one either bails out or is sick.

The rules are simple:

*Every last bite of sausage and roll must be consumed to count. There are two sausages on each roll, with optional onions and sauce (courtesy of the dodgy pub round the corner).
*For every three sausage rolls consumed, the competitor must drink one pint.
*Failure to comply with either of these rules results in disqualification, and the one left chewing wins by default.
*Puking, long periods of resting (3 minutes or more) and passing bits of your sausage roll slyly to your supporters for consumption results in instant disqualification.

In the red corner, we had Gos - the grumpy 39 year old Australian lead singer of Wood / The Taliban. Greatest asset - big mouth. Greatest weakness - age. In the blue corner, we had HotGuy, teammate of Gos and newbie to the group (he only started 4 months ago). Greatest asset - youth (he is only 23). Greatest weakness - none identified.

Bets were placed. £2 each eventually netted you a return of £3,38, which was calculated in proportion to how many more sausage rolls were consumed by the winner.

On your marks, get set, go.....

The first 3 went down without any drama. Gos and HotGuy were taking their time, neither trying to outrace the other. Just a leisurely meal of sausage rolls between friends. The fourth one was decidedly less pleasant. Halfway through, Gos let out a huge burp which resulted in a little mushed up roll dribbling onto his chin. Cue much jeering and catcalling. 45 minutes later, the consumption of number 5 resembled a vegan tackling a pork chop. Gos was visibly flagging, and turning a little green around gills. HotGuy was slowing down considerably, but his eyes flashed dogged determination.

Halfway through number 5, Gos attempted to quit. The loud boos drove him to another bite, which was only kept down through sheer force of will, and the potential embarrassment of chundering at his colleagues' feet. HotGuy continued his steady chomping, and did away with the last of his roll.

As he was ceremoniously handed number 6, Gos said, "If he takes another bite, I'm out."

Cue dramatic Chariots of Fire music as HotGuy raised the sixth sausage roll to his mouth, look Gos square in the eyes, and took a bite. Gos surrendered, and HotGuy finised the entire number 6 to loud cheers.

I won £3.38; HotGuy won the conveted title and Gos won weeks of ribbing and e-mailed jokes about sausages.

I will really miss these guys when I leave!*

*Another post for another day.