Loyal Scaiaholics understand that I honor the birth of this great nation at a solemn and dignified eating contest.

Curly’s Frozen Custard in Fort Worth is the only location outside of Coney Island with the blessing of Nathan himself to hold a hot dog eating competition.

Each year, Denise Harris and I, as the most influential members of this community [#Don’tEvenBotherLookingThatUp], represent the celebrities of North Texas. Then we both got fired from our jobs.

“But what will become of the celebrity division of the hot dog contest!?” I imagine the public relations guy for Curly’s sitting bolt upright in the middle of the night, screaming, covered in a cold sweat. I think he called KRLD and forced them to hire me. I mean, listen to that ovation! I’m a draw.

This year, I pulled up and the PR guy greeted me, explaining that Denise and I would have some competition, which would include my replacement back at WBAP. I was also told he was campaigning pretty heavily to be included. Denise and I were asked to join.

“You should put air quotes around ‘competition’,” I explained, using air quotes. “Ain’t nobody competes with Denise and me.”

But look at the anger in everyone’s eyes!

As it turns out, a reporter from WFAA-TV won this year. Beginner’s luck, I suspect. Never mind that I finished second to Denise my first year. That was also her first year, so it was beginner’s luck for her. Yes. That seems like a reasonable explanation.

What matters is that the watered down field actually helped me quite a bit: while I finished fourth, this was actually the first time I did not finish last.

Looking back at last year’s blog, I see I had declared myself at the Rocky IIIportion of my competitive eating career. That may not have worked. Let’s call this the early part of Rocky III, where Clubber was wailing on Rocky.

Burgess Meredith would wipe those smiles off everyone’s faces.

Probably more importantly, I apparently already had used the strategy I was declaring successful to anyone who would listen today: “Listen to me,” I’d speak in a hushed tone. “I’m going to eat li’l bites and then take a drink of water to wash it down quickly. Shhh!”

I should probably go back and review previous blogs before I enter other competitions. I had tried to warn myself of the luxuriously thick buns Curly’s uses!

All was not lost. My time from last year did improve. Curly also sent me home with a tub of Parker County Peach frozen custard to bring into the newsroom. Compensation, I suspect, for forcing them to hire me.

I could say it again: Maybe it’s time that I should step down, maybe, and retire. But Sylvester Stallone keeps making Rocky movies. What else am I supposed to do?!

Maybe next year, the hot dog contest should be moved to Russia, where I take on a man whose entire upbringing centered around competitive eating. Then I deliver a heartwarming speech about how we’re all changing the way we feel about each other. Rocky Balboa’s right, everybody.