Yep, it took me some 30-odd years to break down and get inked, but I finally did and went with the ole fleur-de-lis to show solidarity with my heritage and favorite pro football team. I figure that even if Tom Benson moves the team to LA in 5 years to play in the soon-to-be-built Ed Hardy stadium, it's something I won't regret having when I'm an old man, unlike the Tweety Bird tattoos my high school friends all got on their ankles way back when. Daulerio, he of the buzzsaw tattoo mere inches from his asshole, tried to talk me out of it on Thursday night, but I was undeterred! So there.

Anyway, I loathe Nick Saban with the intensity of a million white-hot suns and believe Tim Tebow to be the Antichrist. With that said, let's have a lovely Saturday, shall we?

We arrived at the corner of Surf and Stillwell around 10am, a little more than two hours before the contest kicked off. This giant countdown clock thingie let all of us in attendance know exactly how long we had to bake in the hot sun before the start of the main event.

Since we had some time to kill, we went over to Nathan's for a breakfast of cheese fries and chili dog. I mean, how could we not?

Of the estimated 50,000 people in attendance yesterday, this guy, wearing blue jean cutoffs and a giant wiener on his head with his nipples painted red, white and blue, stood out to me more than any other. I wasn't sure whether I should admire his unbridled enthusiasm for the event or if I should mock him mercilessly for being a Herculean tool. I'm still going back and forth on this.

This will be my girlfriend in 15 years or so. Isn't she just so damn precious? I can just see us holding hands while walking at night along the River Seine in Paris, diamonds reflecting in her eyes all the while. It will be so fantastically fine.

Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen as much red, white and blue as I saw yesterday.

One of the more interesting and surprising takeaways from attending the event yesterday was seeing the passion of the competitive eating circuit's fans. At various points in the time leading up to the start of the contest, the Joey Chestnut fans and the Takeru Kobayashi fans, many of them traveling great distances to attend, took turns taunting each other from opposite sides of the crowd.

About an hour before the start of the contest, a black bus carrying all of the competitors arrived. Pictured here is Tim "Eater X" Janus, exiting the bus with his game-face on.

Before the start of the main event Erin, a longtime vegetarian, fought her way through the crowd to get some pics of the competitors up close. After it was over one of the first things out of her mouth was, "That was one of the grossest things I've ever witnessed."

This is Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas, currently ranked 6th in the world by Major League Eating. At 5'5'', 105 lbs, she holds the world record for most oysters eaten in 10 minutes (46 dozen), and is the reigning champion in the cheesecake, buffalo wing, Vienna sausage, baked beans, fried okra and lobster categories. She came in 6th overall yesterday after eating 41 hot dogs.

For most of the competition, Joey Chestnut and Takeru Kobayashi were neck and neck, with Chestnut maintaining a lead of one or two hot dogs throughout. Here, about 2/3 of the way through, is where Chestnut usually slows down, but yesterday he powered through and kicked it into overdrive. Look at the intensity on that man's face!

If ever a photograph perfectly captured the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, it is this one. Joey Chestnut ate 68 hot dogs to Kobayashi's 64 1/2.

Major League Eating Chairman and event emcee George Shea announces Joey Chestnut as the winner. Throughout the day I thought that Shea was some sort of hired gun, some showman brought in to play host. Turns out he's the brains of the whole operation, a modern day P.T. Barnum if you will. He held court on stage all morning in the hours leading up to the hot dog eating contest, which was actually a small part of a larger circus, albeit the culmination everyone came to see.

After it was all over, leftover Nathan's hot dogs were distributed to the hungry masses.

These guys were some of the happy recipients of the free leftover hot dogs passed out after the competition had ended.

Naturally, Megadeath fans love free leftover hot dogs.

If you've ever wondered what the floor of the platform on which the hot dog eating contest is held looks like after the event is over, now you know.

New York City sanitation workers assigned to work Coney Island on July 5th are not to be envied.

After it was all over we met up Tim Janus and some of the other competitors at Ruby's on the boardwalk for drinks. All of them were hoping to have bowel movements soon so that they could get on with their day in comfort. This is what Tim's belly looked like after eating 53 hot dogs, an effort that landed him in 4th place overall.

This young lady was going around collecting autographs on her event pass for her boss, who she said was a "huge fan" of competitive eating. She plans to ask for a raise later in the week.

My distaste for LA began early. As a Portland fan, it's just what you do. And since I grew up drinking out of Rip City cartoon glasses, with life-sized Clyde Drexler and Terry Porter posters on my walls, it's exactly what I did.

Inherited distaste became pure hatred in 2001, after the Blazers turned into the least family-friendly team since the '86 Mets, and the Lakers swept them in round one of the playoffs. While the Lakers aren't the REAL reason for the hardships we've faced since, I opt to bitch, moan, and place the blame on them, their fans, and their city anyway. This season is no exception.

Living in a state with only one professional sports organization means that bandwagon fans run amok during the playoffs. And, this time of year, that usually means putting up with a lot of temporary Lakers fans.

I watched the first game of the Lakers-Nuggets series at a bar on campus with the cheapest beer around. This was important, considering how broke I am (I'm in college, after all) and considering the general quality of the "fans" who would be watching the game around me. Cheap beer equaled a drunker (and thus more hateful and overall badass) me.

And sure enough, right after finishing a few pitchers of Bud Light by myself, the Laker hatred surfaced.

Was I upset that the Nuggets performed better at the Staples Center than usual, yet still lost because the shortest guy on their team in-bounded the ball and Kobe tried slightly harder in the fourth quarter than he had the rest of the game? Or was it that the Gotti-style fan sitting at the booth in front of me, with his overly tanned (and freshly shaven!) arms peering out from underneath his white linen shirt, had to look over to his friend with the Derek Fisher jersey and the high fade to figure out when he should clap? Why yes, I think that was it.

When he wasn't pretending to watch the game, he talked constantly about his worldly travels and how great it was to just enjoy a few ales with his friends and not have to worry about all the hot exotic women he had to pleasure. I'm not joking. Worse than hearing him swoon over himself was having to smell his awful cologne every time he waved one of his Livestronged wrists around. His stories were boring, his scent was giving me a headache, and he was exerting over-processed energy to cheer for a team he knew nothing about.

And then it got worse. Gotti Lite suddenly came at me, chest out, angry that I was trying to capture him on video in all his glory. I wanted to show the world what a huge douche he was. Obviously the world already knew this, and so did he. Upon threatening to break my camera, he stepped on my foot and told me to "grow the fuck up and put that camera away." I put the camera away (it was expensive, OK?) but I stood my ground when it came to my immaturity. Dick. I don't really remember what happened after this, but I woke up in my apartment with all articles of clothing and other personal belongings in sight. Despite a W for the Lakers, I deemed Game 1 a success.

Now on to the topic at hand — the appropriate team attire to wear to a sporting event, whether watching in person or at a bar or wherever. I would be lying if I said I was perfect. While I am pretty damn close, it's important to remember that everybody makes mistakes occasionally. In the spirit of self-improvement, I'm putting some of my bigger ... regrets up for scrutiny. I'd characterize these choices as "drunken thrift-store free-for-alling," at best. With maybe a touch of "whatever the guy from last night left at my apartment." Mock away:

Damn. That Niners outfit is just ... damn. Anyway, It's nice to meet you, Deadspin. I think we can get along, maybe even grab a drink and watch the Finals together. Now send me shit or just send it to tips@deadspin.com.

Probably to cover up for the fact that she can't have wet dreams about Steely McBeam anymore. Now that everyone on earth but me has a tattoo, will old people in the future who don't have tattoos be the exception? Deep thoughts.

Until then just keep staring into the smoldering gaze of "Aunt" Agnes Falls.

Steely McGramma [Blog N Gold]

Not content with the awesomest tattoo ever, Victor Thompson will now sell off other places on his body to the highest bidder. He's even set up his own website, tattmetoo.com . For the low price of $200 per square inch, you can make it happen.

So you mean anything? Yep, according to The Laconia Citizen,"Thompson said he isn't going to use discretion no matter what business approaches him as long as it is a paying customer."

Should we start passing around the collection plate? This is going to end very well.

Body for Sale: Sort of: Man offers himself as a tattoo billboard [Citizen.com]
Tattmetoo.com [Victor Thompson's personal site]
Supermodels not included [Deadspin]