On Tuesday, Bill Hanstock and Pete Holby will attempt to eat pancakes for 24 hours. For charity. How will they fare? We turned to the experts: people who write things on the Internet. Here are the official #Panquake predictions.
Bobby Big Wheel: In a huge upset, I'm picking Bill Hanstock to eat more pancakes than Pete Holby. In fact, I'm predicting he'll eat more by a wide margin. Anyone who has read Pete's blog will understand why, though. You see, in the midst of competition you can't get too cerebral, and Pete takes a very cerebral approach toward sandwiches. I imagine he'll have the same attitude toward pancakes. "Do you think this batter is disappointed that it didn't get made into a waffle?" "If a pancake is square, is it still a pancake?" And so forth.
Meanwhile Bill will just stuff his face. Hanstock 80-60.
Matt Ufford: Most eating competitions are a sprint -- Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest is just 10 minutes -- because the human stomach is a finite space. Extending that time constraint from sprint to ultramarathon changes the game from one of eating for to one of digestion. Twenty-four hours of pancakes is 23.5 hours more than any normal human would want. This could go horribly awry.
My prediction: PAIN. (And possibly diabetes.)
Mike Prada: 35 each, except Bill gets one bite into No. 36 and Pete doesn't. A pancake photo finish!
SB Nation founder Tyler Bleszinski: I can't even imagine how many pancakes you two will eat. My initial feeling is three pancakes an hour, on average, for the 24 hours. SO if my math is correct, that means 144 total pancakes (if these are full-sized pancakes and not dollar pancakes). I'm thinking you'll come out really strong but if you've ever watched Man v. Food on the Travel Channel, Adam Richman says that the breaded stuff is often the hardest to continue to consume.
I'm thinking you'll slow down a lot in the second half and maybe push it a little more towards the end. Oh and I can't imagine either one of you going to the bathroom ... for about a week afterwards.
Danger Guerrero of UPROXX: Two things:
1) One time in college I went out for all-you-can-eat pancakes after a night of partying. I ate way, way too many pancakes, then I went home and crawled into bed. I woke up a few hours later, and while I'm sure my stomach has felt as bad since then, I don't remember it ever feeling worse. It was like someone dropped an anchor down my esophagus. So, yeah. My prediction is that you will eat a lot of pancakes for a very good cause, and then you will not eat them again for a solid 6-8 months. Godspeed, gentlemen.
2) When this Flapjackalypse is all over, one (or both) of you should really consider adopting the nickname "The Flapjackal."
Alfie Crow: I personally think Bill and Pete will eat a combined 63 pancakes. While that number seems low, pancakes are insanely filling. Also, syrup. There are only so many calories a person can take in before their body just will not let them eat. I know Bill is a big guy like me, but I can only eat like ... seven regular pancakes if I'm really trying. I bet Pete eats more than Bill, because why the hell not.
Ricky O'Donnell: I don't know much about Bill Hanstock, other than that he seems like a sweet man who would indulge in competitive breakfast eating only if there was truly a good cause on the line. Being that there is, I have faith in one Mr. Hanstock to push himself to unforeseen places in the name of pancakes and pancake-related puns. My official prediction is that Bill will eat pancakes until his handsome soul is content, but if that qualifies as a cop-out I suppose I'll say A MILLION PANCAKES. Or 40. Let's go with 40.
As for Pete, he is a person whose insides have been conditioned by lifetime of sandwich eating. Can someone who is a true-to-heart "lunch man" step up when faced head-on with endless breakfast? Who I am to say, but I certainly wouldn't bet against it.
Sportswriter extraordinaire Amanda Rykoff: Flapjackalypse is upon us! Lock the doors, honored guests, there's about to be a pancake massacre. Let the syrup flow like blood at the Red Wedding.
I'm setting the over/under on total pancakes consumed at an even 100 and taking the over. How far over? I have no idea. It depends on a number of factors, including fluffiness/density of the pancakes, pacing of the consumption of the pancakes, and syrup and butter saturation levels. Flapjack consumption is serious business.
I just want to tell you both good luck. We're all counting on you.
Fangraphs' Eno Sarris: I predict that everything will go smoothly until after what normal people call "dinner time," which will of course be something like 'third breakfast time" for our unhappy FLAPJACKALYPSErs. Around that time, the lack of fiber and/or nutrients of any sort will begin a solidifying process deep in each of their bowels. The exercise then becomes a race to the top, as in, they'll just be filling in their intestines with carbs that have nowhere to go except back up. This may manifest itself in gastrointestinal pain, rampant flatulence, gastro-esophageal reflux, threats of self-mutilation, and/or crying. All of this before midnight. If the Spillyfood Pancake (tm) is deployed at the most nefarious time -- probably 3 a.m., when lack of sleep will join in the fun -- there may be dire consequences. Mostly, it will manifest in a distaste for the other person as well as the food they've been forcing into their gullets for far too long. The guess here is that nobody will visit our two FLAPTACULARs at 4 a.m., which is sad, because that will be the time when they resort to violence upon each other's bodies. Who will survive? That's the last real question. An answer to which we'll enjoy over a short stack in the morning as we try to follow the mayhem that was FLAPJACKALYPSE.
Vox Media's Twitter wizard Callie Schweitzer: When Bill asked me and several other esteemed guessers how many pancakes he and Pete would be able to eat in 24 hours, I immediately knew where to find the most accurate answer. Google. So I typed in, "How many pancakes can someone eat?" and found my top result was Bill's post introducing #panquake. Score 1 for SEO, 0 for Callie. Sodahead.com had a great little poll where one insightful commenter answered "How many pancakes can you eat?" with the letter "K." I was no closer. The ever-reliable ChaCha.com told me the average person can eat 3-4 pancakes in one sitting. Helpful! Except this is for charity, and Bill and Pete aren't average humans, they're superior ones. Back to the drawing board. Someone named Enigmatic J Mortician noted on UK.Answers.com that while she can only eat 3 pancakes, ("anymore and you know what would happen,") she can eat 50 boiled eggs. Would eggs be involved?? I digress. I finally landed on WikiHow, which told me how to eat pancakes in four simple steps. ("Gently place the pancakes into your mouth, using a fork. Make sure you don't get any of the toppings on your lips, or, if you do, wipe them up before they become a sticky mess.") Fascinating! 20 minutes later, I realized my exhaustive labors of Internet searching had left me high and dry. I was no closer to making an educated guess so I decided to use a highly mathematical formula known as "a hunch" and assume that if Bill and Pete can eat an average of 6 pancakes per hour for 24 hours, (6x24x2), they would end up somewhere around 288 pancakes total. I am exhausted and hungry. BON APPETIT!
Martin Rickman: It all started innocently enough -- a pancake eating contest for charity. "What a great idea!" the chorus proclaimed in anticipation. The two brave men trained and trained. This was their destiny. It would cataclysmically shift how the world felt about causes and pancakes.
Our heroes sauntered up to the restaurant, their figurative ring. The day had come.
But the unthinkable happened. Midway through the 24-hour event, Sir Pete started transforming. Could it be? Hark, he was becoming a flapjack.
"Oh dear!" Sir Bill said. "This is highly irregular. What do we do?"
The crowd was insatiable. They demanded more flapjacks. Flapjacks were what they came here to see.
"FLAP-JACK FLAP-JACK FLAP-JACK"
Sir Pete couldn't speak. His now-starchy mouth dribbled syrup.
Sir Bill prayed to the Benevolent Watcher. "Denny, give me a sign."
As the server topped off the two lonely coffee cups, she placed a single pad of butter on the top of Sir Pete's head.
No one could tell whether it was divine intervention or a shifting of sunlight, but legend holds a stream of light illuminated Sir Pete's pillowy soft pancake body.
"I know what to do." Sir Bill said.
The rest, as they say, is flapjack history.