A Savage Journey of Baseball, Beer, and Hot Dogs – Ben’s Beer Blog
“Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.”
Some say these words were uttered by George Herman Ruth, aka The Babe, while other historians maintain it was my friend, Leon Melville, speaking to me whilst sitting in the 500 level of a Toronto Blue Jays game in 2011.
What historians can agree on, however, is that whether it were the Bambino or Leon, the phrase was definitely uttered in regards to embarking on the famed, 9-9-9 challenge: consume nine hot dogs and nine beers over nine innings of baseball.
Whoever said it, as someone who attempted it, I can tell you that it shouldn’t be taken lightly. It’s a grind. It takes courage and resilience and the fortitude and determination to force down roughly 10 pounds of substances proven to make your life shorter.
What I’m saying is you really have to want it.
So I’m here to help you determine if you have what it takes.
Aside from the obvious ethical questions — Why would anyone do this? If there is a God, is this a slap in His face, or a celebration of His bounty? Do the potential pleasures (fun, bonding, storytelling, shitting yourself) outweigh the harms (vomiting, medical risk, taking hospital resources from people who need them, shitting yourself)? Am I acting in opposition to Kant’s Categorical imperative by disrespecting my own health and dignity and using my body for entertainment and attention? — there is a lot to consider before one embarks on this journey.
First, there is the cost.
If you are attempting this feat at the Rogers Centre, as a I did, you’re likely to pay $12.99 for each can of domestic beer. You could try to get a seat in section 240 or section 537 where 12oz of Bud Light can be purchased for $6.49, but it still ain’t gonna be a cheap night. Plus, there is the cost of the hot dogs, which are $3.65 each, plus the cost of the ticket, transportation to and from the game, and maybe dry cleaning bills to get rid of all those mustard stains. Even if you attempt this on “Loonie Dog Night,” assuming you tip a buck for each beer and each dog, you’re looking at about $145. So before you blindly accept the first inning challenge issued by your buddy, consider not only the price your body is paying, but your wallet, too.
Then there are the logistics.
I had the advantage of attempting the 9-9-9 challenge in the pre-pitch clock era when games ran considerably longer. Today, with the average 2025 baseball game clocking in around two hours and 40 minutes, completing this challenge now works out to consuming one beer and one ballpark hot dog every 18 mins; which is inarguably difficult and potentially gastronomically irresponsible. You also have to consider the fact that you can’t buy alcohol after the 7th inning and the fact that you can’t buy more than two beers at any time. So not only is it physically difficult, it’s tricky logistically. You’ll need to stock pile beer and make sure you have enough for the last two innings. Plus any trips to the bathroom – and you will need those – are going to cut into your 18 minutes per dog, so some will need to be consumed even faster. Stuffing 36” of hot slimy wiener down your throat while you guzzle 4258 ml of beer isn’t a casual endeavour, it’s a fucking chess game. And when you’ve got a gut full of lips and assholes swimming in watery beer, strategic thinking might no longer be your strong suit.
As for my own 9-9-9 challenge, like most people who attempt it, I was so preoccupied with whether or not I could, I didn’t stop to think if I should.
The baseball game that day had been proposed as an afternoon out with buddies as an early birthday celebration – which is why I felt empowered to take the governor off and go full Oscar Meyer. And I did make it through six innings, which I think you’ll agree is admirable/disgusting. The kicker of course, is that unbeknownst to me, I was actually out of the house that day so that my wife (then girlfriend) could set up for an elaborate and thoughtfully-planned surprise birthday party, replate with a homemade Mexican feast.
So I walked into our apartment fully prepared to either barf or slip into a gentle, hot-dog-scented coma but, instead, spent the next four hours drinking beer and tequila and eating tacos and guacamole.
Legends never die…
This post originally appeared in the July 2025 edition of Spent Grains, “A little zine about beer and stuff in Toronto.” You can access current and past web and print versions of the zine here.
