In case you haven’t heard, former Eagles tackle Jon Runyan is running for U.S. Congress.

Runyan, who announced his intentions to seek office back in the fall, emerged as the prime candidate for the Republican nomination in New Jersey’s Third District after Maurice “Moe” Hill dropped out of the race, citing Big Jon’s fund-raising prowess.

His opposition will come in the form of freshman Rep. John Adler, who faces quite the battle to retain his seat as an unproven Democrat in Republican territory, especially in a national environment certain to swing back towards the right in the November elections.

With the relative weakness of Runyan’s rival, expect Big Jon to be in Congress this time next fall. If the Democratically-controlled Congress wasn’t already a pushover, they will roll right over like Asante Samuel near a ball-carrier for an imposing figure such as Runyan, voted one of the dirtiest players in the league for most of his career.

For those of you who live in Runyan’s district, expect to see a hulking, hairy man on your doorsteps in the run-up to the general election.

Forget Vegas: What happens at Wing Bowl stays at Wing Bowl.

WIP’s 18th annual carnal carnival unfolded on the floor of the Wachovia Center Friday morning, and those who celebrated another Super Bowl weekend sans Eagles were better off for it.

Not because of the girls, the beer, the vomit or the outrageous parade; the adventure of Wing Bowl is the real attraction, the thrill of staying awake through the night only to muster the energy to drink heavily before sunrise. The lots at the Wachovia complex opened at 4 a.m. and were filled soon after, the excess traffic spilling into the Citizens Bank parking lots. Beer was everywhere, of course, along with various other samplings for those otherwise inclined.

Though the lots were full, the building itself was not. It was a solid crowd but far from a sellout, with the upper bowl no more than half full. Representatives of the various gentlemen’s clubs around the city combed the arena, passing out flyers and business cards.

The largest crowd reaction of the morning, besides the numerous teases of women disrobing on the big screen, was directed toward Jersey Shore oompa loompa Snooki, the overly-orange star of the MTV show and professional appearance-maker. Armed with her bodyguard entourage and a wallet padded with exorbitant appearance fees, Snooki was roundly jeered with each appearance on the jumbotron, including a weak attempt on the mechanical bull that won her no fans.

With the floats originating from the zamboni tunnel and circling the perimeter of the floor, the action was generally scrambled at first. From the seats, it is a mass of people: The scantily clad, the fat and the drunk milling on the floor, making it difficult to follow the action.

If one could follow it, though, Wing Bowl 18 was a veritable blowout. Super Squibb repeated as Wing Bowl champion, crushing the field with a whopping 238 wings cleaned to the bone. In reality, few in the audience care about the results of the contest. Like fans who watch NASCAR for the crashes, most in attendance come for the vomit, projectile at times, and the real action on the jumbotron: the women.

Much like in a casino, you lose track of time inside the Wachovia Center. You enter before sunrise, and exit mid-morning, the gray overcast a startling reminder. Where are we? What are we doing here?

In its sheer garishness, Wing Bowl is incomparable. Check your decorum at the door, and don’t think twice about the madness around you. It is, indeed, the perfect opportunity to commit your sins early in the day.

The video below properly captures the zeitgeist of this mad scene:

Say it with us: “Only in Philadelphia.”

Forget Rocky, Koy Detmer and Smarty Jones. This is the true story of an underdog preparing for the biggest moment of his life: Wing Bowl 18.

Standing 5’9 and weighing in at 285 lbs, out of the University of Delaware (Go Blue Hens), Philly Fan Complex’s sleeper pick for Wing Bowl 18…

Gabe “The Heavyweight” Mendez

His stunt to get into Wing Bowl? 30 Dunkin Donut Munchkins in three minutes.

“The Heavyweight” absolutely demolished the munchkins in 1:59 and then proceeded to ask what was for breakfast.

But can he eat wings? Only time will tell, but we did get our hands on his homemade training videos. The video was filmed at the Kappa Sigma Fraternity house at the University of Delaware where his “entourage” has transformed this man into a monster.

Check out Gabe early Friday morning as he looks to make a name for himself and represent his school Fraternity.

Ed. Note: AEKDB

Well, it’s that time again, ladies and gentlemen. Every February, titans of athleticism come together to participate in the greatest and most celebrated sporting event in the world. No, I’m not talking about the Super Bowl but something much more important—the Wing Bowl.

For months, potential participants have been attempting feats of strength in hopes of winning a coveted spot on center stage. Everything from eating a 30-egg omelet in six minutes to downing 100 wontons was attempted. Most failed, but those with the intestinal fortitude to fight through the stomach cramps, projectile vomiting and days of chronic diarrhea are soon to be rewarded with the three most important staples of life: wings, beer, and strippers. More strippers than you can shake a stick at, as my grandfather would say.

Ahh yes, the infamous Wingette, a title any father would be proud to have his daughter hold. What they lack in brains they clearly make up for in whorishness. They travel from the deepest, darkest crevices of the local gentleman’s clubs to seek the light of day once a year in order to let us know if it will be an early spring or six more… oh wait, no, that’s Punxsutawney Phil.

What do the Wingettes do again? Oh, that’s right: Slut it up.

But put aside all the gluttony, pride and lust oozing out every pore of the Wing Bowl for just a moment so that you can get a sense of the true motivation behind the event. What it is really about is freedom. That’s right, America: I said freedom! The freedom to eat as much as you want and drink way more than what is doctor recommended, all while half-naked girls prance around the room for you to admire. If that’s not giving a big “F-U” to the terrorists, I don’t know what is!

So, even if you can’t make it out to the Wachovia Center this Friday, do something else to display your patriotism. Fly a flag, visit a veteran’s hospital, or maybe just have a beer at the closest strip club. Hell, why not get a lap dance or two while you’re there? Here’s my list of the top five competitor’s this year:

#1: Super Squib, Defending Champion out of Berlin, New Jersey. 6’4″, 215 lbs.

#2: Big Bambino, 2.5 lbs of Fettuccini Alfredo in four minutes. 6’1″, 380 lbs.

#3: Not Rich, 20 Hot Dogs in three minutes. 6’1″, 225 lbs.

#4: Snooki, the pint-sized star of The Jersey Shore. I won’t display her weight for fear that J-Woww will beat me up.

#5: Buffalo 7, 30-egg omelet in six minutes. 5’10″, 170 lbs.

These are my picks, and we’ll see how they do Friday morning at 6 a.m. But until then, here are a few videos that will get your heart beating to the rhythm of Stars and Stripes Forever.

The latest issue of Philadelphia Magazine, the main long-form journalism source in this city, asks “Who Earns What” in Philly, ranging from professional athletes, politicians and regular-ass workers, all of whom are holding down something commonly known as a “job” (unlike the above-it-all editors of Philly Fan Complex).

What can be said with authority, however, is Philly Mag’s aim to re-stoke the fire that was the Anti-Michael Vick Bandwagon, a deluge of criticism lasting until everyone realized Vick had little to no impact on the team this season. According to Philly Mag, though, Vick’s primary occupation for which he earned $1.6 million this season was not toting around a clipboard or weakly attempting to recover a fumble in the playoffs; rather, it was “Dog Abuser,” as he was labeled on the magazine’s cover. This surely was a tactic to sell magazines, as Vick is listed as “Eagles quarterback” inside the magazine.

There is no need to delve into the story of Vick the Convict again; it has been hashed out and dissected to death. By the magazine’s standards, however, each occupation chronicled in the issue should have been labeled by their misdeeds, rather than their actual source of income. Yet, the magazine does not single out any other individuals. With some creative brainstorming among the Philly Fan Complex staff, we came up with a number of other alternative occupations for the issue:

• John Bolaris, Forecast Inventor
• SEPTA bus driver, Professional Picketer
• City of Philadelphia Police Officer, Crooked Cop
• Personal Trainer, Steroid Distributor
• Sperm Donor, Porn Addict
• Pilot, Incompetent Navigator
• Dog Walker, Eagles quarterback Laid-Off Babysitter

This is by no means a defense of Vick, but the man did his time and appears to have put his past behind him (except for the mediocre quarterbacking part). Rather, it is an example of the magazine’s apparent need to showcase its collective cleverness, as editors chuckle amongst themselves in their Center City high-rise, tugging each other while grinning manically at their prize. “Look how damn funny we are, Dick—we’ll show that man exactly what he has done.”

And yes—he has done it, but the Philadelphia Magazine cover was not about reminding Vick of exactly what he has done. It was about showing how smart they could be.

Fortunately, with Vick likely not back with the team next season, we won’t have to hear anymore about this. Good riddance to Vick and the opportunity he presented to the smarmy editors in Philadelphia.

Nice job, Philly Mag.

What if DeSean Jackson and Charlie Manuel were featured in a panel discussion? Both voices of Philadelphia are notorious for their awful grammar and nonsensical quotes. Here at Philly Fan Complex, we envisioned the discussion would go something like this:

Moderator: “Welcome, gentlemen. Thank you very much for taking the time to sit down with us today and talk some Philadelphia sports.”

DJacc: “Ain’t nuttin. U know how we do.”

Cholly: (nods head and slouches down further in his chair)

Moderator: “Let’s begin by discussing…” (DeSean’s phone rings)

DJacc: (answers phone) “Yo Cali boiii. Snoop, wuts poppn bruh. Dis east coast is freezn ya boi. Ya heard? Sheeeesh!” (Leaves room)

Moderator: “Let’s move on. As I was saying, let’s begin by discussing the fans here in Philadelphia. What are your thoughts on them, Charlie?”

Cholly: “The fans? Well, uhh, if you’re good, then they’ll let you know it, but at the same time, it’s like I always like to say, that uhh the fans will always have your back if you’re uhh playing good ball, but at the same time, if you’re playing bad then believe me, they sure as hell will let ya hear it. I uhh love Philadelphia and I love their people and I ain’t gone let them down. We have a umm uhh good ball club here.” (DeSean comes back into the room)

Moderator: “Well put Charlie. DeSean, I just asked Charlie about his thoughts on the fans of Philadelphia. What are your thoughts?”

DJacc: “Awww man dem hot. Dem crazy fans here cuz they be watchin ya boi be great and do his work. When u have superstaz like D Jacc then wut it do? Ya heard?”

Moderator: “Oh…ok, I was thinking the same. Let’s move on.”

End of Part I. Check back next week for Part II.