We call upon you, competing athlete, to sign:
Ante cibum. I stand ready to swear to the solemn oath, and abide by its many random and legally binding requirements. I commit to representing my agency with honour, integrity and reasonable table manners. I will perform to the peak of my ability in the epicurean challenges set out before me. I shall pass the bread only on the left of my peers, and pour wine to other vessels as I would wish it poured into mine own.
I shall speak in the streets just a little bit too loudly the good word of Podgus Digitalis Gymnasticus Consumus to all those for whom this auspicious day of the year twenty thousand and eleven shall only be known by the second-hand tales of the pale Knights of the Tweeteratus Nonsensicus.
I shall, after the hour of five, speak only in the languages of DIBOL, CLACL and AWK. I will rise at the fifteenth request of Adonis Georgiou, to then swiftly pass among my peers and adjacent tables athwart the courses heretofore referenced as second and third, and I shall listen to his speeches and votes of thanks ab uno disce omnes.
I shall not, even after the third course as the sun sets, be distracted from the spirit and effort of consumption, banter and carnalis flirtatus save only by the searing heat of my Li-ion battery as it sits, forgotten, upon my resting and athletically toned thigh. And so it may pass that when I remember that I ordered the cheese months ago by mistake, I shall consume it without complaint. Even the blue stuff.
And lo, I pledge the above with one hand placed on my heart and the other on the remarkably vivid screen of my Android handset. I do all this knowing that it is not about the taking part, it is absolutely 100% about the winning, at all costs. Canes canem edit. And, when the bacon butties are all gone, I shall stand atop a mighty column (or the nearest available table) and with glory before me cry forth carpe noctem.