Every conspiracy movie has that scene. You know the one. The now-unkempt protagonist is shuffling around their studio apartment, draped in a tattered robe, surrounded by newspaper clippings and spiral-bound notebooks full of scrawled notes and symbols. I got a taste of what it’s like to be consumed by a perceived conspiracy, all because LeSean McCoy tipped a server 20 cents.
Lost down the rabbit hole trying to debunk LeSean McCoy’s receipt
Madness comes with a side of waffle fries.
James Dator has been covering a wide range of sports for SB Nation for over a decade, with a special focus on the NFL.
PYT Burger in Philadelphia released a photo Monday that claimed McCoy only left a 20 cent tip on a $60 bill. My reflex reaction was to claim hoax, since this is, after all, the Internet. Trying to debunk the story wasn’t motivated by being a fan of McCoy, or fueled by a belief the restaurant was lying. It was simply because I wanted to find the weakness in something so many took to be true.
There was no notebook, but I did have a spreadsheet to codify the layers of the conspiracy like a mathematical proof. I found myself pulling up old articles about PYT and finding out that last week the restaurant released plans for a global expansion. “This is it,” I thought. “They’re trying to drum up publicity just after announcing their planned global takeover of the big burger market.”
With each perceived clue I typed and clicked fasted, combing Instagram hoping that someone in Philadelphia snapped a photo of Shady that could reveal that the running back was not at the restaurant, or if he was, tell us what he ordered. If I could just see the table he sat at I could work it out. PYT’s menu was glaring at me from my second monitor, mocking my inability to piece together the ticket.
James is Okay, we think
Half-shouting “What the hell did they order?” to myself was the first sign I was too deep. My six-pound chihuahua sleeping on a chair in my office woke from his sleep, uttered a muted bark and a look that said “Stop it, you psycho.” Yet I pushed on, throwing together combinations of items and using PYT’s menu to work out how five guests could have paid $57 for lunch. It felt like I was drawing closer to the truth while leaving my sanity behind.
“I’ve found the smoking gun!” I told coworkers, convinced I had it. The receipt showed four guests, but a Philly.com interview with the server said five were there. Forget the fact that maybe one person didn’t eat, I saw the figure on the grassy knoll.
Asked LeSean McCoy about the restaurant receipt thing. "It’s bull****, man," he said. Declined request to elaborate.
— Les Bowen (@LesBowen) September 8, 2014 “I KNEW I WAS RIGHT! See, look, Shady is saying it’s fake too.” I dove back into my weird spreadsheet of menu items and costs to work out the order combination. We’d be the first to work out how the hoax fit together, darn it.
IF THEIR SODAS ARE $1 AND ONE DUDE DIDN’T EAT A THING, AND EVERYONE GOT THE EXACT SAME BURGER IT’S POSSIBLE
This is an actual thing I wrote while embroiled in this. Dead set that I’d discovered the weakness in the story. My jubilation lasted a fleeting amount of time.
Eleven minutes, to be precise.
On McCoy receipt thing: my understanding is, he was really ticked about service. But org wishes he’d handled it differently. He understands
— Les Bowen (@LesBowen) September 8, 2014 “No ... NO! It can’t be this simple!” Denial is the death rattle of a good conspiracy. Minutes early I was sharing my process, now it was left in tatters.
We received a note of what McCoy and his party ordered that day, but it still wasn’t adding up. At least to me. Then the realization came.
It was over, just like that. No grand exoneration, no government conspiracy, no men in black suits with aviator shades knocking on my door -- it was gone. I forgot the waffle fry option, how did I forget the waffle fry option? It was staring at me from that menu all afternoon, a $2 upcharge that made it all make sense.
Maybe ignoring it was my Pavlovian response, some sort of deep-seated sign that conspiracies and I mix a little too well. I don’t pretend to understand why LeSean McCoy went to a burger restaurant to order a crabcake, or how his party ate hamburgers and fries without ordering anything to drink (which is a grim dark world I don’t want to be a part of), but everything points to McCoy having a bad day and tipping poorly. There’s nothing more I can do to change it.
At least I got out before this story swallowed me whole. My shirt was only slightly stained by some Coke Zero I spilled, but I didn’t start wearing a robe or house slippers, at least not this time.
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