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A Christmas BBQ Story
By John Waldrop
SCBA Senior Judge
schash@wctel.net
(Some of this is made up and the rest is a lie.)
As Christmas approaches, I decided to enter my first little BBQ Cook-off. I put together a rough small crew and we called ourselves “The Smokin’ Aces.” We gave members cute names like Phat Ace, Lazy Ace, and of course, Smart Ace. All of us with little or no experience, I asked my veteran cookers, Aunt Mit and Uncle Joe, to help out. I told them that I would supply everything, including the adult beverages. Uncle Joe said, “Sign us up!”
After we got set up and everything on semi-autopilot, Uncle Joe asked for a cold beer. I told him that because of the holidays I had brought eggnog instead. He looked hard at me and said, “Damn Rookie!” We sipped on the eggnog for a while, but it wasn’t going over very well. Finally, about 10 p.m., Uncle Joe headed out on a beer-run. Then, apparently I fell asleep in the front seat of my truck and began an eggnog induced dream…
‘Twas the night before turn in, when all through the pit
Not a creature was stirring, not even Aunt Mit;
The butts were all hung in the smoker with care,
In hopes that first place would come to bare;
The crew was all snoozing not watching instead,
While visions of trophies danced in their heads;
And mamma in her Jeff Gordon coat, and I in my cap,
Had just sat down for a drag and a sip;
When out in the parking lot there arose such a fuss,
I jumped up, stubbed my toe and started to cuss;
Away to my truck I ran like heck,
Tripped over the cooler and nearly broke my fool neck;
The moon on the breast of the low hanging smolder,
Made a scary sight and mamma wanted me to hold her;
When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a miniature beer truck, pulled by eight white tail deer;
With a little fat driver, so sluggish and slow,
I knew in a moment it must be Uncle Joe;
More like turtles and snails his coursers they came,
And he whipped and shouted and called them by name;
“Now, Dasher! Now, Pole Dancer! Now, Starlite and Foxy!
On, Leroy! On, Bubba! On, Sunbeam and Roxy;
To the end of the lot! To the end of the hall,
Now, giddy-up! Giddy-up! Giddy-up ya’ll!”
Like dogs on the porch, they were perfectly still,
By this time Uncle Joe was ready to kill;
So he climbed out of the truck and around to the back,
On a dolly where the cases of beer he did stack;
He pulled and he tugged as he headed our way,
We hid in the truck in case he wanted us to pay;
He was dressed in red leather, two sizes too small,
His gut hung out and bounced like a ball;
He had a large purple hat pulled low on his eye,
He looked like a pimp, a real Super-fly;
He was dressed to the max, I’m sure he thought to himself,
And I laughed out loud in spite of myself;
He ran to my truck and flung open the door,
And said, “You’ll pay for this load or I’ll beer-run no more;”
It was then I awoke and realized the dream,
Asleep in my truck, though it did seem;
Joe stood there laughing and having big fun,
This made him quite jolly as the new day begun;
He said, “Rejoice and be glad, be of good cheer,
For today’s good bounty brings BBQ and Beer.”
South Carolina and the SCBA wish a Merry Christmas to our barbeque brethren everywhere! Come visit us during the holidays at www.scbarbeque.com
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