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By Rick Browne
Published 2011
by Baxter B. B. Chicken
- The outlook wasn’t hopeful,
- for Baxter’s team that day,
- His ribs were dry, his brisket charred,
- with one more bird to spray.
- And then when one Judge gave a six,
- and one other did the same,
- A darkened silence fell on the team,
- who’d sadly share the blame.
- A few got up and choked good-bye;
- our Carolyn stayed and prayed.
- They knew Bubba had entered chicken,
- he’d win a prize for that.
- For sure he’ll come out a winner,
- with a ribbon for his hat.
- But the Baron had won brisket,
- a victory far from small.
- And Ol’ Willingham said he’d be surprised,
- to see Bubba win at all.
- And when the smoke had lifted,
- and all saw what occurred,
- here was Ardie with a second,
- while Smokey grabbed a third.
- Then from the grilled assemblage,
- there rose a hearty yell;
- it rumbled through the stockyards,
- it really sounded swell,
- it bounced off KC stadium,
- and off the Stockyard top,
- for Bubba, sweaty Bubba,
- was picking up the mop.
- There was style in Bubba’s manner
- as he stepped up to the grill,
- he had a regal bearing
- and a smile remembered still.
- And then he fast responded
- by raising up his gimmie hat,
- the hungry folks around there
- saw our Bubba grease his rack.
- A thousand Judges watched him as he rubbed away the dirt,
- Four hundred of them with sauce spilled
- up and down their judges shirts.
- Then while his rivals rubbed their rubs,
- and stirred up yet more dips,
- the challenge burned in Bubba’s eyes,
- a snarl spread ‘cross his lips.
- And now the beer-butt chicken,
- came outta the hot air,
- he smiled and quickly carved it
- with tender loving care.
- “Too salty” said one virgin Judge.
- While from the crowd who waited,
- there came an anguished roar,
- like the sound of Oscar losers,
- as they creep on out the door.
- “Grill him! Grill that first-timer!”
- yelled someone from the stands,
- and it’s certain they’d have grilled him
- had not Bubba raised his hands.
- He glanced over at the Judges,
- one dressed in baby blue,
- but Bubba just ignored her,
- as she mumbled, “hard to chew.”
- “It’s tender,” cried his sponsors,
- and others called out “Jerk!”
- But one gentle look from Bubba,
- sent the Judges go back to work.
- The team saw his brow get furrowed,
- they saw his shirt get stained,
- and they all knew now for certain,
- he’d be Royal Champ again.
- The frown has gone from Bubba’s lips,
- he knows it’s not too late,
- He sprays the bird with practiced hands,
- fair Kathy wipes the plate.
- And now the bird is on the green,
- with clear juices pouring fro,
- but the Judges are all heaving,
- It’s not a pretty show.
- Oh somewhere in this flavored land
- the chicken tastes “jest right.”
- Ferlin Husky’s playing somewhere,
- and somewhere gas grills light.
- And somewhere smokers bellow,
- and hungry eaters shout,
- But there is no joy for Bubba,
- his beer-butt chicken has lost out.
In tribute to
Carolyn Wells ,Paul Kirk ,Ardie Davis ,Smokey Hale andJohn Willingham , true giants of barbecue lore, and with humble apologies toErnest L. Thayer ’s Casey at the Bat.
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