Continuing Saga of the World Championship Barbeque Cookoff-Houston #5

One day in the early eighties someone in the hierarchy of the Livestock Show and Rodeo looked out and said, “Them boys over in the barbeque contest is having too much fun. We got to put a stop to that.”

 His cohort asked, “Why, Billy Clyde, what is they hurting??”

“Well, Rollie Joe, the first thang is they’re staying over there and not coming to the Fat Stock Show and Rodeo, and that’s costing us money.”

“We don’t call it the “Fat” Stock Show no more, Billy Clyde.  Don’t sound good. You’ll get the yuppies to eating fish.”  

“Well, anyway, We got to look at this thang like the lawyers do with their Xerox machines. We got to make it a profit center.”

Gradually some new rules were made. First, the committee advertised the event and invited the general public.  Then they put a fence around the whole area, installed gates, and charged admission. They moved the contest back to the weekend before the rodeo and made a rule against giving away beer, then set up stands and sold beer. They banned all vehicles from the team area after set-up time, which made it impossible for the teams to deliver ice or other supplies. The  committee then started selling and delivering ice and beer by the case. Someone pointed out that people could get hurt out there, what with drinking going on, and fires being all around, and knives and all that, so liability insurance for all teams was required, and the committee sells it. I’m sure someone’s brother-in-law is owner of the company that provides the coverage.

 Someone noted that if the committee got a bandstand, and put a band on it, they could charge admission and sell more beer. They could add a fireworks display to keep people from leaving early and thereby sell more beer. With more and more uninvited guests showing up, the teams discovered that their parties were getting out of hand. To combat this, they had to build more secure enclosures and get someone to watch the doors to prevent trespassers. The committee decided that all security guards must be uniformed, so they could recognize each other and know who not to push around. The teams could no longer use the two big guys who worked in the shipping department,  they had to hire “real” security guards from a list provided by the committee.

The admission fee for all guests went up to five dollars, and most teams felt obliged to provide their invited guests with admission to the grounds. A bright individual on the committee decided that since this was a barbeque cook off, the great unwashed multitudes (Uninvited guests who simply bought a ticket) should be allowed to buy a plate of barbeque. Each team was notified of its time to deliver a couple of briskets, or ten gallons of beans or potato salad, or maybe twenty loaves of bread to the public feeding tent. If you were late, they dispatched Billy Clyde on his golf cart to find out, “What’s going on here, Boy? Why ain’t you got them briskets over yonder?”

Someone noted that this was all taking place within the city limits of Houston, and we were serving food to the public. So the teams were, all of a sudden, classified as restaurants, and subject to inspection by the city Health Department. I wanted to put up a sign, “Eat here at your own risk,” but I was told that would not cut it. We must comply with the Health Department rules and we must be inspected by a City of Houston inspector, even if the city had to pay overtime. We must have three kinds of dishwater at all times, provide proper refrigeration, no food left out, no wood chopping blocks, etc., etc., etc. The inspector drops by several times during the weekend, and he can close you down, unless you’re real nice to him.

In the early days, if a guy had gotten a little enthusiastic while making chopped beef sandwiches and chopped off the end of his index finger, we would have rushed him to the hospital, and they would have patched him up. Next day, we’d all be back out there, calling him Stubby, and he’d have to learn to pick his nose with another finger. Now days, he’ll get a lawyer and own the Astrodome. Back then, we were very careful about our food preparation.  We did not invite people out to give them food poisoning, but that excuse didn’t satisfy the bureaucrats.

 For several years, our team was graced with the presence of a spectacular floater, one we called Miss Lake Jackson.  I say “spectacular” because she was---in her early twenties and, as Tom T. Hall said,  "developed to a fault.”  She attached herself to our team for no apparent reason.  It may have been our liberal and sharing attitude about whiskey or it could have been our keenly developed senses of humor.  We didn’t care.  She was very decorative.

After the new rules, we stationed Miss Lake Jackson, in something tight and low cut, near the door to distract the city inspectors. Miss Lake Jackson’s charms were ample and obvious, but intelligence was not among them. She could, however, distract just about any male city inspector who still had a pulse. Some of the other teams just paid the inspectors, but our solution was more creative and less costly. Miss Lake Jackson would do just about anything for a vodka and tonic.  Her opening line was always something clever like, “Oh My!  What a cutesy-wootsey little badgey-wadgey you have there.”  I never saw her fail.

My point in all this is the same thing that happened to the barbeque cook-off is happening to our society. Special interest groups can make the silliest restrictions seem perfectly logical. Governments continually make rules, which the populace continually circumvents, and a small group finds a way to profit mightily from the circumvention.

Folks who don’t have to pay the tax don’t mind how high it is. (“Where’s them briskets, Boy? We’re trying to feed a bunch of folks, here! Since you’re late, bring three ‘stead of two, now, you hear?!”) Too many rules originate deep down in the bowels of government, and ease out like a silent little fart in a darkened theater. Everyone knows it stinks to high heaven, but no one can find who is responsible.

Next time I plan to finish this barbeque stuff. I will relate some of the unusual incidents that may have occurred at barbeque cook-offs, and I will take you on a little tour of barbeque places in our state. (O.K., my state)  I will tell you where, in my opinion, to get the best barbeque in Texas, and thus the world, and who does it.  On second thought, I may not finish next time---there’s a lot of ground to cover here.