Page 9 of Totally Fanatic

Chapter five

TIM

I poke the thermometerinto the pork shoulder, hoping to see the magic number, one-ninety-five. Before I even look at the digital display, I know it’s perfect as the probe slides in and out like it’s going into softened butter. The glistening bark is perfect, and I gently lift the whole slab onto the board. I started this thing fourteen hours ago and left it to smoke mostly undisturbed on low heat until now. It smells amazing, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to cut off a strip of that delicious bark now. Fuck, I’m glad it worked because a few of the guys will be over in an hour, and I promised them my Aussie twist on American barbeque.

Do I get all the jokes about throwing a shrimp on there, hell, yes. Do I care? No fucking way because, A, it’s called a fucking prawn, and B, on a barbie, those fuckers are delicious.

I cover the pork in foil and move it to the coffee table in front of the outdoor lounge to rest until the guys arrive. The weather has been great today, and I’m not worried about rain, so we’ll eat up here.

I check on the ribs I added to the smoker over an hour ago. They still have about another hour to go before I can sauce them, but we’re right on track. The sun is already setting, so I flick on the string lights and head inside to get the last of what I need for the night.

The brioche buns from the bakery down the street are perfect for sliders, and I’m testing a new red cabbage slaw recipe that mixes apple cider vinegar with mayonnaise along with mustard and a few other things. The mix of red cabbage and grated carrot is the perfect medium crunch I love in a slaw, and alone it tastes amazing, so hopefully it will also be the perfect complement to the pulled pork. Ryan said he would take care of the dessert, so we’re all set for a great night of food, friends and fun. That is, as long as we don’t get too competitive with the games this time. Last time, we had a game night at Pat’s place, and I have no idea why he thought it would be a good idea to set up a mini golf course through his house, but it ended with more than one broken lamp and his dog hiding from him for two days.

Tonight will be fun. It’s a celebration, after all. Week one, neither of our teams beat the OG’s, but in Jacksonville last week, the Funky Monkeys pulled off a win against both the OG teams and Animal Control, so before we get our asses handed to us next week, we want to celebrate the double.

***

“I hope you’re ready to lose,” Duckie says on his way through the door of my loft.

“Does it always have to be a competition?” Ian asks, following him inside.

“That is the point of playing a game, you know, to win. What kind of sportswriter are you?”

“The best kind, and you can play just to play.”

“But if there isn’t a winner, how do you know when the game is over?”

I close the door behind them, but then the buzzer sounds, and I hit the button and pull it open again.

“Most games have clear winners. Take Jenga. The thing falls down, you lose, right?” I say, and Duckie nods, but Ian shakes his head.

“But that just identifies a loser, if you’re playing with a group, who wins?”

Pat walks in with his girlfriend, Chloe.

“Nice of you to invite us,” she says, looking around my entire loft in a sweep of her gaze. “Are we eating here?”

“On the roof, just take the window out and up,” I reply, and she nods and follows Duckie and Ian.

“Good thing I wore pants,” she laughs as she climbs through the open window onto the fire escape.

Ryan and Alan arrive next, and as Ryan hands over the covered dish, a waft of fruit and vanilla fills my nose.

“Ohh, what did you do for dessert?” I ask, putting the dish on the counter and moving to open the lid and get a look.

“Dick,” Alan replies with a laugh.

Ryan shoves him with his elbow. “Spotted dick. It’s a British thing.”

“I’ve heard of it,” I say as the timer on my phone chimes.

“I’m starving. Please tell me that alarm means food is ready?” Alan asks.

“It does,” I reply, placing the dessert dish on the stovetop. I coated my ribs in my homemade barbeque sauce twenty minutes ago, and if I don’t take them out now, I risk overdoing them. I want them to slip right off the bone. Please let them be perfect.

I’ve loved barbeque since I was a kid back home in Aus, but the barbeque here is off-the-charts amazing. I ordered some gum bark to add that Aussie smoke flavor to the pulled pork,as well as my secret spice rub that I hope the guys love. They thought I was joking when I said I wanted to open my own barbeque place, but our careers in baseball can’t be a forever job, and that is if you get to age through the game and retire. Fucking Nate was out before the end of our very first step into Banana Ball. He comments on my socials all the time but moved out of Savannah after he found out he was never going to play again, not for this level of a game anyway. He’s managing a hotel estate in Bellerelle Georgia, not far from Alan’s family ranch, actually. He says he loves it, especially since he started dating one of the chefs, a dessert guy, chocolate or something. I keep promising I’ll visit and stay in the hotel one weekend, but now that he’s all loved up, I don’t particularly want to be a third wheel.

I step onto the roof just in time to spot Duckie about to lift the foil on the pork.

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