My Brotherly Advice

My mom and brother are in town for a couple days, and yesterday I taught my brother the finer points of grilling. More specifically, I walked him through the joys of smoking ribs for 4 hours and the goodness that comes from making your own barbecue sauce from scratch.

This was big for me, because you see, I don't get to impart brotherly wisdom upon him often. I get broken-hearted and little misty when I think about the fact that he was born just a few years too late. This created the situation that while we had a lot of fun when he was young, it meant I left for college and professional life during some of those formative years, where I could have been there to talk to him about school, chicks, sports and more things about sports and chicks. You think it doesn't matter, but as the big brother, it does rip your heart out even 15 years later when you think about all the years he needed to talk to someone and I was stuck down in shitty Murray, Ky.

But this is a happy post, so forgive me the moment of soft, gooey introspection. Yesterday was about men. Men making fire. Men drinking beer. Men cooking ribs. Making Sauce. Working temperature and flavor until it hits just the right spot. And then you consume it. Heartily. We cooked those ribs so well four of us ate three racks all by ourselves. Rib overload and a heavy case of the itis? You betcha.

My brother has a girlfriend, and he doesn't need my help in that department (or he's certainly not asking for it since I'm married so he probably would consider my advice a lure into those trappings!) so I have to hang my hat wherever I can. And if grilling be that place, then so be it and I shall claim it.

ps - In the greatness of the ribs, I never got a pic of us cooking them or enjoying a beer over the smoker, so instead I'm running a pic of the delicious apple pie the wife made for dessert.

Well done, bro ...

Have to take a moment and give a big shout-out to my brother, Michael. His friends call his Soup (because, you know, our last name is Campbell), some people call him Mike, but he's always going to be Michael to me. I like the full names.

2009 has been a big year so far for Michael. He turned 21 last November, so he's treating his liver like any normal 21-year-old guy should. He has been to a casino a couple times, but he's been a fool and played roulette too much and has not quite figured out the machinations of the table games, but I'll set him straight eventually. He bagged fool-heartedly missed the guys' annual Vegas trip in the winter by scheduling a trip to Florida, so he's still got some priorities to figure out. He has himself a steady job. He moved into a new house where his room is larger than a PODS bin, so that is a plus. He isn't begging my mom for money every hour, so that alone makes her happy. As I said, it's been a big year so far.

Sure he's my little brother, but that is by title and not definition. If we were playing football he'd be a running back while I would be ... well ... probably the towel boy. He even recently told me that he quit smoking, which was just awesome to hear, and means that he has an even better chance to whipping my ass. He's also taking the plunge and joining my group's fantasy football league. It's a serious league and it's his first foray into FFL, so he has to represent the Campbell name well (I already do my part, winning the league last year).

Last week he even stepped up and did something I would not have expected ... he sent me a present without telling me. He's all grows up. And not just any gift, but a personally autographed copy of Calipari's new book. I'm not sure what kind of wisdom this book will possess, but now I have memorabilia if/when he loses the UK job for buying an airplane for a recruit. So well done, bro ... keep up the good work.