Judging ribs better at amateur level

After nine years of plugging away in the minors, I finally got the call to the show Saturday.

An illness had put one of the 24 Ribfest judges on the disabled list and a hole in the order needed filling.

Mark Rice, the chairman of the Ribfest judging committee, didn't hesitate when he spotted me in the crowd.

"You hungry?" He asked, eyeing my belly the way a pitching coach admires a smooth delivery.

Since my first Naperville Exchange Club Ribfest in 1999, I have dreamt of donning the white judge's shirt and making idle chitchat with some of the folks who donated thousands of dollars to be a judge as we all waited to be served roasted pork.

I honestly didn't eat breakfast Saturday just in case this dream scenario played out.

And after 17 different ribs, 17 equally different shot cups of sauce and nearly two hours of painstakingly critiquing the nuances of each bite or sip, I can say unequivocally that I prefer amateur status.

First off, judging sauces is almost impossible. They are all varying degrees of really good. Some are just more ketchupy than others, which I docked points for.

Secondly, you actually get full pretty fast. Nonjudges can stop eating whenever they want and decide for themselves what they put in their mouths.

And finally, it's really a lot of pressure trying to remember if the sixth rib is as tender and tasteful as the second one I liked so much. Or is it more?

Judges are asked to rate the ribs based on taste, tenderness and appearance. I have no idea what a good rib looks like, but I know what one tastes like. Most of my appearance scores were pretty high as I found ones that looked scraggly tasted better than some of the others that looked like Martha Stewart had prepared them.

As for tenderness, I am from the school that believes a good pork rib is like a ripe raspberry. You should have to give it a little tug and it will pop right off. I deducted points if all the meat just fell off the bone or I had to use my molars in the deboning process.

Taste is obviously the most subjective criteria. I fancy myself as someone who leans toward the exotic, but imagine my surprise when I found out the rib I marked as my favorite was chain eatery Sweet Baby Ray's. I was further shocked to discover it was my least favorite sauce of the day. It also surprise my refrigerator since it is currently stocked with three different varieties of Sweet Baby Ray's sauce in various levels of consumption.

All the ribs and sauces are given to the judges as numbers and only after all the ballots are in does Rice release the list of names corresponding with numbers. He also releases the leftovers. That's when the judges go looking for the tin of ribs with the number they marked as their favorite and the second-guessing begins.

It turns out I'm pretty good. Sweet Baby Ray's won for best ribs and Smokin' Joe's Hog Wild Barbeque, which I had determined to be my favorite sauce, was given that honor. Even my second favorite ribs from Porky-N-Beans took that prize.

However, like the fictional ballplayer Moonlight Graham in "Field of Dreams," I'm going to stick with my day job and cherish my brief stint in the big leagues. I'm hanging up my bib.

To the hobbled judge whose place I took at the table: Thank you, get well and I'll see if the dry cleaner can get the sauce stains out of this shirt before I get it back to you.