The wide world of sports and BBQ
When I sent the invites out, I didn't know who would respond.
The standard rule of barbecue: Expect at least a 20 percent return on the invites you send out. My list was long, sorta star-studded -- it's the middle of the summer.
And one thing is true: Even people who have millions of dollars usually don't turn down free 'Q.
8:12 a.m.: Dump the charcoal in the grill, dump the ice in the cooler. Start the fire, get the beer. Need a few cases of water, because Ocho Cinco doesn't drink and I need him to stay a while. At the last barbecue he was funnier than Mike Epps.
8:30 a.m.: Meat, fish, links, brats and burgers on the grill. Phone rings. It's D-Wade asking whether I need anything. He just got back from a BBQ at the White House. "Man, Barack threw down, Chicago-style! I'm a tell you right now, your 'Q might be nice, but it won't be anything compared to his. He had Bobby Flay on the grill! And I've tasted your cooking, dawg. You ain't Bobby Flay." I hang up the phone on him. Whatever. Who is he to throw all that in my face? I been 'Q'n' for 20 years. The only thing stopping me from doing this for a living is the Food Network's refusal to look at my audition tape. I should un-invite Dwyane. Yeah, that's what I'll do! I call him back. "Uh, D … can you bring some ice?"
9:10 a.m.: Breakfast. My boy Biscuit comes by to help grill. Has a cold six-pack.
10:00 a.m.: Blast the box. The music theme for the day: A Tribute to The King. I press Play. The neighbors wake up to "Who's Loving You?" MJ at 11 years old. Like heaven.
10:05 a.m.: Ron Artest walks in wearing a purple T-shirt. Big smile on his face. "You heard, right? You heard?" Rasheed walks in wearing green Air Force 1's.
10:30 a.m.: Guests begin to flow in. Larry Fitzgerald. Maria Sharapova. Dustin Pedroia. Tim Duncan. Jalen Rose. Wale. My uncle Clif. Guillermo (from "Jimmy Kimmel Live"). Tony Stewart. A.I. Sanaa Lathan. Judd Apatow. Jim Brown. Mark Sanford. Al Sharpton and Joe Jackson. The lady that gives Oprah pedicures. Lil' Dez from the Nike commercials.
11:03 a.m.: Terrell Owens begins doing push-ups in my driveway.
11:15 a.m.: Richard Williams arrives, straight from London, taking pictures. No Serena. No Venus.
11:30 a.m.: We look at the MLB All-Star reserve list. Justin Upton is teasing his brother B.J. because he's on it and B.J. isn't, while Justin Morneau lets out a scream when he sees his name.
12:01 p.m.: Lil' Dez is in rare form: "Tom Brady, what did you do to get kicked out of the Playboy Mansion? LeBron, why Randy wear that 'I Love NY' shirt on the BET awards show? Ocho, why you take out your gold tooth? Michael Curry, why you get fired?"
1:00 p.m.: Shaq tweets: "Sry cnt mk it. Bk in lab w/Fu-Sniks."
2:10-3:00 p.m.: Tequila knock. Tradition.
3:12 p.m.: The King's voice comes through the speakers. Everyone stops, everyone dances. Living life off the wall.
3:36 p.m.: Ben Roethlisberger, on his third plate of food, comes up to me. "Scoop, you gotta get Dez. He's at it again."
"Bishop Don Juan, are you Snoop's flunky? Usher, why you let Justin Timberlake take your career like that? Lil Wayne, why you kiss Bird like that? Is he really your father? Trina, are those really your lips tattooed on Kenyon's neck? Can I get one like that? Mark Cuban, why you talk about that man's mama? Mr. Sterling, Mr. Sterling … can I rent an apartment from you?"
4:11 p.m.: Video director Vashtie Kola is walking around documenting everyone's every move. At one point, Ne-Yo gets tired of the camera being on him. "V, why you gotta keep this thing on me? Look at all these other people here. Now, I can handle this like a gentleman, or …"
4:13 p.m.: Floyd Mayweather Jr. screams at Kola, "Yo, V, get me! Yo, V, I'm over here!"
4:31 p.m.: Derek Jeter asks me if we have a computer in the house he can use. He needs to check his Facebook page.
4:45 p.m.: Raul Ibanez is at the bar. Been making mango mojitos for three hours straight. "Scoop, we need more rum!" He pauses. "And I'm out of Ciroc!" Everyone looks at Diddy.
5:00 p.m.: Kelly Slater and Tim Duncan are arguing over who's better in his particular sport. Kelly keeps yelling how he has 10 world titles. Tim, using his psychology degree like a Jedi, keeps saying to him, "But four is greater than 10. Four is greater than 10."
5:30 p.m.: The 'Q is in full swing, everyone is full-tilt. DJ Premier's tribute mix to MJ is playing, the drinks are flowing. Ana Ivanovic, Johnny Damon's wife Michelle, Keri Hilson and the Progressive Insurance girl just happen to be walking around in sundresses. Dwight Howard is walking around topless. T.O. is still doing push-ups in the driveway. Stephen A. is on the porch talking to one of the head execs from HBO. Tim Geithner and T. Boone Pickens are in one corner rolling dice, while Samuel Jackson is in another corner reading four movie scripts at once.
6:00 p.m.: Joey Chestnut asks if there's any hot dogs left.
6:05 p.m. Someone duct-tapes Lil' Dez to a fence.
6:22 p.m.: There's a beeping sound coming from the driveway. I look out the kitchen window. I see T.O. get up and run. There's a white truck backing up. Windows tinted. When it stops, Bobby Flay jumps out of the passenger side, giving people orders. The back of the truck opens up. Food for 200 people! "Where's the grill?" he screams. D-Wade smiles and yells at me, "Yeah! Now what, fool?"
Scoop Jackson is a columnist for ESPN.com.
