Paul unlatched the doors to the storm shelter and climbed down first. Ronald McDonald lifted Paul’s son, handed him down before helping Paul’s wife climb down the small ladder.

Ronald looked back at the ever-growing battle behind him. He saw another canon ball crashing into the barn. He saw Jake from State Farm sprinting away from The Jolly Green Giant. And there was Burger King and Little Caesar locked in an epic sword fight. Ronald McDonald sighed, shook his head, then climbed down, closing the doors behind him.

Note: If that last paragraph made you scratch your head and go, “Huh?” chances are you might need to read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5 first. This has become an epic fast food adventure.

Down in the storm shelter, there was one long table with white chairs on both sides. String lights hung down from the ceiling. The walls were bare and the floor was cold concrete. In the back, there was a full kitchen – gas stovetop, large counter with a couple of wooden cutting boards, dark green refrigerator, oven, microwave. And a Rocky II poster.

“Woah, what’s going on here?” Ronald asked.

“Eh, just something I’m working on, I guess,” Paul said. “Kind of a farm-to-table concept.”

“More like farm to shelter,” Ronald said, taking a seat at the long table. He smiled at Paul’s son who sat on his mother’s knee.

“It’s gonna open any day now,” Paul’s wife said with a smile. She kissed the back of her son’s head. “And that day might happen any year now.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve always liked the idea of opening a restaurant better than actually opening it,” Paul said.

“Well, sounds like you’re at least open to it,” Ronald McDonald said.

They all heard a loud thud on the storm shelter doors. One of the doors flung open. Reaching down was a pirate’s hook and an oven mitt. In between these makeshift hands was a very plump and very terrified chicken.

“Take it!” the Oven Mitt shouted. “We don’t have much time.”

“What?”

“Take the fricken chicken,” Oven Mitt repeated. “We’ve got one more coming. Husband and wife.”

“I think they’re just living together,” Long John Silver corrected.

“Aren’t you guys in the chicken wars?” Ronald said, reaching up for the chicken.

Long John Silver’s hook and the Arby’s Oven Mitt disappeared for a second then reappeared holding another chicken.

“We’re gonna zig when everyone else zags,” Oven Mitt said. Ronald reached up for the second chicken. “Only gonna serve roast beef and fish. And then just like a ton of hush puppies.”

“It be our differentiatorrr,” Long John Silver said.

“You made this pivot mid-fight?” Paul asked.

“Yeah,” Oven Mitt said. “Lot of time to kill on a boat. Alright, well, Mr. Clean’s charging at us with a lightsaber so, gotta go!”

Paul looked down at the two chickens. They started nervously pacing around the room, clucking, and bock-bocking with each panicked step.

“My mom always said, no matter what I do, I gotta keep two of those chickens alive,” Paul said. “Guess we’re still okay after all.”

“Paul, did I ever tell you what I’d do if I only had one day to live?” Ronald asked. He stood up from the chair and started walking back to the kitchen.

“What?”

“I’d make a Big Mac.”

“Don’t you do that every day?”

“Yes and no. See, I’d take the whole day. I’d go to the butcher shop for the beef. The farmer’s market for the vegetables. A local baker for the sesame seed buns. And then I’d start making the secret sauce.”

“Which is just thousand island dressing, right?”

“Yes and no. And by ‘no’ I mean yes. Anyways, I’d fire up the grill, get out the veggies, get out the knives. I’d put on some Smash Mouth and try to make the best Big Macs I’ve ever made. And then I’d serve ’em to my friends and family. That’s what I’d do.”

Ronald paused for a second, smiling down at the stovetop.

“It’s funny, I’ve served billions of Big Macs, literally, billions, all around the world, and yet all I really want to do is serve one or two really good ones.”

“I feel like you’re tip-toeing around a metaphor here?”

“Paul,” Ronald said. He took out a frying pan from one of the cabinets. Grabbed a bag of flour. “I see a kitchen, a family, two chickens, and a chef. I think it’s time to make some chicken sandwiches.”

“I can’t,” Paul said. “For all we know, these truly are the last chickens.”

“And?”

“I’ve gotta keep Mom’s wish alive.”

“What’s more alive than a memory?”

Paul paused. He looked back at Ronald, speechless.

“For the rest of his life, your son will remember the time he and his parents chased around a couple of chickens with Ronald McDonald in a storm shelter. He’ll tell his kids about the greatest chicken sandwich he had for dinner and how there’s no way anyone could ever, EVER, make one better. Eighty, ninety years he’ll carry that story around with him. And the nostalgia will only make the sandwich taste better.”

Ronald took out a few wipes from his pocket and started wiping the white and red makeup off of his face. He removed it shockingly fast, two or three swipes. He reached behind him and took off what looked like the Captain America shield, but ended up being a large blue and red mixing bowl.

“All that chaos outside,” Ronald continued, “deep down, each of them knows that no matter how hard they try, how hard they fight, heck, they could sell a billion chicken sandwiches, and never compete with a memory like that.”

Paul looked over at his wife and son. Just as he was about to say, “Ronald, I hear ya, but I just can’t,” he caught the Rocky II poster out of the corner of his eye. He pictured Rocky in the alleyway chasing the chicken with his trainer Mick barking at him. You catch this thing, you can catch grease lightning!

Paul looked at those final two chickens rushing around the storm shelter.

What’s more alive than a memory?

“Carter, start over there, chase ’em over to me. Tessa, can you start working on the eggs and flour? Ronald, start making the buns.”

“There we go!” Ronald exclaimed.

It was a sight to behold in that little storm shelter on 2850 Poultry Road. Paul and his son chased the chickens, laughing every step of the way. Ronald McDonald handled all the butchering. Paul distracted his son from the memory-scarring scene of a clown wielding a bloody knife. Ronald McDonald took the buns out of the oven, painted on a coat of sauce. Paul and his son started breading the chicken. Tessa got the French fries started in a device that tripled as an air fryer, pressure cooker, and printer/fax machine.

Eighty, ninety minutes later, the four sandwiches were finished. Tessa set four plates down on the table. Carter jumped right in, took a man-sized bite.

“Shouldn’t we say grace?” Tessa asked.

“Grace,” Ronald said with a smile. His smile was just as big without the makeup.

No one said a word during the chow fest. Just a few grunts and, “Mmmmmms.” Maybe one or two mumbled, “Oh, that’s good. Frick, that’s good!” Paul’s wife said it was the best chicken sandwich she ever had. Ronald McDonald said it was better than the ones he had growing up in the castle. Paul’s son said, “Thanks Daddy-O, that was awesome,” with sauce all over his chin.

Paul couldn’t say he agreed or disagreed with any of their reviews. He simply looked down at the crumbs on his plate and knew one thing: this was the absolute best I could do. He felt a wholeness take over his body, a feeling that had no comparison because it was something totally new. There was nothing left to compete for or against. He felt light, almost like he was floating over the table.

The four cleaned up, gathered the dishes into the dishwasher. They sat around the table and listened to some of Ronald’s ol’ restaurant stories. Like the first time he made a Big Mac. Or the time he and Grimace ate 250 chicken McNuggets. Or the epiphany he had at a Texas rodeo, which led to the McRib sandwich.

Three hours went by in the blink of an eye. Paul had no idea how late it was until he saw Carter rubbing his tired eyes. Paul checked his phone.

“Wow! Yeah, we gotta start getting ready for bed,” Paul said.

Paul went to the storm shelter doors, stuck his head out. It appeared the coast was clear. Tessa held a sleeping Carter in her arms. She said goodbye, it was nice meeting you, then she and Carter went back to the farmhouse. Paul walked with Ronald McDonald back to the clown’s car.

“The way I see it,” Ronald said. “You got yourself two roads here. You can come back with me, we use your chicken sandwich recipe, start selling ’em at every McDonald’s in the world. Or, you stay here, get that breakfast restaurant up and running. Either way, I don’t see you walking on eggshells anymore.”

“Yeah,” Paul said.

“Paul, you got quite the fork in the road here,” Ronald said.

Ronald McDonald reached down and picked up a silver fork laying by his feet.

“Must’ve dropped it during the fight,” Ronald said. He put the fork in his pocket. “Anyways, keep me posted. Although I’m pretty sure you and I both know what happens next.”

Ronald McDonald handed him his business card. He pulled out a horn, gave it a toot-toot, then danced his way back to the car. Paul looked down at the business card and couldn’t help but laugh and roll his eyes at the simple contact information.

Ronald McDonald
Big Mac on Campus
1-800-SMILE-ON

4 WEEKS LATER

Paul and his son walked the aisles of the farmer’s market. Carter had his Incredible Hulk action figure in one hand and a big 24-count egg carton in the other.

Paul grabbed a dozen or so juicy red tomatoes from Tom’s Tomatoes. He bought a jar of honey from Honey 4 Yo Money. And then Paul purchased a peck of pickled peppers from Daryl’s “Double Dog Dare Ya” Pepper stand. Daryl offered some unsolicited menu advice for the grand opening of Paul’s farm to shelter restaurant.

“Remind me again, what it’s called?” Daryl asked.

“Dancin’ on Egg Shells,” Paul replied.

“That’s right,” Daryl said with a nod. “Wife says you’re only serving breakfast? You know, you should really think about lunch and dinner.”

Paul nodded and made his final stop for a couple of handfuls of spinach and lettuce.

“Thank you,” Paul said, holding a pause for effect. “Maggie.”

Maggie smiled and the three of them — Maggie, Daryl, and Tom — watched as Paul and his son crossed the road back to his truck.

Paul helped his son into the truck and went around to the driver’s side door. They had the windows down and it looked like a couple of flies were zooming around inside the cabin.

Right as Paul was about to hop in, he heard someone shout his name from across the country road. He looked back and saw Ronald McDonald. This time in full clown get-up.

“Hey, Paul Tree!” Ronald shouted. Hands cupped around his bright red mouth. “Why’d the chicken cross the road!?”

Paul started to smile.

“Why’s that?” Paul shouted back.

“To get to the other side!”

A few cars drove past, and by the time they’d buzzed by, Ronald McDonald had disappeared. Paul shook his head a little, smiling at the last month’s absurdity, then hopped in the truck.

“I don’t get it,” Carter said. “What’d he mean, Daddy-O?”

“Eh, it’s hard to know with a clown,” Paul said. He turned on the ignition and looked ahead at the open road.

“Whaddaya say we make some eggs?”

– THE END –

Thank you for reading this fast-food saga! This post is also the last one of 2021 (and probably the last Fast Food Avengers post for a while — although I plan to write more stories in that “fast food universe.”) Medium Rare will return on Wednesday, January 12th.

If you’d like to subscribe to the blog, email me here. You can also check out my other works (plus start your own journey from ideas/stories to finished book) over at Long Overdue Books.

Thank you for continuing to support this blog, have a great rest of the year, and see you here in 2022!

The Ohio Valley Conference has played football since 1948.

The Ohio Valley Conference, of which Eastern Illinois is a member, enters the off-season facing a daunting task. Three football-playing members have announced their departures from the league within the past calendar year.

As reported by Mike Organ of The Tennessean, charter member Eastern Kentucky and Jacksonville State, which joined in 2003, left in the summer. Austin Peay, which joined in 1963, is leaving in 2022. Most recently, Belmont — which does not field a football team — announced it was joining the Missouri Valley Conference.

Thus, in a time when conference affiliations seem to be changing on a regular basis, the OVC faces challenging times at best.

As things stand, Austin Peay’s departure will leave the OVC with six members playing football: Eastern Illinois, Murray State, Southeast Missouri State, Tennessee State, Tennessee Tech and UT Martin.

However, there have been recent reports that Murray State may join the Missouri Valley, which will lose Loyola-Chicago to the Atlantic 10 Conference after the 2021-22 season. Speculation also has Tennessee State — coached by former Heisman Trophy winner and NFL All-Pro Eddie George — looking to move on.

What does this mean?

In short, the Ohio Valley — which has been around for 73 years and honored football champions since 1948 — needs to add new members.

“Why we don’t have a specific timetable, we are aggressively engaged in the process of cultivating relationships to find institutions that share a similar mission and vision. Our Presidents have been very engaged, and this process has reaffirmed how much people care deeply about this league,” OVC commissioner Beth DeBauche said last week in a written statement to Prairie State Pigskin.

Eastern Illinois athletic director Tom Michael also shared his thoughts.

“Anytime institutions leave your conference for whatever reason they are, and they’ve all left for their own individual reasons, and whatever they are, they have to do what’s best for them individually,” Michael told Prairie State Pigskin Monday, “but certainly it’s concerning when we’ve lost four institutions in the last year.

“All of us (that remain) are looking to create some stability in the league. We have 10 institutions that are committed to the OVC right now, but we need to continue to look at the football piece from a scheduling standpoint and try to figure out a way that fits both from a competitive standpoint, a geographical/budgetary/travel standpoint.”

UT Martin’s Jason Simpson has been in coaching for 25 years, the last 16 with the Skyhawks. On Tuesday, Simpson was named the league’s coach of the year; moreover, his team won the OVC title and qualified for the FCS playoffs.

“It’s different than ever, but it is the way it is,” Simpson said on an early November OVC Zoom call of the constantly-changing landscape of college football.

The defections of Eastern Kentucky and Jacksonville State left OVC teams playing a strange schedule in which schools played other league teams twice in the same fall with only one of the games counting in the conference standings.

Many OVC coaches shared their displeasure with that format at various points this past season.

“There’s not an AD or football coach that would like to play a team twice like we did with Murray State this year,” Michael said, “if we could avoid those types of things, certainly as we move forward, that would be everybody’s preference.”

Who could be added?

At this point, both OVC leadership and members have been unwilling to name any possible candidates to join the league.

“We’ve talked about a lot of different scenarios on how we get to the right number in our league, whatever that might be,” Michael said. “The crazy thing with all of this is that I don’t think it’s done yet with the movement as we look to try to put the ’22 schedule together. It’s kind of penciled in because I still think there’s some movement around that could shift some things.”

Earlier in the fall, Organ — who has covered sports for over 30 years, many of those spent following OVC teams — wrote a story speculating which schools the Ohio Valley may be most likely to add.

Organ named 10 schools, however only half of those have football teams. Those five schools are: Alabama A&M, Chattanooga, East Tennessee State, West Florida and West Georgia. The latter two currently play at the Division II level.

Organ wrote: “Bringing in Alabama A&M would give the OVC a second HBCU to join Tennessee State. The location in Huntsville (Ala.) is ideal, but convincing the Bulldogs to leave the Southwestern Athletic Conference would be a challenge.”

As for Chattanooga, Organ wrote: “The Mocs already are an associate member of the OVC with their beach volleyball team. But getting the school to become a full-time member would be difficult because it has been a member of the Southern Conference in all other sports for 45 years.”

Last week, the Twitter account Major Madness (@low_madness), which covers “the Small Conferences of NCAA Division 1 that continually overachieve and steal the spotlight in March,” tweeted the following:

Western Illinois is presently a member of the Missouri Valley Football Conference and the Summit League in its other sports. Perhaps, given the uncertainty of the OVC’s stability going forward, WIU’s interest has waned.

Prairie State Pigskin contacted WIU director of athletics Danielle Surprenant Nov. 18 via e-mail seeking an interview. A followup e-mail was sent Nov. 22. However, neither Surprenant nor anyone from WIU replied.

Scheduling alliance

In October, the OVC and the Southland Conference announced plans for a football scheduling alliance between the two FCS leagues in the 2022 and 2023 seasons.

The planned collaboration will have institutions from each conference fill available non-conference dates on schedules in the next two years with a focus on competitive balance and reasonable travel.

“Our presidents, chancellors and athletic directors have enthusiastically supported this alliance,” DeBauche said at the time. “We are delighted to work together to promote one another and provide a quality student-athlete experience. This partnership strengthens not only both football leagues, but the FCS overall with quality non-conference matchups. Given the changing Division I landscape, this demonstrates ways that conferences can collaborate to support one another.”

Southland football members include Houston Baptist, University of the Incarnate Word (San Antonio, Texas), McNeese State, Nicholls State, Northwestern State, Southeastern Louisiana and Texas A&M University-Commerce.

Yet, the measure appears to be more of a short-term stopgap.

“I’m speaking for myself, but just from a sheer travel perspective I don’t think that’s in our best interest to have that as a long-term solution,” Michael said. “Traveling a football team can be expensive and when you join a partnership with a league that is in Texas and Louisiana that makes travel somewhat difficult and probably not the most economical way to do things.”

The OVC has long prided itself in being what both DeBauche and Michael have called “a bus league”.

“There’s a ton of advantages and there’s a comfort level for the student-athlete experience and the health and welfare of our student-athletes if we can jump on a bus and get there and get back at a reasonable time and continue to do our business with limited class absences. That would certainly be what we’re shooting for,” Michael said.

Non-football additions?

As both Organ and Major Madness pointed out, basketball and the lure of the revenue generated by bids to the NCAA men’s basketball tournament may trump football when decisions are made to add schools to the OVC.

“Does that mean we’re going to have some non-football playing schools come into our league? I think that’s a possibility, but certainly for all of us that play football, it’s important for us to get that component in a good place too,” Michael said.

Whatever the outcome, the Ohio Valley Conference fall football season will certainly not resemble what it has in the past.