Shirts on Fire… there has to be a story behind that name!

The first time we tried to build a competition smoker, John set his shirt on fire.

We had decided in 2018 that it was finally time to compete in the Big Blue BBQ in Marysville, Kansas — John’s hometown. If we were going to do this, we were going to do it right. That meant cooking on something big enough to handle all four meats.

So naturally, we decided to build a smoker.

We started with an old 150-gallon propane tank. Completely filled it with water before making the first cut. We had done our research. We had convinced ourselves we knew what we were doing (Pro tip: don’t build a smoker out of a propane tank. Just… don’t.) Still, when that cutting wheel touched metal for the first time, we all held our breath.

The first cut went fine. Everyone exhaled.

Clearly, that meant we were professionals now.

Bob worked on one end. John worked on another. They were racing the clock, trying to get this beast finished before competition day. At one point, Bob caught John tossing his saw aside a little too casually. He spun around, ready to lecture him about respecting equipment. Instead, he found his nephew doing a frantic little jig while patting out his smoldering shirt.

Sparks had caught the fabric. Flames followed.

Thankfully, the fire went out as quickly as it started. No harm done — unless you count Bob’s blood pressure. Later that week, while brainstorming team names, Aunt MaryAnn suggested, “Shirts on Fire.”

It stuck.

What we didn’t know at the time was that the fire would be the least of our problems.

When we finally finished the smoker, two weeks after the Marysville competition, the guys decided to instead sign up for the Keepers of the Fire BBQ Competition at Prairie Band Casino in Mayetta, KS. It didn’t take long to realize that we had built a tank in every sense of the word. It was massive. It took a tractor to load it onto the trailer. Once we got to the competition, it had to stay there — which meant climbing up and down all day long to manage the meats.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Competition BBQ is exhausting without adding a stair workout.

The smoker also ate wood and charcoal like it was free. We hauled more fuel than we needed. We overbuilt. Overpacked. Overestimated ourselves.

And then, in true rookie fashion, the guys celebrated a little too hard that first night. They slept through the alarm. The fire went out.

Somehow — and I still don’t know how — we avoided an inedible score at our very first turn-in. We didn’t finish last. That alone felt like a win.

But here’s what that first competition really gave us:

Not a trophy.

Not bragging rights.

Perspective.

We learned that bigger isn’t always better. That effort doesn’t replace systems. That enthusiasm without discipline will burn you — sometimes literally. We learned that if you’re serious about competing, you can’t just show up with a giant smoker and good intentions.

You need process. You need preparation. You need humility.

And sometimes, you need to set your shirt on fire to realize that.

That oversized smoker is around but only gets used on special occasions. The rookie mistakes are (mostly) behind us. But the name stayed.

Because every time we roll into a competition now — organized, prepared, dialed in — we remember where we started.

A propane tank.
A rushed build.
A missed alarm.
And a shirt on fire.

Turns out, that’s exactly how you forge a team.

John and Bob proudly showing off their homemade propane tank smoker