Happy Hunter

Bo doesn't like crowds. But he likes courteous folk. Adores cooking for them. "When was the last time an athlete cooked you dinner?" he asks a guest.

The answer is easy. Never. Jackson puts the chops on his well-tended kettle smoker on the back deck. Nobody in his house cooks but him.

He knows what he could have been, if he had specialized, if he'd never been injured. A Hall of Famer in either sport, perhaps. Maybe an Olympian. Maybe the Best Athlete Ever. "Ordinary people shouldn't model their activities after Bo Jackson," warned one of his orthopedic surgeons, Dr. James Andrews, after Bo returned to baseball on his fake hip. Royals owner Ewing Kauffman once said it was a pity Jackson risked injury in football, thus preventing us from knowing how great he could have been in baseball.

"Life is about ifs," says Bo, shrugging. "I could have hurt my hip sliding in baseball. Sure, it would be nice to be in the Hall of Fame, but it would be nice to win the Powerball lotto, too."

Never mind that stuff just now. Bo grows happier and happier as he cooks. He talks about his dream of opening a restaurant in Chicago, calling it Bebe's Backyard Barbecue, in honor of his beloved mother, who died three weeks after his first hip surgery, in 1992, the strong lady who taught him that the No. 1 rule of fine cooking is "do everything with love."

Soon the chops are done to perfection.

Who would be the chef at that new place? you ask, digging in.

"Me," answers Bo. Like there's any question at all.