December 26, 2020 was the most impactful day of my life. I spent the day at my best friend Luke’s house, celebrating Christmas along with his younger brother Zach and our friend Makayla. 

We called it “Friendsmas.” I know, cringe, right? 

But that’s not important. It wasn’t the massive, softer-than-anything-I’ve-ever-felt, green blanket I got in my Secret Santa gift that changed my life. It wasn’t the clout goggles I’d been begging for. It wasn’t even the orange Fanta. 

It was what I got for dinner: my first ever McRib, which was on McDonald’s menus across the country for the first time in eight years. 

Ever since that day, the McRib has been… What’s the opposite of the bane of one’s existence? 

The root of my existence? 

The foundation upon which I found all my beliefs? 

My reason to live? 

Doesn’t matter. The point is, as soon as the temperature drops below 40 degrees, I start getting that itch. McRib season is here. 

I feared my heart wouldn’t recover when I heard McDonald’s announce the McRib was going away forever in November 2022. But deep down inside, I knew it was a marketing ploy; they just wanted to sell more by creating an apocalyptic panic for everyone to get one while they still could. The ploy sure worked on me. I’ve never enjoyed a McRib more than that season. If I had to guess, I’d say I ate at least a dozen sandwiches in 2022. 

Have you ever had a McRib? If your answer is no, then you are not allowed to give me any negative feedback on this column (not that I’ve ever received negative feedback on any column). If your answer is yes, then you’ll understand full well what I mean when I say that the McRib is special. 

Now, special is an extremely ambiguous term. Special occurs on a spectrum that ranges from special via simple bad, special via bad through good, special via good through bad and special via simple good. Let me explain. 

Special via bad: Like the Twins’ 12-27 stretch after Aug. 17, something can be special through its awfulness. It’s historic, but for a bad reason (as many Minnesota sports collapses are), and at this point we’ve still come to love our teams. That’s special. 

Special via bad through good: Like Karl-Anthony Towns’ 62-point game versus Charlotte last year, something can be special because it’s bad occurring through something good. Scoring 62 is phenomenal, but when the team loses the game – as the Wolves did – that’s still a bad thing. And for that, it’s special. 

Special via good through bad: Like the Minnesota Vikings’ 33-point comeback against the Indianapolis Colts two seasons ago, something can be good, even as it occurs through something bad. The Vikings had no business being down 33 points to a below-average Colts team. But when they came back to win in a way that no NFL team has ever done, it’s a good thing. It’s special. 

Special via good: And finally, I don’t think I need to explain how something can be special purely by being good. Think Anthony Edwards, think Joe Mauer, think Stefon Diggs and the Minneapolis Miracle. 

For being such a McRib apologist, you might be surprised to hear I’m placing that disgustingly-beautiful sandwich in the “special via good through bad” category. I have three reasons for this, so let’s dive in.  

Reason 1: A special time of year

I refuse to believe the McRib doesn’t come out somewhere between Halloween and Christmas for a reason. It only adds to the festivity of the season. 

The days between Oct. 1 and Jan. 2 are my favorite days in the entire year. Sweater weather takes effect, football season really ramps up, Halloween brings the vibes, Thanksgiving brings the smells and the tastes. 

There’s Christmas and New Year’s too, of course, and we definitely can’t forget my Dec. 13 birthday, either. 

Happy (early or late or on time) birthday, Aiden. You’re an incredible writer, and you’re so brave for putting out back-to-back controversial articles. 

Aw, thank you so much, that means a lot. 

The point is that this is a special time of year. And the only thing I can think of to make it more special is a limited-time-only food. I’m at the point in my obsession where the McRib just is Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

I’m writing this barely an hour after enjoying my first 2024 McRib. My family and I just got back from watching Wicked at the Worthington Grand Theater. My dad hadn’t eaten supper yet, so he pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru. 

Displayed on one of the kiosks was a glorious close-up shot of that saucy, spongey masterpiece of fast food delicacy. So what did I do but raise my voice 10 levels (it’s not hard to get me to do this) and beg my dad to get me a McRib? He complied and I deleted the sandwich in less than two minutes. 

It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and I could not be more thankful knowing that I am privileged enough to enjoy a McRib within the month of November.

Reason 2: Limited = special

Correlated to Reason 1, something is only special if it’s not regular. All of the examples I gave above are not regular. They won’t last forever. They’re special. 

The McRib, in all of its brownish-red, pickly, oniony splendor is not a regular item on McDonald’s menu. While this is a typical marketing tactic, I am the ideal consumer. I am the world’s biggest sucker for limited-time-offers (LTOs), especially if it’s McDonald’s offering. 

The Travis Scott meal in 2019. The Grimace Shake in 2022. The Shamrock Shake every January/February. Not to mention other offers like Chick-fil-A’s peach shake and Chipotle’s carne asada. I was/am all over those. 

So yes, if it’s not obvious by now, when the McRib is announced, I fly to the nearest McDonald’s. I make runs to the Golden Arches I wouldn’t normally make. Sometimes, I might even get two. 

But that’s not a bad thing. The McRib is a call to enjoy everything in life that’s special. In fact, even if something’s not considered special by my definition, still enjoy it. Who knows how long it’ll last? 

Enjoy the presence of that person. Your parents, your grandparents or that one friend. Not every person is like them. They’re special. 

Enjoy college. You get an experience like this for four, maybe five years of your life and then you will never have this again. Take it all in. Make it last. Cherish it. It’s special. 

And enjoy that food you like. Your mom’s sloppy joes, Grandma’s green bean soup, a Flameburger ½ pound Cowboy flame. Or even a McRib. You never know when you’ll get it again. 

Reason 3: We live in a special country

This might sound like humor or some sort of satire, but I assure you, I am being 100% genuine about this. 

It is beautiful to live in a country where the McRib is legal. Sure, I’ve heard all the jokes. 

What in the world is a McRib made of? 

That tastes so fake. 

Do you even know what you’re putting in your body?

No, I don’t. And that’s special. The United States of America has made me free enough that I can ask for a sandwich comprised of mystery meat (they call it pork, but your guess is as good as mine, and no, I’m not looking it up), consume it while sauce runs down my fingers and be completely protected by law to do so. 

I certainly know there are no health benefits to eating a McRib. I’m sure many other consumers know the same thing. And yet, the delectable sandwich continues to come back because people buy it. 

I don’t take lightly the freedoms in this country. I love being a part of a newspaper where the news is freely written, where everyone is free to express their opinions and none of us have to worry about the government censoring us. 

I love being free to practice my religion without some federal agency kicking down my door. 

But I’m also proud to freely eat as many McRibs as my stomach can handle. And that’s something only the McDonald’s CEO — not even the president of the United States — can take away from me (this may age poorly). 

All of this, my third reason, is why the McRib falls into the third category of special. 

It’s bad. As much as McDonald’s claims to use 100% pork in the sandwich, feeling that unnatural squish in my mouth will never convince me there’s any sort of 100% inside. It’s undeniably injected with unpronounceable preservatives, not to mention that 520 calories for a sandwich that size is outrageous. 

But it tastes amazing. Out of the bad comes good. Out of the fake meat comes real flavor. Out of the repulsive comes something special. 

McDonald’s is not paying me a cent for this article. I am under no pressure to promote this sandwich. In fact, I’ll be paying McDonald’s a significant amount of money before 2025 arrives to get my fill of McRibs, and I encourage all of you to do the same. 

Grab your friends, celebrate Christmas a day late and let this ghastly disgrace of a sandwich change your life.