Rush's Barbecue Sandwich... taste familiar?

My wife Hannah Jane and I were headed from church to the movies on Sunday, when we stopped in at Rush's. She's eatin' for two at the moment -- a little Gervais Jr, we found out the sex today -- and ten miles is long way for her to go without a milkshake.

I got the barbecue sandwich basket and a sympathy milkshake with which to wash it down. Rush's barbecue is excellent, there is no question about it. This is five star stuff, the kind of barbecue you don't easily forget.

Which brings me to my question... is this Maurice's meat under a different name? Now, I grew up under the watchful eye of Little Joe, whose porcine visage illuminated the night sky above West Columbia. Little Joe is another of the previously mentioned Seven Wonders of West Columbia, and his omniscient gaze made me feel safe as a youngster.

At six years, I watched clouds and daydreamed in left field at Pineview, wearing a Piggie Park jersey and an unfortunate ballcap that read "PP." I would return to consciousness only when I heard the ping of an aluminum bat or the call of the coach. We stuffed our faces after the games at the park-and-order, bellhop style parking lot of the original Piggie Park. That's how Maurice's Q became the gold standard, the perfect ten by which I judge all other pulled pork.

That was before...well, it was just before. My patronage has tapered off since, though I did recently stop in to buy a copy of "Defending My Heritage," the Maurice Bessinger story.

Maybe its just wishful thinking on my part, but everything about the Rush's barbecue sandwich -- the texture, the sauce, the density -- evoked my halcyon days, when all the worries of the world could be washed away by sweet tea or the front yard garden hose. Is this Bessinger's barbecue, y'all, or am I Rush-ing to judgment?