Showdown at the Barbecue Corral.

“Well boys, I guess we’re just gonna have to go in. Fix your bibs.”

“Whadaya think, Sheriff ? Things gonna get messy?”

“Boys, when you’re a- starin down a barbecue outfit, and the ribs start flyin’ and the dip starts coming at you in bowlfuls — tomato- based, vinegar- based, it don’t matter none — it gets messy and then some.” “Anythin’ else?”

“Well, keep you eye out for the coleslaw. When we’re in coleslaw range, it’s anyone’s game.”

Strange scenes around Toronto this week.

On one side, a man who knows his way around spareribs and hot flames; on the other, Mayor John Tory’s law- boys ready to take out the take- out kingpin. It was a Toronto fable for the ages.

Apparently, as in Star Trek, the Prime Directive during COVID is “Stay away from barbecue joints.” They are not called pits for nothing.

I gather from news reports there were no serious clashes. Mr. Adam Skelly, the owner of Adamson Barbecue, appears even in the current furor to be a genial enough fellow. He did a few plays before he got arrested ( and was ever so numerously charged — 13 in all, criminal and non-criminal, plus a battery of potential fines) but all was mainly smooth.

It was however the size and might of the police presence, on horseback and on foot, that caught the eyes of a hundred iphones. Smaller forces have invaded Belgium. All these men and women in blue in front of a single barbecue restaurant.

This was one of the key elements to be noticed, the size of the deployment, and how very seriously Toronto’s civic authorities were taking the matter.

Very many people went online or talked to reporters to make the inescapable point that Toronto has seen many kinds of protests, from crowds banging on the doors of the mayor’s condo building, to rail blockades and the barring of main streets. Crowds gather for one sort of protest or another on the Legislature lawn so frequently it could be a hobby. (Note: Have respect. Do not protest at the homes of people in public service. Protest on public issues should be at public institutions not private homes.)

During these protests, some of them recurrent, police presence has been in most cases much smaller. At these, too, police have been, in the main, more on the sidelines, keeping a watch — intervening only when necessary — but more or less letting the protesters have their way till things wound down.

Mr. Skelly is just one owner. He’s not a professional protester. He doesn’t lead a group. True, he’s picked up some supporters, and I’ll get to that, but for now it’s just him, and that raises a question.

Why the massive police presence at the barbecue house? And while it is very true that people do like their barbecues and are probably not happy when the supply is threatened, I don’t think Skelly’s protest will shake the city’s equilibrium.

People sense a contradiction here. Some protests get a pass. Some do not. Some are allowed with a wink. And some call out half a division.

Skelly’s action, agree with it or not, has hit a nerve. Obviously not everyone supports him, and certainly not the health and political authorities. But many do. And even if the support of some is reluctant, it is there and it is real. And they have reasons.

Contradiction is at the heart of this latest episode, and plays a far larger role in the general response than Skelly’s one-man stand.

Many people in Toronto and everywhere else have gotten just a bit weary of contradictions in the rules of handling COVID, contradictions between what they were told at the beginning and what they are being told now; contradictions in which parties have to bear these rules, and which do not; contradictions in which activities are accorded “essential status” and which are denied it.

In some cases they have been riled by another kind of contradiction, when, for example, leaders violate their own injunctions, when they salute one protest and condemn another.

There are even more sharp contradictions between who carries the greater burden in following the rules, and who carry less. And it is always the smaller enterprises, the ones most exposed and vulnerable, that carry the heaviest burden.

The big box stores, the mighty Costco, the great supermarket chains, the now thriving super-online services ( Amazon flourishes) — they stay open, hundreds pass through their doors — dab your hand, put on a mask — while the little coffee shop in an out-of-theway strip mall plasters CLOSED in the window and sits idle for months.

The hospitality trade, from small diners to bars to popular restaurants, have been going through something like hell. And not helped at all by the on again — open for a few days, fix up the patio at your expense — and shut down again.

The message seems obvious: If a business is big enough, COVID-19 never visits. In a place with one owner and two staff, it’s a hazard.

It’s been something of a slogan from our leaders, municipal, provincial and federal, that “We’re all in this together.” Plainly we are not, if “together” is supposed to mean we are all feeling the same pressures, sharing the same anxieties, and open to the same hazards.

Those at the lower income level, those not with government employment, those not of the professional classes, are bearing far more strain and stress than those shielded by income, class or type of employment. All face COVID. But not all face COVID while struggling to continue a lifetime’s business; or, having already been on limited income, having no income at all now.

So it’s no wonder that the barbecue protest attracted people in support. Nine months into the COVID regime and the disparities are mounting, and the contradictions are getting more than annoying. And overall the political leadership during this wretched time is at best confused, and only very rarely, if at all, inspirational.

SOME PROTESTS GET A PASS. SOME DO NOT. SOME ARE ALLOWED WITH A WINK.