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Kansas City Royals' Recipes World Series-Style
Author: Lou Ann Carmean
The Cover Promises: That you and your family should put into your bodies delicacies chosen by the cocaining-est team in baseball history.
"Today the Royals rank right at the top in every baseball category ... Recipes have been tried, tested, tasted, and even tossed, so that you, our faithful fans, can enjoy only the finest food along with the finest baseball available."Here's how different things were way back in the improbable year of 1980, when a twinkle-eyed tax-raiser was making America great again through his "No, you're the shining city on a hill" pillow talk. The Kansas City Royals were serious contenders, having won their division four of the previous five years and even taking on the Phillies in the 1980 World Series. Meanwhile, in the Royals front office, a young go-getter named Rush Limbaugh was serving as the team's director of group sales, a job that we all today can wouldn't take full advantage of the great man's skill-set: The 1980 Royals were an excellent baseball team, and Limbaugh, that huckster clod of the a.m. airwaves, is only truly at his best when selling utter horseshit. Of course, that great 1980 moment couldn't last forever. Within three years, Royals like Willie Wilson and U.L. Washington would be busted for coke, and, after securing its one and only World Championship in 1985, the team would never again win its division. Limbaugh, meanwhile, returned to radio and his old lifestyle of getting fired a lot and going on unemployment, until at last he made millions demonizing the same government programs that had afforded him the chance to chase his own spite-filled dreams. But we can remember those glorious days of 1980 just by opening up Royals' Recipes and savoring the two dishes contributed by young Limbaugh. First, the main course, "Rush's Specialty:" The recipe is a manly one that involves frying in Crisco, wolfing down chicken, and smashing the dickens from saltines -- although I can't let the opportunity pass to point out that with greater regulations and a stronger FDA Americans might not have dickens in their crackers to begin with. As appealing as it might have been to be invited back to chez Rush to watch him mash eggs and crumbs on a mess of chicken breasts, Limbaugh had more to give. The last line of the recipe for "Rush's Specialty" demonstrates that even way back then he had the showman's instinct that keeps people listening for the next segment: Has there ever been a recipe with a cliff-hanger before? Here's what Limbaugh recommended you wash down his chicken with: Ummmm! good! Fry your chicken in Crisco, but for God's sake watch out for those carbs! The rest of the book is made up of recipes submitted by Royals staff and the wives of players. One famous Royal couldn't come up with a dish or a spouse, so he pinch hit from deeper down the family bench. Here's a rare opportunity for anyone who has ever fantasized about eating bean dip with George Brett's sister-in-law: One Royals coach made something of a joke out of his disinterest in participating in a cookbook: Your Crap Archivist was just teensy enough of a Kansas City in 1980 to know that Pete LaCock had a hilarious name but not to understand why. I wonder today how much the kids on my block would laugh at his contribution: LaCock Cobbler! Other than the glimpse into the early years and tastes of that ol' cracker-mashing radio tyrant Rush Limbaugh, perhaps the most fascinating thing in Royals' Recipes is this letter sent by the man Limbaugh spent his rise-to-fame years pretending was destroying America: The book also includes congratulatory letters from the then governors of Kansas and Missouri. Both are significantly more effusive than Clinton's, of course, as Arkansas had long been St. Louis Cardinals country. But it's hard not to admire the deep-dish Clintontianism of these three spare lines. Instead of doing the honest thing, and writing, say, "Yours is the team we might root for when ours is out of contention," our legalese-loving future president -- a man who I'm sure has smashed the dickens from his share of crackers -- makes with one of his signature Official Statements Nobody Could Ever Find Controversial: "Arkansans are big baseball fans and the Royals are one of our favorite teams," he wrote, little knowing that the no-carb hot-chocolate guy in the same book would one day be the troll taunting him beneath that bridge to the twenty-first century. Also, this is hardly the first time your Crap Archivist has encountered Limbaugh family recipes. -- Hey, you could do worse than following @studiesincrap or @ExhibitionistSF on the Twitter thing.