August 30, 2013

Holding out for a Herotage

First things first, the Royals swept the Twins for the third time this season, and the second time in less than a month. Here's our obligatory sweep graphic:

For years and years, I rarely had to create sweep images, but not this season. This is probably the worst I've ever made, but I've never liked Ron Gardenhire and he might be getting fired. It would be a shame if I'd never put this bearded fat ass next to a Fantasia broom.

Now that that's out of the way, we can can get to some better (though not by much) photoshopping.
You may have noticed Nike has been rolling out a series of stupid invisible ballplayer shirts this summer, such as this one featuring Yu Darvish:

Nike has screwed the pooch in a couple of ways. One, I'm not sure I'd call the players they've chosen "heroic." I mean, can you even judge a guy who's only been in the league for a couple of seasons a hero? That's the second thing, how are these young players representative of "heritage?" And lastly, as always, Nike completely ignored our favorite team.

We here at Royales with Cheese think that's horseshit, and we're doing something about it. I'm talking, of course, about creating our very own Royals Herotage shirts!

About a month back, we shared a bunch of George Brett Herotage shirts. Today, we've created some more designs featuring vintage Royals. Specifically, we wanted to pay tribute to some of our favorite Royals that we've unfortunately lost to that big stadium in the sky. These are players that we feel represent the made-up term "Herotage."

While you may think this is the shittiest tribute ever to their memory, you have to remember that this is a pretty shitty blog.

First, we have the winningest pitcher in Royals history, Paul Splittorff. He played for 15 seasons and was a broadcaster for 24. He was a Royal through and through.

Love that crazy leg kick.

Next up is one of the greatest closers in the club's history, Dan Quisenberry.

Probably the greatest submarine pitcher in league history, too.

Our next shirt features one of my personal favorite players, catcher Darrell Porter.

Gotta love those thick glasses.

And we'll wrap up with the only manager to ever win a World Series for the Royals, the great Dick Howser.

You'll never see Ned Yost out on the field showing emotion like Howser did.

Well, that's it for today. Hopefully, we'll squeeze in another Herotage post before the end of the season.

Go Three-Day Weekends! You're the Best!

August 28, 2013

Crème de la Meme

Hey gang! Time for another batch of Kansas City Royals memes!

Here we go:


And finally...

Go Fountain Lady! You So Crazy!

August 26, 2013

Tooning Out

Site traffic is way down the last couple of weeks, meaning either the content on this blog is getting worse (not sure if that's possible) or people have completely given up on the Royals and don't want to read anything even tenuously related to the team.

So rather than writing anything of substance, I figured I'd just post some more cartoons from the back of Topps baseball cards.

Once again, we'll focus on 1973, the year that brought us Secretariat's Triple Crown, Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, Miller's Lite Beer, and more of Topps, Inc's goofy-ass cartoons...

Gail Hopkins:
Gail may or may not be the inspiration for Walter White.

 Steve Hovley:
Steve's history degree doubles as a blanket.

Bruce Dal Canton:
 Bruce's teaching assistant is a giant bullfrog that only he can see and hear.

Richie Scheinblum:
 Richie never forgave Neil Armstrong for stealing his big moment.

Paul Schaal:
Paul's keys to real estate: Location, location, location. And sandwich boards.

George Scott:
If you're interested in obtaining some illegal fireworks, Boomer's your guy.

Dave Nelson:
Dave is often called the Bob Crane of baseball.

Steve Braun:
Steve thinks Mono can suck it.

Freddie Patek:
Freddie works in the off-season as the tiny gold guy on little league trophies.

Jerry May:
Bad credit? No credit? Jerry's got you covered!

And finally...

Roger Nelson:
Roger has eight legs and craps silk webbing.

Go Giant Bullfrogs and Spider-Men! You're The Stuff of Nightmares!

August 23, 2013

Pudd'nhead Cowens

Happy Friday! Time for another Royals Recipe!

With our special house guest, we had already feasted on the delicious Nu-Joe Special. We were on the hunt for a can't-miss dessert when we got to the page for outfielder Al Cowens. His wife Velma submitted a recipe for one of my favorites, Banana Pudding. 

There was no way this could go wrong:
Al Cowens is another of those late-70s Royals that fans remember fondly. He wasn't too good in his first full year as a starter in 1976, but in 1977 A.C. was one of the best offensive and defensive players in all of baseball, placing second in the AL MVP voting. Basically, he had turned into a superstar.

Unfortunately, Royals fans know where this story goes. In 1978, he had a lackluster follow-up. Then, in May of 1979, Texas Rangers pitcher Ed Farmer nailed Cowens in the face with a fastball and broke his jaw. Earlier in the game, Farmer had broken Frank White's wrist on an inside pitch. White rebounded from the injury and had a good career, but A.C. was never again the same ballplayer. He lost several teeth and had to have his jaw wired shut, but Cowens's biggest injury was to his pride.

A year later as a Detroit Tiger, A.C. slapped a grounder against Ed Farmer (now with the White Sox), but instead of running to first, he sprinted to the mound and attacked the pitcher. Farmer was watching the ball and unaware Cowens was bearing down on him, but the fight didn't last long and the pitcher ended up with just a scrape on his nose. However, in an unprecedented move, Farmer filed criminal charges against Cowens for assault. The charges were later dropped, but A.C. was branded a coward by many fans and members of the media.

Cowens's career continued to decline and he was out of baseball by 1986. His health weakened after he left baseball, and he died of a heart attack in 2002.

Ed Farmer, shithead that he is, is alive and well, doing play-by-play for the White Sox on radio.

All of which is very, very depressing. 

And now I am very, very depressed.

But you know what always cheers me up?


Here are your ingredients:

And here are some sick photos of the process:




We preheated the oven to 425 degrees and then popped the pudding in to brown. 

I feel like the last six words of the previous sentence are the most disgusting thing I've ever written in my life, and I'm not even sure why.

Anywho, ten minutes later, we pulled out the brown pudding.

Correction, that phrase sounds even more disgusting.

Which is fine, I guess, because the pudding looked disgusting:


And it tasted disgusting, too.

It was nothing like pudding. It tasted like bland, soggy eggs, which is basically what it was. There was hardly any banana taste and nothing really sweet about it. My wife and sister-in-law were very concerned about the clear puddle of liquid that formed around the fluffy paste on the plate.

I was, in a word, pissed.

I love banana pudding. 


This was an abomination.

And to think, we went to all that trouble separating egg yolks and cutting up bananas when we could have just made this:

And it would have been AMAZING.


Sister-in-law: 2/5



Care to defend this recipe, outfelder/tragic figure Al Cowens?


Go to Hell, Egg Whites! You Don't Belong On Pudding!

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