Some will win. Some will lose. Some were born to sing the blues.
We’ve been fans of the contest at Basswood Resort in Platte City for a long time. Lovely campground just a few miles north of the city, up by the airport. The cost of entry is fair, they have great facilities, crap to keep the kids occupied, and it’s one of the few events that isn’t exhausting. It’s always a quiet, tranquil, relaxing contest. Well, until this year. This year, it was almost as tranquil as Tet, 1968. But with better food and worse music.
the horror...the horror
Basswood started normal enough. We were in a cabin this year, and not used to the confined space, but we’ve been in tighter spots. We got the contest meat taken care of, drank a buncha beer, ate a buncha jalapeno Cheetos®. Typical contest. We had a little bit of everything for dinner. I grilled some lamb chops with just olive oil, garlic, rosemary and S&P. Yum. It was a ver’ nice evening.
Then it began. Some…um…ladies moved into the cabin across from ours. Near as we could tell, they rented the cabin to drink in for the night. Just show up, drink until you pass out, then leave at sunrise. Which is fine, I suppose. I dunno why you need a cabin at Basswood to do that, but there ya go. And they didn’t get too loud or boisterous or use the dogwood tree as a stripper pole. It was just kind of weird.
We also got to hear a neighbor go from funny redneck to Klansman in just a few dozen beers. I might be the only one who heard him, because of the singing (keep reading), but yeah. Carlin’s seven words weren’t nearly as repugnant as what this hillbilly asshole was yelling.
Let’s get to the singing. It’s my fault. I burned a CD with American Pie on it. Played at 10 pm on Friday night at a barbecue contest, a sing-along is unavoidable. And brutal. Buddy Holly could be heard screaming from the grave at the heinous rendition Brett, Lisa, Kelly, and most of the Basswood Resort residents performed. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. Just loud, and post-quiet hours, and I got to be the old grouch again. Somebody has to do it. Now, stay off of my lawn.
I asked her for some happy news, but she just smiled and turned away...
The real agony, though, was Kelly and Lisa’s rendition of Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’. Sorry, girls, it was fun, but it actually hurt my teeth. The temporary crowns I had in? They rattled and ached, then stabbed me with a kabob skewer and ran from the park.
Singing ability not withstanding, Kent still married much better than Kelly.
So we had a circus of drunk Platte County divorcees, a drunk racist dirtbag competing, Brett as Don McClain, and Kelly and Lisa screeching Just a small town girl…living in a LONELY wer-herld…took a midnight train going an-nee-wayre! What could make it better?
Some asshole with a gun. Truth is, we didn’t know about the gun until a few days later, but yeah. Some jackass got liquored up and belligerent, then didn’t want to shut up and go to bed. Instead, he got his gun out so everyone knew what a tough man he was. Here’s what I think: if you’re so paranoid, stupid, and gutless that you think you have to take a handgun to a barbecue contest, just stay home. Build a compound and don’t leave. I might even drop off food for you, because we don’t need assholes like you in society. Just stay away.
Big picture, though, it was still a fun contest. It always is. Just weirder than usual. The resort will deal with security issues next year. And nobody liked our food, which is quite normal for us at Basswood. We don't do well there. We’ll still go back next year, though. Why? To sing, baby. To sing.
Basswood Resort, Platte City, MO
41 Teams
Chicken: 29th
Ribs: 21st
Pork: 24th (I didn’t inject with the marinade, and I could taste the difference)
Brisket: 18th
Overall: 19th