Cornhole: Not Just For Drunken Tailgaters Anymore

To paraphrase a recent observation by podcaster, and self-described “C-list” celebrity, Adam Carolla: A pandemic lockdown is like a prison sentence.  You can emerge from it with either a draft of the next Great American Novel, or a forehead tattoo and a raging case of herpes.  It’s your choice. 

I decided to take Adam’s advice.  Here were my options:

1. Remodeling the master bathroom.

2. Learning to play the piano.

3. Learning to speak Italian.

After careful consideration, I finally made up my mind:

I would choose 4. – Mastering the game of “Cornhole.” 

I’ve been told more than once that I was blessed with the perfect physique to play Cornhole.

Most folks have at least seen the game.  Each player takes a turn trying to toss a beanbag 27 feet into the “cornhole” of the game board.  Strongly suggested, but not officially required, is that a player gets half-drunk prior to the game.  Crocs are the official footwear of Cornhole.

I bought my Crocs during a recent visit to Vietnam.  I thought I got a real bargain, but back at the hotel I looked them over more closely.  I discovered that I had actually purchased a pair of “Croaks.”  Croaks are essentially identical Crocs, just minus the quality and comfort.  

The game of Cornhole presents a number of challenges, not the least of which is the name, “Cornhole.”  To put it mildly, the name is rather off-putting.  In fact, if you tell someone your favorite pastime is cornholing, odds are they’ll look at you funny. 

You might be surprised to learn (I swear this is true, you can look it up) that there is an American Cornhole Association, ACA for short.  (Not to be confused with the American Cornhole Organization, or ACO – Look it up!)  The ACA’s website touts that it is, “The Original and Official Governing Body of Cornhole.”  Take that, ACO!

I’m proud to announce that my hours in lockdown practicing Cornhole have yielded impressive results.  In fact, I developed my own special Cornhole technique.  It’s a five-step process.

Step One – “Be the bag.”  (The alternative is to, “be the hole.”  Let’s not go there).

Step Two – Lower yourself into a squat-like position, much like an orangutan preparing to toss a handful of his finest at a zoo visitor.

Step Three – Swing the bag in a reverse arc, mimicking Joe Pesci’s character in the movie Casino, when he stabs that guy in the bar who was insulting Robert De Niro. 

Step Four – Release the bag and watch it lift gracefully, rotate (almost in slow motion), and then descend “spot on” over your neighbor’s fence. 

Step Five – Scream, “Damn it!”

My daughter has been playing the game with me.  She takes offense with anyone calling Cornhole a sport.  She argues that any game you can win while simultaneously holding a 16 ounce can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and pulling a draw off a Marlboro dangling from the corner of your mouth, should not be labelled a sport. 

I had to disagree with her.  You know how we all become experts at the floor exercise during the Olympics every four years?  You know how the judges factor in the “degree of difficulty”?  Exactly.

If Cornhole fails to be named an official sport in the next Olympics, it will be an outrage.  I will take it upon myself to call on the intrepid members of the ACA and urge them to join forces with the wily ACO.  The sheer magnitude of that much Cornhole power would be unstoppable.  I’d join in with them, but I fear I’d wind up over the fence.

Please do me a favor – Comment and share!

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