What Athletes Know About How to Have Fun (Cornhole #3)
And the Return of My Missing Mojo
This the third episode in a series. To catch up: Parts One and Two.
“You’re going to kill it, Sis!”
This was my brother’s response when I told him I’m playing competitive cornhole.
I laughed. Peter knows me. Competitive cornhole sounds absurd: the name, the tailgate reputation, the squishy bean bags. But Peter — who relishes our Skeeball contests as much as I do1 — knows something all athletes know:
When you take a sport – any sport – seriously, you have more fun.
There was a way I used to walk onto the court when my name was announced before Stanford basketball games. Less boastful than a strut, it was a proud, confident stride with a touch of springy excitement. I knew who I was. I knew what I could do. I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.
Gradually, over the years, things happened. Painful, joint-related things, including five surgeries. I downgraded to a succession of less-stressful recreational sports, limping from one to the next, then giving up the last one, golf, about ten years ago. I’ve been grieving ever since.
Two years ago, I had a knee replaced. In December, hope arrived in the form of this thought: Maybe I can play competitive cornhole.
Current goal: Win cornhole in singles and doubles, 65-69-year-old age group, at the National Senior Games in Iowa in August.
Short-term goal: Gain experience in a local league organized by Volo, an organization that builds community through sports and games.
Another thing athletes know: When you practice, you improve.
Mostly, I practice with my friend Lyn in her physical therapy office. Lyn is my teammate for the local league.
The standard distance between cornhole boards is 27 feet: five feet farther than basketball’s three-pointers. But Lyn’s office, which is bigger than my living room and less dangerous to our lamps, only allows us to spread the boards about 22 feet apart, wall to wall. And it’s still too cold to practice outdoors. We fret: Will our technique, such as it is, fall apart at the longer distance when the Volo league begins?
Several hours before Opening Night of league play, I walk to the El Rey Taqueria & Margarita Bar for reconnaissance. El Rey is hosting the league. Fortunately, the dining room that will be converted that evening to a cornhole league space seems small.
I text Lyn: Good news! No way does this measure 27 feet. Maybe 17 max.
The league has nine teams, each with two-to-six players in an open field with no age or sex categories. Each Thursday evening for seven weeks, we will play two games of 16 rounds. Other team names include Tossed & Sauced and Hold My Drink Again. Lyn and I hope that our sobriety will prove to be a competitive advantage. Our team’s name: Stronger Women.
My family moved from Philadelphia to Phoenix when I was in high school, and one thing I learned from the New Girl experience was to welcome newcomers. (Shout out to Jenny, who invited me to try out for volleyball.) As a result, I’ve become a greeter.
So that evening, while waiting for Lyn, a few of us chat. Turns out, some are veterans from last year’s league; some are new; some play Volo softball, too. Almost all are young adults. One woman in her fifties tells me, “I’m so relieved I’m not the oldest person this year!”
I laugh. “How could you tell?”
Players assemble at tables, gripping Margaritas and nachos. Four cornhole boards topped with bags lie invitingly on the floor. Why is no one else warming up? I lean over and pick up a bean bag, feel its weight in one hand, toss it toward the board.
I text Lyn: We can do this. Piece of cake.
Lyn arrives and the play begins. We are not scheduled for the first round, so we watch our future rivals. (We’ll play every team eventually.) Some are novices like Lyn and me. One flings her bag directly into a spectator’s stomach, a gaffe followed by uproarious and good-natured laughter. But there are also some very good players.
When it’s our turn, I “take dead aim,” a term Bruce – who also serves as my unofficial coach and sport psychologist – passed along from golf pro Harvey Penick. Swinging my right arm back, a bit like a bowler or golfer, I end with a wrist flip to release the bag in a long, spinning arc. The bag thuds onto the board. One point.
The other team throws next, then Lyn. I’ll estimate that half our bags land on the board. Some collide headfirst into the board’s front lip and flop over like roadkill. (Um, not that sort of dead aim.) We try not to distract each other with giggles.
Other bags of ours arch high, soaring over scattered bags in their way, then disappear satisfyingly through the hole. Three points. Our opponents score winners, too. We offer them high-fives, enjoying camaraderie born of shared goals, shared effort, and the magic ingredient that adds drama, focus, and fun: scorekeeping.
The scene is crowded, raucous. Players cheer for any of the four teams playing two games side-by-side. People accidentally wander into our playing lanes, forcing us to wait before launching our bags. To call the contest casual would be an overstatement.
I’m feeling the pressure and loving it.
But there are times when things get fairly quiet. I sense people watching me and try to rise to the occasion. I think of Olympic figure skater Debi Thomas, who once told me, “I’m feeling the pressure and loving it.”
Nevertheless, Lyn and I lose the first game. Fine.
Taking a sport seriously is fun. Taking a sport too seriously is stupid.
We step aside and review what went wrong, making top-secret adjustments that include the phrase “Calm the F down.”
We win the second of our two games. Encouraging. Our practice is paying off.
Afterward, several players approach me to praise my skills. “I watched you warming up and thought, ‘Whoa, we’re in trouble.’”
I’m flattered. They can tell I’m an athlete.
Walking home, I feel a little taller, and I’ve got a familiar spring in my step.
I’m getting my mojo back.
Thoughts? I love hearing from you.
See Aspiring Cornhole Champion Stories One and Two and others in the #Aging Up series.
If Peter ever tries to tell you that he has kept a running, lifetime total of our games and that he’s winning, don’t believe him.
Way to go, Mariah!
Awesome! Loved this post.