Watch your cornhole

As a kid, I played lots of sports. Sometimes, I played more than one sport in a season. I wasn't any super athlete, I just loved to compete. Finally, I settled on wrestling, put together a pretty decent career and managed to survive all four season in college.

I figured I'd make my mark on the mats, especially after 11 years of coaching. But in the past few years, I realize I have a much brighter future in another sport. Cornhole has changed my life.

For the uninitiated, cornhole is similar to horseshoes except you use wooden boxes called cornhole platforms and bean bags filled with corn instead of metal stakes and horseshoes. Like horseshoes, you play with a partner, tossing from opposite ends of the court. A bag on the board scores one point while getting one of your bags through the hole nets you three points. Games go to 21. But the best part about cornhole is that you can play anywhere and anyone can learn the game. Even me.

My family first got the cornhole bug two summers ago during our annual week-long vacation at Bethany Beach, Delaware, thanks to my niece's husband John. The game is huge in Ohio, but John is from Maryland and lives in North Carolina so I still don't know how it ended up catching his fancy. I don't argue about these kinds of things though.

John is more like a Shea than most of my blood relatives, so he knew that we would enjoy a game that required no athletic ability, allowed players to remain stationary for almost the entire time and gave us the opportunity to drink a beer while playing.

They should just call the game Shea.

That year, things started off with some friendly games after we sat on our fat asses all day on the beach. By the end of the week, we had organized a family tournament with brackets and even a few side bets. Those who chose not to play or lost in early rounds sat on the sidelines or on the deck of the closest house and "cheered" on the remaining players.

People would stop and watch us play. I kept looking for a news van to show up and record our march towards cornhole history, but they must have had trouble understanding the directions.

That taste was all we needed. We will play the third Bethany Beanbag Classic later this summer. We have played two nighttime tournaments at our annual Christmas Eve gathering, using all sorts of strangely-rigged lights to see the boards and keep an eye on our drinks. We call the gathering "Cornholey Night."

My nephew Pat had maintained a stronghold over the family events - there was a one-time Thanksgiving event in 2005 - with wins in the first three competitions. He even won with my wife as his partner during the first Cornholey Night.

John and I put an end to that last year, beating Pat and my niece Kerry in Bethany. We even got championship belts, which I think someone found at the dollar store. I don't care where they came from. I will display it proudly as I rise to cornhole greatness.

Of course, any good championship needs a little controversy. There were two sets of beanbags used during the tournament. The lighter set favored our opponents. We dominated with the heavier set. After we split the first two games of the best-of-three finals, we had to decide what bags to use for the rubber match. I desperately wanted to use the heavier bags, even though they had Yankee logos all over them. Anyways, we ended up flipping a coin, and the finals proceeded with the heavy bags. Game, set, match. We won the belts. I finally felt complete.

I had a great chance to cement myself in cornhole lore at Christmas with Kerry - a Division I athlete - as my partner, but we lost in the first round in possibly the biggest upset in cornhole history. I'm talking a 16 beating a 1 kind of upset.

Lucky for me, Santa left cornhole boards at my house the next day, and I have been training furiously. I even got special Elvis-themed bags to inspire me as I prepared to redeem myself.

So I have been faithfully dragging the boards out every day and practicing my technique. I have been watching video tapes of old competitions to discover flaws in my form. I have put myself on a special diet so I can be at my peak fitness.

Or maybe I've been drinking lots beer to make sure that I don't get too hammered to throw the bags if I make it to the finals. The sacrifices I make for my sport. Look for me on ESPN someday. If they showed Magic the Gathering once, they have to show cornhole eventually.

Brian Shea is probably enjoying a beer in his basement right now. You can contact him at columns@regularguycolumn.com.