Win a title while holding a beer

Saturday's "2010 Winter Cornhole Classic" in Addison might be called the "2010 Super Bowl of Cornholing" if NFL litigators were as lax about their "Super Bowl" copyright as NHL lawyers are about "Winter Classic."

But in Cornholing, names don't matter.

Players can't even agree on the name of the game they play. Many call it Cornhole. Others call it Bags, Corn Toss, Bean Toss, Bean Bag, Baggo or Soft Shoes. White Sox fans call it nothing more than "A Way to Pass Time in the U.S. Cellular Parking Lot While You Eat and Drink and Wait for the Ballgame to Begin."

While it might not be the most exciting spectator sport, "it's probably as good as curling," says Mike Whitton, president and founder of the American Cornhole Association, who adds that he'd love to see Cornholing in the Olympics or even on ESPN2. "We have over 30,000 active members with tournaments (more than 40 a month) in every state except, I think, North Dakota."

Whitton figures manufacturers make hundreds of thousands of dollars off the sport each year. The ACA publishes rules.

"Our number one rule," Whitton says, "is have fun."

Cornhole's origins are vague. Most experts say it was invented by "my grandpa." Some say it was developed on the West Side of Cincinnati. Others say the game was born in Illinois or Kentucky. A few say the Germans invented the game in the 15th Century.

I suspect it goes back further considering the rules are no more complicated than "Pick up something that fits in your hand and see if you can toss it into a nearby hole." I see some pre-Columbian Aztec performing a human sacrifice, tossing the heart into a ceremonial vessel lined with grain and immediately inviting fellow executioners to a game of Maizehole.

The ease of the game is one of the reasons Cornhole remains a staple for tailgaters and summer block parties. It can be played anywhere and is open to all.

"A little kid can beat a muscular guy," says George Shahwan, owner of the Pyramid Club restaurant and sports bar, 236 W. Lake St. in Addison, the site of Saturday's tournament. "Everybody can play it because it's just a toss of the bag."

What other sport can pit a man against a woman, a wheelchair athlete against a non-wheelchair athlete, a preschooler against a nursing home resident? (Note: Even though Cornhole is open to everyone, it does seem to be dominated by white folks. The NHL looks like an Operation PUSH meeting compared to Cornhole games.)

There is another characteristic of the sport.

"You don't have to be fit and trim," Shahwan notes.

You can be fat and still shoot a decent game of pool. You can be fat and drunk and still bowl a strike. You can be fat and drunk and poorly dressed and still hustle money on a golf course. But all those games at least require you to set down your beer when it's your turn to play. In Cornhole, you can make a perfect toss while holding one beer in your non-throwing hand and your date's open beer can in your shirt pocket.

The ability to drink while playing makes the game a natural for the Pyramid Club, which always has four sets of plywood bases and bags available free to customers who want to play "Bean Bags." While the bars' 18 professional pool tables are expensive and need to be maintained, Cornhole "is a cheap investment," Shahwan says. Cornholers mirror that laissez-faire philosophy.

"There's not a lot of practicing. The majority of them just want to have fun," Shahwan says. "They are not sore losers, like in pool. No, it's just for fun. You never see arguments or anything like that."

Registration, $25 a person, starts at 10 a.m. (see www.wintercornholeclassic.com for details). Play begins at noon with $1,350 in prize money to be awarded.

"When we did it last year, we had 200 people," says Shahwan.

In the spirit of Cornholing, none of us needs to know, or remember, who won.