Six hours into the doubles tournament of the Third Annual New York State Cornhole Championship in Liverpool's Holiday Inn ballroom, title sponsor Jim Willey stepped out from under the blue tailgating tent that served as event headquarters and grabs a microphone.
Willey, a towering man with broad shoulders who wears a custom T-shirt with his name across the back, begins to speak. The deafening melody of thudding beanbags fades as more than 40 cornhole players turn toward him.
“It’s come to our attention that there is still some cheating happening,” Willey says to the crowd.
His pleasant yet commanding voice travels across the room loud and excited, thanks to the countless cornhole games he’s played and the Bloody Marys he’s consumed in the past 12 hours.
“This is not high school. Give us the best game you’ve got.”
Willey’s warning, the second of the night, speaks against “sandbagging,” an illegal cornhole offense committed when teams intentionally play beneath their ability. This act, says Central New York Cornhole President Shayne Coyne, allows teams to earn a spot in a lower-level bracket and to improve their chances of winning some of tournament’s $1,000 payout.
Coyne, the tournament’s host, has never encountered this before and attributes the problem to a higher caliber of players entering his tournament from six different states. But that doesn’t deter his commitment to squashing it.
“Players will intentionally not throw like they usually throw, not be in the heat of the moment,” Coyne says. “I don’t want it to take away from everyone who's worked their butt off to get here.”
Cornhole, a regular fixture of backyards and tailgates, is shedding its folksy, low-key reputation, attracting more players, sponsors, and leagues, and growing into a legitimate professional sport.
While it may seem simple, this beanbag-toss style game attracts players that are as competitive as those who kick soccer balls or dribble basketballs as well as the obsessive participants seen in other unique sports such as table tennis, darts and horseshoes.
Thanks to its growing popularity, the sport now features three national and countless local leagues across the country. Since 2005, one national group, the American Cornhole Organization (ACO), has increased from 28 certified officials (people who run their own local cornhole leagues) to more than 100.
ACO president Frank Geers says the sport attracts an international audience too, as countries ranging from Canada to South Africa have started playing under ACO rules this past year.
Like most sports, cornhole earned its name from the particulars of the game, which involve throwing (or “pitching”) a bag, historically filled with corn, into a hole in a slanted board.
The game's existences has been traced back to 14th century Germany, Jim Willey says one Wednesday night, sitting at a bar in the lower-level of the VFW in Liverpool and waiting for his turn to play in the CNY Cornhole weekly league.
Every week Willey comes to the league as not only a player, but a businessman. Nursing a Corona and lime, he proudly lists the line of cornhole products he builds and sells himself — boards with hand-painted logos, resin bags that come in 682 different colors, full-court LED lighting systems, and a special cornhole set for older players.
When he started his company, American Glory Cornhole, in 2014, he spent hours on Google and in libraries researching the history of the sport.
“Cornhole is a very, very young sport in regards to coming to the United States,” he says, explaining that people brought the game to America around 1995.
Since then, the game has expanded from Ohio, the “cornhole capital,” to all 50 states. It was even added to the list of potential Olympic sports in early 2016.
Willey says American Glory Cornhole sales “nearly have quadrupled," and he now sends out about 600 bags a week including international orders.
And a passion for cornhole has even improved Willey's own game. He admits he “may not be the best in the building,” but “can give the best in the building a run for their money.”
The independent CNY Cornhole League that includes 32 teams with names such as Deez Nutsacks, Bagnificient and Urban Sombrero saw an increase from its prior cap of 24 teams.
The small VFW reception room is packed with six cornhole courts, three for the experienced “A” division players, and three for the “B,” or less experienced, division. Throughout the night, which can go as late as 10:30 p.m., music ranging from top 10 pop hits to classic rock blasts from a large orange-and-black speaker system, courtesy of Coyne’s iPod on shuffle. The bar downstairs provides players like Willey a place to wait and socialize between matches.
CNY Cornhole follows the basic rules and regulations of the ACO, but does not affiliate with any of the three national cornhole leagues – the ACO, the American Cornhole Association (ACA), or the American Cornhole League (ACL).
Each national league is a bit different. The ACA, run by Michael Whitton, stands apart as the only league requiring corn-filled bags and not the more modern resin-filled. The league doesn’t host tournaments of its own, instead allowing any of its more than 30,000 members to hold officially sanctioned tournaments. Whitton, who grew up playing cornhole games with his family, recently launched a new website to track members’ rankings and statistics.
The ACO, the oldest and largest league, hosts the “World Championship” each summer, in addition to regional and “majors” tournaments throughout the year. Geers, who has run the league full time for 10 years, established his own cornhole podcast called TACO: Talking American Cornhole Organization, created cornhole jerseys, nd has met with executives at different sports-media companies about making cornhole marketable. So far he’s successfully gotten the sport mentioned in media outlets such as ESPN’s Sportscenter, The Wall Street Journal, and Sports Illustrated.
His approach, however, ruffles some who believe Geers is creating a sense of exclusivity, which they find antithetical to the sports’ all-embracing vibe.
Adam Hissner, a player from Ohio who placed second in the New York State Championship singles tournament, says he prefers playing with the newest league, the ACL, because he can make more money at lower level tournaments.
Stacey Moore runs the ACL, which began officially in late 2015, developing out of the “American Tailgating League.” Moore says he saw cornhole “standing out as a competitive sport more and more,” and in July 2016, he held the first “Championships of Bags,” a tournament in Las Vegas with $50,000 in payout. The tournament also marked the first broadcast of cornhole on television; Moore negotiated and landed some of the matches on ESPN 3.
“If you’re going to grow cornhole as a sport, broadcast is going to be a key component,” he says.
Geers agrees on the importance of broadcast and also predicts the sport will continue to expand.
“I said it 11 years ago, and people are still laughing at me, but I could see cornhole one day being the most played game on the planet and the world’s biggest sport,” Geers says, his voice taking on a serious tone. “It’s got a long, long way to go, but I think cornhole will someday be bigger than soccer.”
With a premise as basic as throwing beanbags at a hole, it may seem unlikely that cornhole could reach this type of status and popularity. However, some outside the sport point to factors that could contribute to its growth and success.
Dennis Deninger, a former ESPN production executive and author of Sports on Television: The How and Why Behind What You See, says a game must meet certain requirements to cross into “sport” status such as having rules, administrators, and leagues.
“Sports are democratic,” Deninger says, “in that if you are really good at them, regardless of where you grow up or what your social strata was, you can play.” So far, cornhole seems to be meeting most of these criteria.
While the sport does require a level of hand-eye coordination, mental capacity, and stamina -– some tournaments last for nearly 14 hours, multiple days in a row –- it welcomes all-comers. And Geers likes to point out that all of those people play together.
“We have a tournament that determines who the best player in the world is,” he says. “No matter what their age is, no matter what their sex is, no matter what their color is.”
Player Bobby Morris Jr. of North Carolina, winner of both the blind draw and the doubles tournaments at the 2016 New York State Championship, proves this at the age of 12. Morris, who began playing three years ago, has won thousands of dollars playing in ACO, ACL and independent tournaments across the country and admits he uses his winnings to buy expensive tennis shoes.
At the Liverpool tournament, he wears a grey Texas cornhole shirt, black sweat pants, and all-black, high-top basketball shoes. He pin-wheels his arm back before throwing each bag and describes his winning technique as “throw straight.” His parents sit nearby, cheering him on as if watching a Little League game, yelling “Go Bobby” and offering condolences when he misses three bags in a row.
While the sport attracts more men than women, the two genders play together as well. One of the day’s most heated matches includes Jenn Horvath, a young woman in her early 30s with brown hair, front bangs and a wide smile, who has played professionally with her father since 2012.
“I had no idea this was even a thing,” Horvath says, following a match lasting nearly an hour. “I don’t take it as seriously as some other people."
Yet Willey labels her as “one of the, if not the, best players in the state.” As Horvath throws, spectators analyze her technique.
“She’s got a step with a bit more of a flick,” one onlooker comments to another, beer in hand.
The sport’s laid-back attitude also creates a sense of comradery and friendship among players, an aspect of the game that nearly every participant sites as his or her favorite part.
The tournament’s singles winner, Jamie Graham, an 18 year old with a football player’s build, a black baseball hat, and a soft, low voice, says that while he enjoys the money he makes, he plays for the people. Traveling from North Carolina, he met a lot of new people at this New York tournament.
“You get to meet them, you get to have fun with them,” Graham says in his Southern drawl. “I can’t drink, but I can still have fun.”
The fun of making connections can be partially attributed to Facebook, a tool that has helped strengthen and expand the cornhole circuit. The CNY Cornhole page, for example, features more than 1,000 likes. Coyne posts results from the weekly league as well as photos and live updates on tournaments such as this one.
By nearly 11:30 p.m., the New York State doubles tournament powers into its eighth hour. Willey prepares for the league’s inaugural after-party, sponsored by Corona, a celebration complete with “Connect Four, Chinese checkers, and going hard,” he says, pumping his fist.
Throughout the day he’d collected $10 from those interested in attending, handing them each a wristband and a commemorative ticket listing the event details featured over a photo of a Corona bottle on the beach.
One floor above the ballroom, in Suite 139, he awaits the players and fans. But in the corner, set up and ready for play, sits a game of beer pong.
A bright red, white, and blue logo covers the center of the table. A logo that, at first glance, resembles the ACO’s. But it belongs to another unique, lesser-known sport.
“Oh yeah,” Willey says, gesturing toward the table. “Professional beer pong. That’s a thing.”
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