The Winter Olympics just finished in February 2022, with classic events like Curling, and new sports like Women’s Monobob, which sounds like it has something to do with cutting your own hair. The 2020 Summer Olympics didn’t happen until July 2021, a postponement due to the Covid pandemic. With two Olympics so recently completed, one could argue there’s a bit of momentum in favor of continuing with more major competitive events. One could also point out that such high-stakes competitons can be exhausting for both athletes and viewers. Which brings me to the subject of this column: the low-key, chillaxxed events of the Spring Games.
The Spring Games are all of those “sports” that sort of resemble each other, gentle aim-centric endeavors meant to be played in backyards and driveways rather than stadiums and arenas. Even among well-loved backyard games, many that I enjoy don’t merit inclusion in the Spring Games: wiffleball, volleyball, even badminton, to name just a few. These games put the “active” in activities: they drive the production of perspiration and don’t allow a drink to be held while playing, which violates the two defining, common requirements of Spring Games events. Although I envision the Spring Games as an all-day, multi-sport event, I wondered which games would merit inclusion? And which Spring Game is best?
Quoits, once popular across America in backyards as well as spelling bees, is now played mostly in New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania. The USQA (United States Quoiting Association) notes the existence of “Trenton Style Quoits,” which differs from Traditional and Slate-Board varieties. Quoits, and its descendant, Horsehoes, are classic Spring Games.
There is, however, a new kid in town, obnoxious in its unyielding ubiquity—Cornhole. Yet despite its recent rise in popularity, Cornhole has a long history. In 1883, an inventor who wanted to enjoy a quoit-style game indoors created a setup with a slanted board, and a hole into which participants would attempt to throw bean bags from a distance. A mass-marketed version of the game was called “Faba Baga,” and variations were later known as “Bean-Bag Bull’s Eye,” “Bags,” “Baggo,” and of course, the best-known version today, “Cornhole.”
With so many past variations on the art of tossing a bean bag, I must pause to voice my support for a nearly forgotten game from my childhood: Toss Across, which requires players to throw beanbags and flip three-sided plastic blocks from X to O or blank, in order to get three Xs or Os in a row and block their opponents from doing the same. Being successful at Toss Across requires accuracy, luck, and even a bit of strategy. Tic-tac-toe isn’t exactly playing chess, but after a few beers, and combined with a need for steady hand-eye coordination, its simple complexity—or complex simplicity, if you prefer—can be just enough of a mental challenge to differentiate it from some of the other Spring Games. Toss Across offers a hint of sophistication among a collection of slothful sports for simpletons.
In recent years, we’ve seen the introductions of Bean Bag Bucketz, BulziBucket, and CanJam (also called “Discflect,” in which one person throws a frisbee while a partner attempts to knock the frisbee into a can). All of these qualify for the Spring Games because of their limited movement requirements and drink-friendly play. There’s also Ladder Toss, in which there is, unfortunately, no tossing of ladders. The game, which does at least involve throwing bolas at ladders, is also known as Ladder Golf, Monkey Ball, Goofy Balls, or, my favorite, Hillbilly Golf. Grassroots games develop multiple monikers.
Not every “lawn game” makes the cut. Croquet, a foreign import that always seems like it should be more fun than it is, is one such reject. With croquets and roquets and lots of bright colors, there’s plenty to like, but the game’s nemesis is the untrimmed or otherwise uncooperative lawn, which can make it difficult to hit the ball a long distance. And anything that even suggests that some yard work needs to be done does not qualify for the Spring Games.
Lawn Bowling likewise requires well-maintained grass, maintenance that would take time away from enjoying the Spring Games. So it’s out. Tetherball not only doesn’t allow a drink to be held, it also contains an implicit guarantee that at least one person will get hurt during play. Lawn Darts were so dangerous they were banned, though a safer, weighted-missle version of the game is still sold today.
Bocce involves tossing around two pound balls, which means it’s only 1/4 to 1/8 as demanding as bowling (based on the standard weights of bowling balls). Lest ye worry about not having a Bocce court handy, Anywhere Bocce (or Backyard Bocce, or World Bocce) makes the terrain—whatever it may be—part of the game. Throw the pallino (the small white ball) wherever the heck you feel like it, then read the lay of the landscape—roots, bare patches, thick grass, rocks, concrete, or asphalt—and let the game develop as it will.
Many indoor games have been adapted to the outdoors, usually by making them bigger, as if tailored for an oversized relative who doesn’t quite fit inside the house. There are Giant Connect Four games, Giant Checkers and Tic-Tac-Toe, Giant Yahtzee (“Yardzee”), and even Giant Yard Pong, a.k.a. Giant Beer Pong, to give your young children a head start on the college experience. These all fail to qualify as Spring Games, because of their complete abandonment of creativity and initiative—an outdoor game should be uniquely outdoorsy. Likewise, if an outdoor game can be played indoors without any real change in the experience—like, say, pretty much any bean-bag game—it’s not a truly great Spring Game.
Great or not, good weather and longer days means the Spring Games have arrived. In the same way that golf is often recommended as a recreational activity that can aid business or career networking, familiarity with lawn games is all but essential to modern suburban social interaction. Mastery of Spring Games promises a level of local celebrity, respect, and adoration only achieved by the finest backyard burger-makers and barbecuers.
A quote from the June 22, 1885 issue of the Washington Evening Star bemoaned the spoiling of baseball and tennis as recreational pastimes, and claimed that “The gentle game of “bean-bags” seems to be about the only one which is able to withstand the tendency of the age towards ‘championships,’ ‘science’ and other mischievous developments.”
It’s a good bet, then, that the writer would be sorry to see
the U.S. Cornhole Championships. The current champ is nicknamed “The Robot,” which gives some idea of the raw excitement to be witnessed at such an event. There are National Championships for Wiffleball, Horseshoes, Quoits, Discflect, Bocce, and other games mentioned in this column, many won by “athletes” with substantial beer bellies. Still, what these events lack in pure physical exertion, they make up for with intensity—the participants are extremely committed to their sports, celebrating successes with high fives, chest-bumping, and outlandish vocal displays that wouldn’t be out of place on a Major League Baseball or NFL field. With sponsors and prize money involved, I suppose one must at least acknowledge these people as pros.
Sports, and near-sports, have whatever significance we give them, so it’s not completely fair to rain on anyone’s Cornhole parade, whether amateur or professional. But I agree with that long-ago writer’s sentiment; when it comes to the Spring Games, I enjoy the novelty of a new game, rather than the “science”—that is, mastering the minutiae—of an established one. Thus, I prefer the different-every-time aspect of “Anywhere Bocce,” over play on a regulation size court. It’s my pick for best Spring Game, and as an added bonus, I don’t think anyone will be looking to “professionalize” it anytime soon. But who knows, it could become a new national pastime—at least for the lazy people.
Peter Dabbene’s website is peterdabbene.com. His latest work, “Suburban Complaint #1988: Skunked” can be read at themetaworker.com. His book Complex Simplicity collects the first 101 editions of this column, along with essays and material published elsewhere. It is now available at Amazon or Lulu.com for $25 (print) or $4.99 (ebook).
,
