Today, my 15 year daughter asked if I invited anyone over the holiday stating that she has cornhole. She reminded me she received it from a good friend as a birthday gift a few years ago. I made a mental note about Ella’s cornhole and went out for a long run. After I hit the acceptable number of miles, my thoughts returned to Ella’s offer for my friends to play with her game and it didn’t sound right as I rolled this around in my mind.
It seems cornhole was created in 1883 and was put into the same category as the game of horseshoes, but cornhole was a game that could be played indoors or on the lawn. The name “cornhole” always perplexed me. Frankly, the name sounds dirty to me, and I can’t quite explain why. It seems that in the day and age of primitive plumbing when outhouses were being used it is said that people used dried corn cobs for toilet paper. Using corn cobs as a toilet paper substitute by itself isn’t dirty or depraved. It does confuse me as to why anyone would look at a dried corn cob and think, “Hey, I could totally wipe my butt with this!” If corn cobs were really a good T.P. alterative, I am confused why this was not brought up as a healthy alternative to solving the toilet paper shortage during the Covid-19 shenanigans.
Getting back to the game, I didn’t understand the beanbags that are thrown during the game were filled with actual corn at one time. Feeling naïve, I wonder if the beanbags in the games sold today are still filled with corn. I have never cut a beanbag open. However, knowing this now, the name finally makes much more literal sense and I will forever speak it like a Neanderthal when saying it out loud.
Regardless of the cornhole research above, somewhere along the way society has taken this word for a ride down a path that makes me uncomfortable or maybe I watched way too much Beavis and Butt-Head. When I called friends to ask what they might be up to for the holiday evening. I realized I was uncomfortable mentioning Ella’s cornhole and how she was offering it up for all interested to play with. I realize I am not interested in anyone coming over to my house to play with Ella’s cornhole, ever. If it were up to me, Ella’s cornhole will remain in the box in her closet until she is at least 21 or 25, I haven’t decided yet.