In the mid-1990’s Brett Favre and the Packers were the biggest thing in football. In those years Green Bay was a magical place to be. Everyone in the city felt like an integral part of the team. The Packers were winning, therefore we were all winners.
That being said, the athletic prowess on display atop the observation deck of the Lake Summit apartment building on the east side of Milwaukee last Saturday was unrivaled by anything in sport. Cornholers came from far and wide to compete in the High Altitude Major Milwaukee Showdown. The field of this great tournament consisted of many lawyers, Russian pimps, Koreans, sexual deviants, and other members of the WCA (Wisconsin Cornhole Association).
The brainchild of one Gordon Grenada, the group has grown from a small number of dope fiends to become an integral part of the sports lexicon of this great state. Many freaky looking strangers now gather at backwoods campsites and laundromats several weekends per summer and put politics aside only to throw bean bags, “work their magic”, and put “corn in the hole,” all while getting strutting drunk and trying to avoid arrest.
Last weeks event was the first of its kind that this writer had participated in, but I can certainly assure you it won’t be the last. I hosted the founder and several others at my home the night before for some pre-competition festivities and drunken revelry.
The weather Saturday varied not only hour to hour but minute to minute at some points, alternating between warm summer sun and cool autumn rain. One thing that didn’t vary anywhere near as much was the mood of the day. Spirits were consistently high atop the mini-skyscraper from start to finish. The only worry came about when a fat little hairlip named Greenberger showed up mumbling about an old bull dyke being stabbed downstairs by a gang of neo-nazis who were on their way to Planned Parenthood to go dumpster diving. When the accuracy of his report was challenged by a senior member of the WCA he slunk away whispering something about Dill Pickle Potato chips and it was never mentioned again.
My partner and I achieved a record of 1-2 in the doubles tournament and by the time my name was called in the second round of the singles tournament I was forced to forfeit on the grounds of acute intoxication. Although I tossed no more beanbags that night, I did continue drinking for several more hours, for that is a sport at which I shine.
Yep folks, it is now a stone cold fact. Mr. Grenada’s WCA will continue to grow for many years to come and much like the citizens of Green Bay in the mid-1990s, all those associated will continue to feel like winners.
