Cornhole

After 22 years, my family’s annual trek to the beach has gained a certain kind of routine.

My oldest sisters head down to the beach early to set out a cadre of chairs so we can reserve precious space on the sand.

One night, we meet at the boardwalk in Rehoboth Beach to all get on the bumper cars together and take out a year’s worth of frustrations.

And we all repair to our favorite games in the arcade most nights – a few on skeeball, a few on a game we have dubbed “Lucky Duck” and the rest scattered amongst claw machines and other games to entertain the younger set.

The two years before this trip, something else has helped maintain normalcy during beach week. I won the annual cornhole tournament those years along with John, my niece’s husband.

We looked to put together an unprecedented three-peat this year. I felt so confident, I even left my championship belt back in Hanover.

Either that or I’m absent-minded and didn’t even think about packing it. Take your choice.

As a younger man, I had a decent athletic career. I was a pretty good wrestler in high school and managed to compete all four years in college with a record near .500. Since then, I haven’t done so much. Sure, I had some success coaching in Maryland, but left that all behind six years ago.

The tables turned a few weeks ago on vacation. I returned to my championship form.

Not in wrestling though. This time, I conquered cornhole.