Ballbags And Blow: Inside The Scandalous World Of The National Cornhole Championships

The year was 1981, and in the sex- and drug-fueled world of pro lawn sports, cornholers reigned supreme. The bad boys of the back yard hosted post-competition romps in which winners had to snort the innards of the winning bag (often a cocaine-limestone mix), played “anal” spin-the-bottle, and drag-raced stolen hotdog trucks. No doubt, being a “corn-dawg” was badass. But, as we discovered, the sport wasn’t all “hitting holes and crushing souls.”

We flew to Rock Hill, South Carolina, to take in the American Cornhole Association (ACA) championships and catch up with some of its erstwhile stars, Marty “Fink” Fink, Eddie “Horsesucker” Snorg, and Artie “All Anal” Calloway.

“It was wild,” said Fink, 63, winner of ACA’s Pro Singles category 1979-82. Fink wore a leather vest over a 1987 “Legends of the Hole” tour t-shirt. “We used to commandeer the penthouse at the Rock Hill Radisson and take shit up there like string-cheese suppositories and semi-sterile pythons. We used to feed the pythons medical anomalies until morning, also rocks, and nails we previously fucked.”

“The pressure, though,” said Snorg, 65. “It gets to you. One day you’re an 18-year-old hole-jockey in your parents’ backyard. The next day an agent knocks on your door and says, ‘Hey, wanna sling some bags for a cool million and a crippling heroin addiction?’ I mean, what are you supposed to do?”

“Pretty soon,” said Calloway, 61, “I couldn’t walk down the street without some dad wanting me to deflower his teenage daughter. One morning I woke up to an IV of cough syrup in my arm, a woman’s ass in my crotch, and a beanbag in my hand. I was about to win the Pro Doubles. That’s when I knew I had to hang up the bags — forever.”

The three continue to struggle with hep C, tetanus, and surprisingly fatal penis arthritis. When asked if it was worth it, they blurted out at the same time, “Definitely,” “Will you please repeat the question?” and “Is it happy-food-time, yet?”