While athletes of the XXX London England 2012 Summer Olympics displayed world-class skill in beach volleyball, fencing and judo, some of our friends and family members launched gold and blue beanbags off to boxy wooden targets.

Yep, we were playing cornhole. I must have thrown 100 of those things and only two went into the hole. I’ll be feeling my agony of defeat in the morning.

I’m not really good at games and my competitive spirit in that regard is pretty much non-existent.

It’s not that I haven’t tried over the years.

One of my first attempts was in junior high during homeroom intramural basketball. In my snap-up cornflower blue jumpsuit, tube socks and sneakers, I accomplished my first break-away and made a beeline for the basket. The crowd was roaring. I was about to score and this was my minute to shine. But I soon realized what all the noise was about: I was heading for the wrong basket! Oh well, I probably wouldn’t have made the shot anyway. I’m sure I was mortified then, but it’s a pretty funny story now. Just ask my kids.

It was a few years later when a bunch of family members chose teams for an impromptu softball game on my grandparents’ farm. Although I would have rather been on the porch swing eating ice cream, I decided to be a sport and join in. I’m not sure whose idea it was for me to  be pitcher, but I’m sure it had something to do with my team doubting my ability to play any other position. Did I get the ball across the plate? At least once. My uncle returned the pitch straight to my throat and in a flash, my softball debut was marked with a circular memento of black and blue.

That sport I stuck with. For years at church camp, I’d half-heartedly sign up for the annual camper/staff game. I’m convinced now it was because I wanted to wear the ball hat and cool black lines under my eyes. But I only looked the part until I swung the bat. And that poor display of athleticism was repeated over and over - and over again. Our good-hearted home plate umpire wasn’t calling them like he saw them. He was faithful that I would eventually get a hit and perhaps redeem my strike-out reputation. But he could only get away with calling so many balls.

Golf was my next attempt. My husband played regularly at the time and would come home from the course talking about what good swings these women golfers had. Surely to goodness I could do that. And this would be a great activity we could do together. (I’d show those golfer gals.) I wasn’t particularly excited about the attire for this game, but I slipped into my collared polo just the same. Well, I’m here to tell you that I could have teed off at the green and still been putting till the cows came home. Another sport down in history – check!

My husband says some have it and some don’t. In my wiser years, I’ve decided that I certainly fit the latter description.

I’m much more suited for games like moonlight madness synchronized swimming, poolside balloon popping and trampoline animal charades.

Offer a gold medal in those events and I’ll show you a tough act to follow.
 

So, Who Are the QBs in the Big 12 This Year?

by John Antonik

From Prom Gallery Olivia Hrko and date