The people yearn for community. Over the last year, an epidemic has overtaken Carleton’s campus: hacky sacking. From the frisbee players to the baseball players to the passersby that get looped in as they walk through the Anderson Atrium, it seems as if the people at Carleton can never stop hacking. And honestly, it’s a beautiful thing.
Instagram pages have sprung up to share the wildest clips: a nice stall on the toe of a Samba, a “keyhole” or a bicycle-kick save, for example. These moments are then shared for followers both on- and off-campus. The locations of these clips vary. Maybe they take place on the Mini Bald Spot or Evans Hall’s first lounge or even in the mountains on a study abroad program. The point is, hacky sacking can take place anywhere and can be for anyone.
The foot-juggling game was popularized in 1972 by John Stalberger and Mike Marshall. They were inspired by an Indigenous man who had introduced Marshall to the game in a military prison years prior. Throughout the early 70s, Stalberger and Marshall perfected the design of the hand-stitched bag and traveled around Oregon marketing it as a “Hacky Sack.”
Since then, the game has taken off. The goal of hacky sacking is pretty simple. You must attempt to keep the bag in the air by passing it to the rest of the circle for as long as possible without using your hands. Beginners aim to kick it with their feet, but more experienced “sackers” get more creative, using their chest, back, face and knees.
The game was most popular in the 1980s and 90s as hacky sacks became more mainstream across playgrounds and college campuses. When I was home this past spring break, I had expressed to my Generation X parents that this game had taken Carleton by storm. My dad dumbfoundedly responded, “No way. Hacky sacking is back?”
At Carleton, various terms and rules have been coined that makes the way each group plays unique. The basic objective of the game is to get everyone in the circle to touch the sack without using their hands. Sometimes it’s three or four players, but often the number of participants surges into the double digits. Some teams refer to each player touching it as a “hack,” while others argue that the proper label is a “sack.” These disagreements have escalated across campus as the game has become more popular and each friend group has continued to personalize the game further and further.
One of the rules that I love was one that developed throughout the frisbee community in order to promote players not feeling apologetic for mistakes. As my Syzygy-playing roommate informed me, if someone was playing in the hacky sack circle and they missed the sack and let out an “I’m sorry,” another player in the circle could pick it up and throw it at them as hard as they wanted to. This is called a “pelt.” She explained that herself and her friends wanted to encourage players to not feel a need to apologize: to them, that was inherently against the rules and the vibe of hacky sacking.
Another term that I learned and greatly enjoyed was a “quack.” Simply, it was a “quick hack.” I also liked their “meow” rule. If anyone in their circle hit the sack with their hand, they had to let out a loud “meow” to alert the rest of the group of their mistake. The reason that all of these terms and rules are so special and fun to call-out are because of the uniqueness that they have to the group of people behind them.
I also spoke with members from both the Carleton baseball and golf teams about the hacky sacking craze that has taken over their community as well. Their friend group runs the Instagram @fullsackers which is an example of one of the many pages that shares their craziest hacky sacking moments.
One of the main differences between the people that I interviewed is that my roommate and her friends “serve” the sack by tossing it straight to someone’s foot, in comparison to the other people that I talked to who throw it to someone’s chest. They argued that the latter makes it more inclusive for beginners and creates a low-pressure environment.
Some of the unique terminology from @fullsackers is “ping ping ping” which is what they say when they have a quick hack. This differs from my roommate who calls it a “quack.” In addition, they also call a bicycle-kick looking save “scorpion,” since it resembles a scorpion’s tail.
As mentioned, the term with the largest amount of debate is what it is called when everyone in the circle touches the sack. My roommate and her friends are determined it’s called a “hack,” which also seems to be what the broader world refers to as well. However, @fullsackers solely refer to it as a “sack,” demonstrating the diversity in the terminology that surrounds the game.
To answer my dad’s original question, hacky sacking isn’t just “back.” This phenomenon of the hacky sack returning isn’t just limited to one liberal arts school in Northfield, Minnesota; instead it has infiltrated middle school courtyards, parking lots before practice and countries across the world. My TikTok has been filled with accounts from Brazil to Australia to Delaware sharing their hacks (or maybe sacks), with ESPN reposting their favorites.
Simply put, there is an entire new generation and culture that has given new meaning to the game. Instead of moments limited to single friend groups in single locations, games are filmed, posted and accessible to thousands of people within the hacky sacking community.
