It happens all the time. A group of friends or siblings are sitting around, puffing out their chests and exchanging trash talk over who would win some ridiculous competition. Most of the time, everyone involved has a laugh before moving to another topic. Other times, it leads to YouTube infamy, as a grainy camera phone captures a couple of guys trying to settle the bet and embarrassing themselves.

Once, it spawned a world championship competition in which thousands of participants utilize technology which runs the gamut from medieval to space-aged in order to determine who can propel a pumpkin the farthest.

[+] Enlarge Toby Mergler for ESPN.com Here's a look at the Punkin Chunking winners trophy.

Let's start from the beginning. The history of World Championship Punkin Chunkin is full of colorful characters, but none are more legendary than Bill Thompson, Don Pepper, Trey Melson and John Ellsworth, the gentlemen credited with starting it all. The four friends were sitting around Ellsworth's blacksmith shop one late October afternoon, talking trash about an anvil-throwing contest the four had just had. They decided a new game was needed and somehow decided to see who could build a machine that could launch a pumpkin the greatest distance.

These men of action agreed to meet on the first Saturday after Halloween, when pumpkins would be plentiful and cheap, to carry out the contest. So on Nov. 1, 1986, they gathered in a field in Sussex County, Del., armed with two spring-powered catapults, a large slingshot and, needless to say, alcohol. Thompson and Melson won with a throw of 178 feet. Everyone who attended was hooked. Word spread. Before you knew it, the pumpkin-launching arms race was on.

Twenty-three years later, "The Chunk," as it's affectionately known, is no longer just about blasting pumpkins into the atmosphere. It's the biggest party in Delaware, a three-day event attended by upwards of 70,000 people. It's a scene that would rival any college football tailgate in the country, and Page 2 dispatched me to cover this year's event.

As I walked through the spectators area, the smell of charring meat and the the sound of excited chatter hung in the air. Drinking games such as cornhole and beer pong were going full force. A few guys were playing a game they called "redneck horseshoes," using detached toilet seats and a plunger. It's much more difficult than it sounds. You'd be surprised how much the wind can alter the trajectory of a toilet seat.

Eventually, I made my way to the competition, where devices are divided into classes, kind of like boxing. But instead of being separated by weight, they are arranged by design, such as air cannons (the most powerful), catapults (the originals), centrifugals (the coolest to watch) and trebuchets (the most impressive). There are also subdivisions for youth teams.

In all, 109 devices were entered into the 2009 competition. On each of the three days, each machine got one throw -- so a year of work and anticipation boils down to about 10 total minutes. The farthest throw wins, and the pumpkin can not explode when it's released (such a result is known as a "pie in the sky").

[+] Enlarge Toby Mergler for ESPN.com "Feel the Steel" is thought to be the only NFL-themed pumpkin cannon in the world.

As one scans the vast line of machines, it's immediately clear which one is about to throw. A centrifugal machine known as Inertia II, which looks like a giant erector set, begins slowly shaking. A wire attached to the top begins swinging around in a circle, gradually at first but methodically picking up steam. Spectators are rotating their necks in unison, following the path of the wire. Suddenly, a white speck enters the sky, sailing off in a majestic arc down the field as a collective gasp is released. After a split second, a raucous round of applause breaks out.

This is Punkin Chunkin.

I later found out Inertia II had released its pumpkin (an African variety which is denser than the typical orange ones) at a point 84 feet above the ground. It tossed the pumpkin 1,783 feet, roughly the margin of error of a JaMarcus Russell throw.

After a few more centrifugal machines took their turns, it was time for the heavy artillery -- air cannons. While centrifugal machines create buzz through visual splendor and showmanship, air cannons are all about raw power. Their design evokes military weaponry, like tanks, but with much longer barrels. They look like something The Joker would roll out to terrorize Gotham.

When an eight- to 10-pound pumpkin exits the 100-foot-long barrel of an air cannon, it's traveling at 500 miles per hour, or 733 feet per second, and the force on the pumpkin is 3.8 G's, according to Bob Kotowski, author of "Pie in the Sky, the Authorized History of Punkin Chunkin'." It's enough power for a pumpkin to rip clean through a truck parked several hundred yards away. That's not hyperbole (more on that later).

There is an elite club of cannons which have shot a pumpkin more than 4,000 feet. But their owners aren't satisfied yet. They all have one goal: to launch a pumpkin a full mile. It's a mythical barrier among the serious chunkers, one discussed with the same reverence once held for the four-minute mile. "Big 10 Inch Team" had the best mark of this year's competition with a throw of 4,162 feet.

To use a boxing analogy, centrifugals are the technically sound lightweights who impress with their skill and precision. Cannons are the heavyweights. There's no dancing -- just a quick knockout punch. After the pumpkins are loaded in, a horn blast fills the air, followed by a sharp hiss of gas and the distinctive thump of a gourd being shot down the field like a bat out of hell.

The crowd oohs and aahs and tries to follow the flight of the projectile, but if you don't spot it coming out of the barrel, forget it. You can't pick up something moving that fast if you don't see it immediately. But you usually can see the explosion when it hits the ground. It's a satisfyingly violent exclamation point on an otherwise graceful flight.

Punkin Chunkin also sponsors a cooking contest, featuring pumpkin delicacies such as chocolate chip pumpkin bread, pumpkin tiramisu, pumpkin ale and pumpkin braised rabbit.

The Punkin Chunkin festival is a weird combination of self-identified engineering geeks, families and partiers. It's Spring Break meets elementary school science fair.

There is also a Ferris wheel, carnival games, bumper cars, bands and the Miss Punkin Chunkin pageant. This year's event also played host to a wedding. After the ceremony, the emcee called for single ladies to come catch the bouquet, which was fired out of a mini air cannon.

Back to the competition. A machine called "Yankee Siege" headlines the trebuchets, and for good reason. It is a near-replica of those used in wars throughout Europe in the Middle Ages, though it looked like something out of "Lord of the Rings." It was situated on wheels twice as tall as a man and featured a long arm capable of hurling boulders hundreds of yards into oncoming armies. Alternatively, it can throw a baby grand piano 200 feet in the air and 100 feet away.

[+] Enlarge Toby Mergler for ESPN.com This cannon runs on Betty Boop power.

Yankee Siege works using brute force. It applies 12,000 pounds of counterweight to power projectiles, and despite the fact that it only harnesses about 7 percent of the total energy generated, it still throws pumpkins farther than any trebuchet ever, according to owner Steve Seigars. Take that, Feudal England! Yankee Siege broke the 2,000-foot barrier this year, a new trebuchet record.

After every machine had its turn, all machines were allowed to fire as much as they wanted in a gigantic free-for-all. Against a setting sun, the chaos began and I was able to fire a few of these machines myself.

"Feel the Steel," a Pittsburgh Steelers-themed air cannon owned by Bob Phassieu, is my first opportunity. I pull the rope which serves as the triggering mechanism, and with the familiar hiss and thump, the pumpkin goes shooting skyward, straight and true toward the horizon. Even though I had nothing to do with it, the sensation of controlling that kind of raw power was intoxicating.

Next, I move down the line to the bigger guns. These monstrous contraptions are trying to pelt an old moving van which has been parked in the middle of the field.

"Mack Daddy," an air cannon built by Allen Duckett, is positioned right in line with the truck. My first shot from this hulking machine sails way off to the right. My last shot one-hopped a foot short, and pumpkin bits splatter harmlessly against the tires.

Of course, the next shooter hit it dead center on the very next shot, ripping a glorious hole right through the truck. Teams continued taking turns blowing the truck to bits before heading off into the night. The party was just getting started, as fires roared, music blasted and beer flowed.

It's not unusual for Punkin Chunkin participants to help each other with parts and manpower when competitors have trouble with their machines. These people have a true passion and bond based on the simple desire to measure what they can achieve, even if it's something as seemingly silly as launching pumpkins.

While it may not technically be a sport, Punkin Chunkin is actually something better: a community.

Toby Mergler is a freelance writer based in Washington, D.C., who has previously written for MLB.com, Fanball and the Virginia Law Weekly. He can be reached at tobymergler@gmail.com.