Daven Peterson approaches the table of groceries like Jordan on the free throw line, eyeing the six-foot spread of items, marking the distance between each, repeating what he sees under his breath.

Bread. Eggs. Logical choices.

Syrup. Pickles. Chef Boyardee, two cans. A six-pack of Coke. A magazine.

The first rule of bagging — or at least bagging competitions — is never forget the magazine. People do. All the time. It’s a common pitfall in the world of competitive grocery bagging.

Obviously .

Heavy. Oddly shaped. Tiny. As his hands hover over the sacks' straps, feet planted like a tennis player readying to receive, his plan for how to Tetris together this motely crew of 35 “regularly purchased grocery products,” as the rules state, into three brand new reuseable bags is coming toge

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