Today the Winter Olympics really get exciting. Sure, there have already been some heart-stopping moments in sports that require ex-athletes to painstakingly explain what is actually happening.
"Gee, Katrina, I think they forgot the nets."
"It's speedskating, Rob. Where they race around a track of ice."
"Oh of course, silly me. Well I sure hope Wutherspoon can land that double lutz."
That's right, it's the moment we've all been waiting for.
It's time for Canada's game.
Let's get curling!
In my childhood, television consisted of two channels (not a typo: two channels). We didn't have fourteen cartoon networks and seven hundred sports channels. No video on demand, no DVDs, just two pathetic, measely, crappy-ass Canadian television channels. On any give Saturday afternoon in February (if you were lucky) you might catch Maple Leaf wrestling, a hockey game, or if you really struck gold, Evel Knievel attempting to jump sixteen Greyhound buses and smashing all the bones that just healed from his last stunt.
More than likely you'd stumble into a smokey living room, still in your PJs, to find you dad watching (ugh) golf or (shoot me with a bazooka) curling.
As a child, televised curling was about as exciting as watching a black and white test pattern. At least the latter had a funny (and yet inexplicable) picture of an Mohawk chief (if you were born in the 1990s, Google television test pattern).
As I stood in my Batman jammies watching the entertainment equivalent of grass growing (only more boring) I made a pledge that I would NEVER, EVER waste my valuable viewing time watching golf or curling.
Forty-odd years later, I golf any chance I can get and sit through hours of golf coverage that is still (to the non-golfer) about as dry as an unsalted cracker left in the Mojave desert. So much for that.
The other half of my pledge remained in tact much longer, as I playfully mocked the sport that once sucked the life out of my Saturday afternoon television.
That is until I met the love of my life, (no, not golf), the incredible, caring, patient, beautiful woman who is now my wife. Now, you husbands know that marriage means more than a commitment to your spouse, it also means you are joining a larger family. The good news for me was that I was lucky enough to join an amazing family, who share similar values, sense of humour and also accept me as the lunkhead that I am.
I am particularly fortunate to have a mother in-law who is warm, friendly, hilariously funny and has a huge heart. I consider her to be my second mom.
She is, however, (gasp) a curler.
Now I knew I was in trouble. I was about to be outed as an unCanadian curling-hater. I had nightmares of being chased down a strip of ice by wild-eyed men in track suits weilding flaming brooms screaming "Hard! Hard!"
So what other choice did I have? I grudgingly parked myself in front of my big screen (knowing I had gabillion other channels to choose from) and sat through hours of the Scotties.
And what did I learn?
Psst, come closer...
I like it.
Just like the proverbial green eggs and ham, curling is something I should have tried years ago. Who knew?
It's got all the strategy and shot-making challenges of golf without ever having to worry about rain, crashing your cart in a trap or being smacked in the skull by an errant ball. Heck, you don't even need a cup holder, you just slide on up to the bar between ends and enjoy the cocktail of your choice. Magic.
I'm not quite a curling aficionado yet, owing to the fact that often I still need those experts to tell me what is going on, but I'm getting there. Fortunately I have a built-in expert in the family, which makes it that much more fun to watch.
Although, I do think the flaming brooms would make it more exciting.
Go Canada.
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