We dominated - absolutely dominated - the first 6 ends. We controlled the game even until skip rocks (my stones, the last two of each end) in the 7th end. And then I brain cramped and let the opposition back into the game. And I was furious with myself.
They had two scoring stones, behind a guard (non-scoring stones which protected them). No matter, we were up 5. So what did I do? I decided to try to tap one of our rocks into scoring position. I thought, we can tap ours up. It's there. And a little voice said, 'Run the guard'. Get it out of the way.
We can tap ours up, I thought as I went to throw my stone. The little voice said, run the guard.
I got down in the hack, where we throw stones from, and thought, we can tap ours up. The little voice insisted, run the guard.
I didn't run the guard. I tapped an opposition stone in so they could score three.
That's when I exploded at myself. All the way down the ice it was, Expletive it, Marty, you dumb expletive. Run the expletive guard, you stupid expletive. That's curling One-Zero-Expletive-One: run the expletive guard. That was chicken expletive, Marty, chicken expletive. I haven't been that mad at myself in a long time. Maybe never.
But the boys played a solid 8th end, my vice-skip calmed me down as he should, and I made the last shot of the game for a 7-6 win. Yet I am still, ah, quite annoyed with myself for nearly blowing an otherwise great game.
Dumb expletive, expletive, expletive.