I can smell it.
I can taste it, deeply.
The hell with football. Baseball has the decency to end almost with the start of the new, the real, winter season. Football, American Football, glories only in its shallow self absorption.
We're almost curling. We had our first organizational meeting tonight. That means the season is near. That means we are near to throwing stones, and congratulating even our opponents on a great shot, not arrogantly pounding our chests after an opponent misplays. Not arrogantly applauding ourselves on a great play, but humbly accepting that we are part of something bigger than ourselves.
It is that camaraderie which perhaps means the most. This small lot of us, playing the game which only we understand. Unique, unusual; friendly. Isn't that what sports are about? Sports surely aren't about individual grandstanding.
The hell with football. September means curling is near. I'm not sure there's any better feeling.