Bookended

My curling season ended with a loss last night. The wheels came off and we were set down 9-3. That's too bad, because we had a good, solid year. The boys played well in front of me from October through April and made it easy.

Interestingly, we lost yesterday to the team who beat us in the very first game of the season of Thursday league play. We got bookended. In between we were 12-5. On the year, I finished 16-5 as a skip and 20-7-1 overall. Not bad for a guy who didn't think he'd have a curling season last September. But that's the benefit you get when the guys you play with are good curlers, and simply good fellas to curl with.

Here's to the 26-27 season. It's looking good already.

Word Gets Around

Up until yesterday, I was pretty certain I would not be curling this coming year (the curling season runs roughly late October to early April). We lost our ice in Windsor, Ontario where I had been throwing stones and I didn't think I had options elsewhere. 

Yet the curling fraternity runs deep and strong. Word gets around about who is doing what as a new year at the rink approaches. Three guys looking for a skip on a Thursday league at the Detroit Curling Club discovered I was available and signed me up. It's nice to be wanted. I really can't say how much I appreciate the invite to play. It makes a fella both happy and humble. 

I was mentally prepared for my curling career to be over but now can go on for another year. We'll see how much they appreciate - or regret - their decision soon enough!

Back to the Rink

This morning, for the first time in nearly three years, I'll be throwing them stones. I'll be curling again. First time since March 2020 in Bowling Green, Ohio.

Ah, Bowling Green. Nice new curling club. I remember that most of us still shook hands in greeting because, damn COVID, we knew then it was overblown, and it was still early. But enough pontificating.

There is a true brotherhood among curlers. We love the game, but we generally like the camaraderie more. On the ice, we try to win. No point playing any game if you don't want to win. But off the ice, most times anyway (there are unfortunately difficult people everywhere) we're all all right with one another.

We buy each other drinks and don't keep score. After nearly forty years of curling there are guys I'm sure who are ahead of me and guys where I'm ahead of them. No matter. At the bar, you buy a drink for a friend when he approaches. Details are unimportant. I remember one old Scotsman who walked around the Leamington Curling Club freely giving shots of $210 per fifth single malt whisky to any who cared to imbibe. He never refused anyone, and the bottle never ran dry.

We play, then retreat to the lounge and visit one another like human beings should, typically talking about anything but curling. Because, like all other sports, it's just a game, and should be appreciated in its proper perspective. 

The bonspiel I remember

I've curled for a few years now, and I have been blessed with enough good teammates over time to have made a mark on the game, at least locally. I've been on two league championship teams and won my share of bonspiels (curling tournaments). Yet perhaps the bonspiel I remember most fondly was the one I didn't win.

A little background is necessary first. There was this woman at the Detroit Curling Club about twenty five years ago, a pleasant woman whom everyone liked, and I just can't dig her name out of the back of my head. I can see her, I can even hear her voice, but I'm drawing a complete blank on her name (and it would be wrong call her Cloyce). I recall that she was a self-described Army brat. Canadian by birth, her father was a career man in the Canadian military and she grew up all over the world. Somehow she and her husband and family ended up in Detroit, curling at the old DCC. She was, as I said, very personable, very likable.

Anyway, one weekend we were curling in a two day tournament, myself, my buddy Rob, my sister, and my son Chuck. It was hosted by the DCC. And everyone played well in front of me, we caught some breaks, and lo and behold, we're in the championship game.

I had never won a bonspiel before. That final game was a good one, tight all the way. Each side made some great shots, each side had a few miscues, and it came down to my last rock, the last shot of the game.

I just missed it. My rock nicked another, just barely touched it, and that little bit of misdirection left my stone maybe a quarter-inch from scoring. We lost a tough game by about as closely as you can come to winning while losing.

To say I was disappointed is quite the understatement. But curling teaches you to be a good sport. We shook hands with our opponents and offered congratulations, and went to the locker rooms to change.

Every other game was done ahead of ours, so everyone else was already sitting at their tables in the viewing area of the Club. I was the first person up from our group, and, admittedly despondent, trudged for our table.

That's when this wonderful woman looked over at me, set her drink down, and yelled, "Yay Marty!" and started clapping. Everyone else began to clap, and there were a few other yay Martys too. I just nodded my head at everyone and sat down smiling. It was a great feeling, like me tell you.

Before leaving the Club that night I gave her a big hug and a heartfelt thank you. I still can't remember her name.

But I will never forget her.