700 Curling Clubs

Camille Villaneuve, and I hope I've spelled his name correctly, was a French Canadian from Chicoutimi, Quebec. I only met him once and that over twenty years ago now. But he was a cool guy.

He was kind, soft spoken, and earnest. In manners and appearance he made me think of me Grandpaw Hutchins. His claim to fame was that he was trying to set a record for having curled in the most curling clubs in the United States and Canada.

One Sunday he arrived at the Roseland Curling Club in Windsor, Ontario right before our regular league play and asked to get into a game. Of course we accommodated him. We would have done it regardless, but after hearing his story there was no way we could have said no.

He was if memory serves me at 274 curling clubs then, so his game with us made 275. He carried a neat display case which contained pins from everywhere he had been (curlers are great for having their emblems emblazoned on pins). Needless to say, we gave him one from Roseland. 

It was sublime to kind of, sort of curl with me Grandpaw Hutchins, even though he himself likely never heard of curling. Camille curled very well too, winning his game as a skip. Upon hearing he intended to sleep in his van in the club parking lot that cold winter night I tried every way in the world to convince him to cross the border and spend the night with my family in Detroit. I would have loved that. Yet he insisted he'd be fine, and you reach a point where you just stop pressing simply not offend his honor. He'd clearly done it before and was quite happy with the arrangements.

Mr. Villaneuve's ultimate goal was to play in 700 clubs. I found an article online which said he hit 701 in 2018. I was glad to see that. He was still throwing them stones at 92 years old, God bless him. I hope he's still curling.

The Day After the Day After Curling

Today's blog may be a bit heavy on curling jargon, and I hope that non-curlers among my readership will forgive that. But this past Monday I began a new curling season with the Windsor Granite Club. It felt good.

It's subject to be a melancholy year. The Club is almost certainly closing after the 2023-2024 season, which is one of the reasons I decided to play. The Granite Club was *my* Club, so to speak, for around 25 years. When I heard the bad news I simply had to play there once more. A swan song, I guess, which, short of a minor miracle, it will be.

You want to talk about a happy homecoming? I can't tell you how many old friends offered a handshake with a hearty, "Great to have you back, Marty!" as the evening went on. It's humbling, it really is. 

I've said before, here, in fact: Just Stay Away that it's easy not to miss curling. Just don't go to a curling rink. One step onto the ice Monday, one thrown stone coming to rest exactly where I wanted it to, and all the old fire was stoked. Right now kapow.

My skip, a great old friend, wanted me to throw second and call the game. That was amazingly kind and complimentary of him. Once in the Curling House, the 12 foot circle which serves as our scoring target, I found that I was reading the ice very well and must confess that I'm far too pleased with the game I called. Me skip and I only had one serious strategic difference of opinion, but we went with his shot choice and, well, things happen.

I think I threw all right for being rusty; I've only curled two or four games a year recently but my weight (the force put into delivering the curling rock) felt good. By my count I only badly missed two shots; the other 14 were at the least useable. I pitched one pretty wide. That's been a problem of mine for most of my career.

We finished second 10-7 but won four ends. The guys around me played well. I was not and am not anywhere near as sore as I expected to be. I'm achy but that's about it. I think it helped that I made a concession to reality and bought a delivery stabilizer which allowed me to use my left arm to help hold my lard bucket self upright while throwing a stone, taking pressure and thus future pain from my legs. Of course, now all the Internet wants to show me are ads for delivery stabilizers, but that's another story.

So the verdict? I'm looking forward to next Monday. Very much indeed.

Already Feeling It

Tonight I play my first regular season curling game in, I think, 6 years. I've played occasionally during that time, perhaps 2 or 4 matches a year, and I'm looking forward to it. For one, there's the anticipation of the routine of curling once a week. Two, it'll be great to see the guys again. Then there's the pain I will almost surely be in come Tuesday morning.

Okay, I'm not exactly looking forward to the oncoming aches. Yet they are oncoming and I do feel them. It's not unlike when you drop a hammer. There's that instant before impact where your toe already hurts. Similarly, both my legs feel sore right now and game time is 15 hours away as I write.

Wish me luck. We'll see what tomorrow actually brings, uh, tomorrow. Maybe it won't be too bad. Pain killers are pretty good these days. 

It May Have Been a Mistake

Yesterday I curled for the first time in almost three years. Nothing meant against my curling brethren, but it's easy to quit curling. Just don't go into a curling club. The game loses its grip on you; if you ain't there, you ain't thinking about it.

So I must say in all honestly that I didn't miss it. Until I walked into the Detroit Curling Club and saw so many old friends. Until I walked out onto the ice and threw my first stone since March 2020. It was a corner guard that my sweepers overswept and drug into the rings, but no matter. I was curling again.

I threw first, then went into the house to call the game. I was well pleased to find all the old strategy still at the front of my mind. I found I could still call line. Don't worry if you have no idea what I mean by any of this curling jargon. Suffice it to say it was like riding a bike, I felt that comfortable. 

Now I'm planning to curl more this season, and hang out again with so many old friends. Curling is back in my blood. I'm ready to play again. And I'm not as sore as I thought I would be today, although walking down the steps this morning was excruciating. Curling makes you use leg muscles you don't ordinarily stress. But you pay the price, right?

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. 

Curlmageddon 2017

It's coming. In fact, it begins tonight. Marty is running headlong into Curlmageddon 2017.

I play 20 games, and maybe as many as 24, in the next 17 days. My regular Thursday league game is tonight, them I actually play in two bonspiels (for the uninitiated, a bonspiel is a curling tournament) tomorrow: two games at a tier 55 in Chatham, Ontario followed by the first game of the Wild Goose Bonspiel in Kingsville (also in Ontario). Saturday and Sunday take up the rest of the latter tournament.

I have league games Monday and Thursday next week, then I spare in a league March 10. The week after I play Monday and Thursday as usual, with a two game tier 55 on the 15th and another on the 17th. Then I play in a St. Patrick's bonspiel on Saturday the 18th, another two game set.

Once a season I load up on the curling for a brief spell, and it's nice to do it towards the end because I like to play extra games as the season nears its close. I'll still have three weeks after this stretch, and maybe seven if the Detroit Club extends its season as it is considering. But for this minute, as of 6:45 tonight, Curlmageddon 2017 is on.

I'll keep you posted on the results. Including the anticipated aches and pains which I have no doubt I will experience.

Friday Night Curling

First there was Friday Night Lights, which dealt with a dangerous game which leads all to often (by its nature) to permanent disability. Then there was Friday Night Tykes, which dealt with, oh, coaches encouraging brutality among eight year olds. And then, there was Friday Night Curling. It is by far the best use of Friday nights.

To begin with, Friday Night Curling does not encourage injury and abuse. It does instead encourage sportsmanship and fair play. I like that.

I'm playing every other Friday night in the Friday night curling league at the Roseland Curling Club in Windsor, Ontario. The Burr and Thistle. It is a league where we do not despise our opponents nor encourage and expect their destruction. It is a league where we congratulate an opponent who makes a good shot. It is a league where we defend our house, not because we, by some bizarre stretch of hyperbole, own it, but because the scoring area is called the house. It is a league where we all meet after games to raise a glass and appreciate fair play. It is a league where friends, not opponents, gather to appreciate all what's best in a game. Even if that means we lost.

Few other sports, even my beloved baseball, can boast of that.

I really think more folk ought to take up curling. It might actually teach us about sportsmanship being more important than winning. For when the One Great Scorer comes To write against your name, He marks-not that you won or lost-But how you played the game.

Grantland Rice sure had that right.