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.

Throw them stones

It just gets into your blood. There's no other way to describe it.

I thought about not curling last night. It's been a bit of a rough week, and as I drove home from Toledo during the afternoon I was thinking, aw hell, maybe I won't curl tonight. Another player was on stand by, and the border (I curl in Canada) can be a hassle later in the week. It would have been easy not to curl. But I went on and curled anyway. I had missed last Thursday for Thanksgiving, and one Thursday before that due to car trouble. So I curled.

I'm glad I did. We caught the breaks and won, and the skip and sweepers made me look good. Go ahead: insert your favorite Marty and others make Marty curl well joke right now. I don't care. I can take a joke, and the guys did make me look as though I had a vague idea of how to play.

Few of my friends believed me when I insisted a couple years ago that I thought I was done with the game. Yet at the time, I really thought I was. I wasn't playing well. I was too intense, and it was affecting my attitude which of course will affect your game. But I was advised by a good friend to simply relax and remember why you curl.

That advice helped beyond my expectations. It got me back to the root of the game, and that was throwin' them stones. There's just something that gets into your blood about throwin' them stones and makin' them curling shots. Just relax and throw the stone.

It's a really satisfying feeling, I tell you what. I'm glad I kept playing.