Sitting three in the house with the hammer
Like most Americans, I watched the Winter Olympics and became entranced by the world of curling. And like most of those same Americans, I watched the U.S. team get its butt kicked and thought "Hey, I could probably do better than those losers." So, last month, I set off for the Triangle Curling Club and my destiny: Olympic stardom.
Note: None of these people are me
I didn't go into the experience completely unaware of curling's challenges. Dan told me that two of his friends from Purdue had broken their clavlicles while curling,* and my girlfriend came home from her first curling session with a hockey puck-sized bruise on her knee. It turns out she's a "thumper," which means she slams her knee into the ice while throwing a stone. To be honest, a good rule of thumb is that you never want to hear your girlfriend described as a "thumper."
*Seriously, this happened. Two different people broke their collarbones playing curling. I don't know if it's sad, or impressive.
With that in mind, I decided to attend a curling open house and a "learn to curl" before making my leap to Russia in 2014. It's kind of like a college basketball player coasting through a year of college before turning pro. At the open house, they teach you some of the basics like sweeping and pushing out of the blocks, and let you throw a single stone. At the Learn to Curl, they start teaching you a little bit of curling strategy and let you play some practice ends. The lessons were all taught by authentic Canadians, so I figured it would be a chance to size up the competition. I informed the instructors that, having watched at least four and a half curling matches in the Olympics, I was already an expert in curling strategy, but they were unimpressed.
It turns out that throwing a rock on the ice is every bit as awesome as it looks on television. You slip a piece of incredibly slippery silicon over the bottom of your shoe**, push off the block with your other foot, and slide gracefully down the ice, releasing the rock with a flourish. Then you tip over sideways, crash down, and wind up sprawled across the ice. Or at least, that's how I did it the first couple times. If you really want to be authentic, you then scream nonsense at your sweepers, who are busy slipping and breaking their clavicles.
**Unless they run out of silicon, in which case they use duct tape. Really.
At the open house, I was overshadowed by my girlfriend, Jess, who somehow managed to land her very first stone dead center in the middle of the house. The instructors kept asking her questions like "Have you done this before?" By the end of the event, she was giving tips to all the other curling newbies.
But the Learn to Curl was my time to shine, for two key reasons: Jess wasn't there, and the other people in my group may have been drunk. One guy forgot to remove the silicon from his shoe before standing up, then performed a unique interpretation of the running man before shooting his feet up over his head like a cartoon character and crashing down onto his back. I got the form down pretty quickly, even staying off my back most of the time. My throw at the open house was a little overeager and went long, and then I followed it up with a short one at the Learn to Curl. By the time we started some practice ends (like an inning, for those of you who don't speak Canadian), I felt like I had it dialed.
What I didn't take into consideration, however, was that we were playing on an ice rink that banked towards one side of the ice. My perfectly balanced throws, with just the right amount of curl, would end up sliding downhill and landing on the next sheet. For the first end, nobody landed a single stone anywhere near the target. In the second end, I lead off for my team. After another wide miss, I cleverly aimed my second and final stone at the side wall. I pushed off and released the stone, didn't fall over, screamed nonsense at my sweepers, and watched it bank downhill, curling... curling... and landing smack dab in the middle of the house. The crowd cheered, my team swarmed me (okay, for safety's sake, they slowly shuffled over and gave me high fives), and my grizzled Canadian instructor gave me an approving nod. He didn't say a word, but the look on his bearded face spoke clearly: "Russia, 2014."
My stone stayed there the entire end, with nobody coming near the house, until the other team's very last stone. They knocked it out and won the game. I'm pretty sure they copied my "side wall" move, though.
I think I'm ready for 2014. If they hold the Olympics on a slanted hockey rink, the gold is as good as mine.
Note: None of these people are me
I didn't go into the experience completely unaware of curling's challenges. Dan told me that two of his friends from Purdue had broken their clavlicles while curling,* and my girlfriend came home from her first curling session with a hockey puck-sized bruise on her knee. It turns out she's a "thumper," which means she slams her knee into the ice while throwing a stone. To be honest, a good rule of thumb is that you never want to hear your girlfriend described as a "thumper."
*Seriously, this happened. Two different people broke their collarbones playing curling. I don't know if it's sad, or impressive.
With that in mind, I decided to attend a curling open house and a "learn to curl" before making my leap to Russia in 2014. It's kind of like a college basketball player coasting through a year of college before turning pro. At the open house, they teach you some of the basics like sweeping and pushing out of the blocks, and let you throw a single stone. At the Learn to Curl, they start teaching you a little bit of curling strategy and let you play some practice ends. The lessons were all taught by authentic Canadians, so I figured it would be a chance to size up the competition. I informed the instructors that, having watched at least four and a half curling matches in the Olympics, I was already an expert in curling strategy, but they were unimpressed.
It turns out that throwing a rock on the ice is every bit as awesome as it looks on television. You slip a piece of incredibly slippery silicon over the bottom of your shoe**, push off the block with your other foot, and slide gracefully down the ice, releasing the rock with a flourish. Then you tip over sideways, crash down, and wind up sprawled across the ice. Or at least, that's how I did it the first couple times. If you really want to be authentic, you then scream nonsense at your sweepers, who are busy slipping and breaking their clavicles.
**Unless they run out of silicon, in which case they use duct tape. Really.
At the open house, I was overshadowed by my girlfriend, Jess, who somehow managed to land her very first stone dead center in the middle of the house. The instructors kept asking her questions like "Have you done this before?" By the end of the event, she was giving tips to all the other curling newbies.
But the Learn to Curl was my time to shine, for two key reasons: Jess wasn't there, and the other people in my group may have been drunk. One guy forgot to remove the silicon from his shoe before standing up, then performed a unique interpretation of the running man before shooting his feet up over his head like a cartoon character and crashing down onto his back. I got the form down pretty quickly, even staying off my back most of the time. My throw at the open house was a little overeager and went long, and then I followed it up with a short one at the Learn to Curl. By the time we started some practice ends (like an inning, for those of you who don't speak Canadian), I felt like I had it dialed.
What I didn't take into consideration, however, was that we were playing on an ice rink that banked towards one side of the ice. My perfectly balanced throws, with just the right amount of curl, would end up sliding downhill and landing on the next sheet. For the first end, nobody landed a single stone anywhere near the target. In the second end, I lead off for my team. After another wide miss, I cleverly aimed my second and final stone at the side wall. I pushed off and released the stone, didn't fall over, screamed nonsense at my sweepers, and watched it bank downhill, curling... curling... and landing smack dab in the middle of the house. The crowd cheered, my team swarmed me (okay, for safety's sake, they slowly shuffled over and gave me high fives), and my grizzled Canadian instructor gave me an approving nod. He didn't say a word, but the look on his bearded face spoke clearly: "Russia, 2014."
My stone stayed there the entire end, with nobody coming near the house, until the other team's very last stone. They knocked it out and won the game. I'm pretty sure they copied my "side wall" move, though.
I think I'm ready for 2014. If they hold the Olympics on a slanted hockey rink, the gold is as good as mine.