Confessions of a curling wannabe

As usual, I have become an Olympicaholic. I watch all that I can given my 9:30 bedtime and NBC's annoying packaging of events.

Did you catch the hilarious Swiss ski jumper again this year? Remember eight years ago when he won a gold medal? He was interviewed, but his English was very sketchy. You could only understand every third or fourth word. Finally he just gave up and shouted, "Gold medal, YAAAAAA!!!" (of course all with a great Swiss accent). It still makes me smile. He won gold again this year. Actually he won the first gold medal of the games. His English had improved, sad to say, so his interview was still charming but not quite as fun.

Love it.

Love the roller derbyesque nature of short track, the longer distances of speed skating (look at the size of their thighs!!!!), the shockingly dangerous downhill and snowboarding events.

Ice hockey has been one of my favorites also. Moving to the north has helped me to develop a greater appreciation for this sport.

But curling is my secret passion. I was treated to a first hand brush with this sport when Norm and I went to Victoria a few years ago and there was a curling championship going on. You would have thought that the World Series was taking place. Somehow we scored a couple of tickets and entered the strange new world of curling competition. We were clueless. The people around us were not. Unlike American sporting events, the people did not view food as the primary attraction. Spectators were glued to the drama on the ice. At first, the drama eluded me. It seemed, shall I say, a bit boring. But we listed to the comments around us and came to realize that we just didn't understand the complex subtleties of this sport.

I began to like this sport. Maybe it was a connection to my childhood. It reminds me of those wonderful summers of shuffleboard at my grandparent's pool. My grandpa was so good! Maybe it was Ringo, John, Paul, and George dodging the nefarious plot to destroy them on the curling field in the movie HELP! I still can't see a curling "rock" without connecting it to that bomb that threatened the boys.

Deep down, I think it's probably the only sport I can actually relate to. I can't imaging myself on a snowboard. No way would you even get me up one of those mountains, let alone ski down it at 60 miles an hour. I can't ice skate. But I think I could curl. Maybe not well, but I could see myself doing it. And where else could you wear these kinds of snazzy outfits?