Every few years, I become obsessed with a different sport. In 2006, thanks to the World Cup, it was soccer. During the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, I discovered snowboard cross. At the Jefferson County Fair two years ago, I came down with a bad case of tractor pulling envy.
In 2026, my newest sports passion is curling.
Growing up, curling was something my mom did to her hair. Nobody ever won a medal for it, even if they had a killer perm. Eventually, I realized curling was a sport – one that, I hate to say, I mocked endlessly.
For starters, the players look goofy as hell. I’m sorry, but this…
…isn’t nearly as badass as this:
Don’t even get me started on the broomsticks. I’ve swept a million leaves and pine needles from my back deck, but not once have I ever stood on a podium afterward, basking in the adoration of a thousand cheering fans.
This is the part where I publicly apologize for my ignorance. I take back every negative word I ever uttered, because curling is awesome.
This revelation took me by complete surprise and came without warning. I was chatting with my parents on Sunday afternoon, and the TV was on in the background. Tuned to the Olympics. Specifically, a curling match. My mom was talking about the seafood festival in Key West, and the next stop on their annual Florida vacation, but I was having trouble concentrating because of the action on the screen. Honestly, I had never bothered watching more than a minute or two of curling in my life, but I found myself hopelessly distracted because the action on the screen was riveting.
I hung up and have been watching curling nonstop ever since.
OK, slight exaggeration, but I’ve watched a lot of curling these past few days. Yesterday alone, I watched the U.S. men’s team face off against China (not so good), but then later, the U.S. women’s team kicked Denmark’s ass. Realizing I could turn the basement TV on and have the Olympics playing in the background while working from home was a game-changer. Right now it’s freestyle skiing, which is still pretty cool, but it’s no curling. (That’ll be back on at 12:05 p.m.)
The first couple of days, I had no idea what was going on during these curling matches, but I kinda liked making up the rules in my head. If shuffleboard and billiards had a lovechild, it would be curling, I decided. Darts is a distant uncle, the guy who is never taken seriously because he shows up at family gatherings with a tub of store-bought potato salad that’s been marked down to 99 cents because it’s a day old. I’m a fan of all three (sports, not old potato salad), so I should’ve loved curling from the jump.
Eventually, I started catching on to the nuances of the game. These players aren’t just blindly pushing the rock down the ice and hoping for the best, as I’d assumed; there’s a real strategy involving both offense and defense. Who knew! I had to begrudgingly admit that the players are honest-to-god athletes. I’m sorry I ever made fun of them! It takes a combination of skill and teamwork to get the stone close to the button.
That’s another thing. Once I was hooked, I decided I should learn the proper terminology, instead of referring to the stone as “that round doohickey” and the house and tee line as the “bullseye.” I can now throw around terms like hack and hog line and free guard zone with the best of ’em and actually understand what these words mean. I know how beneficial it is to possess the hammer, what a steal means, and why sweeping is such an integral part of the sport. (It clears the ice of debris and causes friction, heating and melting the ice and increasing the distance the rock travels. Pretty bitchin’, eh?)
Such a revelation, this has been. I haven’t watched a single second of snowboard cross this time. Who am I?! And more importantly, what am I going to do once the games are over? Can you even watch curling on TV during the three years, eleven months, and two weeks between Milan-Cortina and the next Winter Olympic Games in the French Alps?
I’m like a junkie, man. I need my fix.
What an uplifting experience!
I’m lucky to be able to watch so much curling during the day because I’ve been working from home all this week. The downside? I haven’t gone into CheeseGov HQ because when I started my car over the weekend, it was idling very roughly and the dreaded Check Engine light came on.
Could be nothing, but probably not. My hope is that the something it is turns out to be minor. Tara had a similar thing occur with her pickup once and it was just a faulty O2 sensor. Cheap fix, but her vehicle was out of commission for a couple of weeks because they had to order in the part. I contacted a local auto repair shop to schedule a diagnostics check, but the soonest available appointment was next Monday. I’m stuck at home until at least then, because driving a car with those symptoms isn’t recommended. I could maybe zip over to the grocery store down the street, but there are 33 miles between MarTar Manor and CheeseGov, and I don’t want to chance that.
The timing is fortuitous anyway. After much hemming and hawing – mainly because we didn’t want to shell out three grand – we finally bit the bullet and ordered a new garage door. Dick and Carol were, I don’t want to say too cheap, but – well, they were too cheap to replace the door, which was a big, bulky, sagging, warped wooden beast original to the house. It was noisy and leaked and lacked insulation and, at 47 years old, way past its prime. The garage door guys said it should’ve been done 15 years ago, had repeatedly encouraged them to do so, but Dick’s response was always, “Hey, it still works.”
I totally get why they held off on replacing the door. If I’m spending $3,000 on something, I want it to be fun. It should involve an exotic destination, good food, and cocktails. Photographs in a digital album. A lifetime of memories. There is nothing uplifting about a garage door (other than in the literal sense, of course). But you can only delay the inevitable so long, so we decided to rip off the Band-Aid and get ‘er done. We ordered the door last week, and they called yesterday, letting me know it had come in early. They offered to install it today, and normally neither of us would have been home, but thanks to that damn Check Engine light, we now have a brand spankin’ new garage door that hopefully won’t need replacing until I’m 103 years old. By then, I won’t be driving anyway. Other than Tara, crazy, with my senility and old man demands.
But I bet I’ll still be watching curling.
Are you watching the Winter Olympics? Do you like curling? What’s your favorite Olympic sport?
Mark My Words 
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