'hurrying hard'

The only time I have been on a curling rink was at a learn-to-curl initiation at the city-owned rink in my hometown of Windsor. I liked it; the air was fresh and cool, invigourating. My grandfather and his friends curled every winter up in Bruce County. This wasn't so bad, and it wasn't boring.

Then half way through the game, I was helping to sweep a stone, 'hurrying hard'. A split second later with all my weight on my broom, my broom flew out and I followed, falling from my full height, feet slipping out and up, and landing on my head with an ominous, loud thud. I was surprised I was conscious and surprised I was able to get up. Within minutes I had a golfball-sized lump only half an inch from my right temple.

I retrieved crushed ice and a pack, and applied it to my head. I was shaken, but okay. I watched my friends finish the game. But I was stunned. Who ever heard of curling accidents? I hadn't. This was the game my grandfather played. I was glad I only hit the ice and not one of the granite rocks.

I had a beauty of a shiner for a week or so to show for my foray into the world of curling. I kind of cringe when I hear all the jokes about the game, because I haven't gotten on the ice for it again -- though, I suppose I should. And I'd like to. . . (but I've never seen anyone wear a helmet for the game).

Lest you think I'm a total 'fraidy-cat, I skate (ice and land), cycle, have three years of a martial art, and have been in a whitewater rafting accident (another story). So, curlers, stand proud! That's a gutsy game you're playing!

My congratulations to Canada's finest and their gold and bronze Olympic medals.