Curling and cancer: a palliative sweep
My wife Anne has been stricken by terminal brain cancer, and the treatments have caused her to lose much of her hair. Not surprisingly this has led her to become obsessed with what’s left of her locks and to spend hours in front of the bathroom mirror obsessing over her hair while wielding a curling iron.
The perils are many. There’s the classic wrist burn, a rite of passage. The scent of singed hair serves as a cautionary tale, turning bangs into crispy ramen noodles. And let’s not forget the “Did I leave it on?” panic, which only strikes once one finds oneself an hour away.
I tell Anne stories about curling to distract her from this perilous pursuit; not stories about hair curling, but about curling “the sport.”
In 1967, I took up curling at Oakridge high school in London, Ontario, as a social activity, and soon became president of the curling club.
Practiced recreationally, curling is a sport of the same ilk as bowling… on ice.
Ah, curling—combining the Nordic thrill of sliding on frozen lakes with the domestic joy of cleaning your kitchen floor. For centuries, this ancient pastime has ensured that Canada’s supply of specialized brooms never runs dry. If you’re after a spectacle of athleticism, precision, and well-choreographed sweeping, look no further than the icy battlegrounds of curling rinks across the nation.
Curling is often described as “chess on ice,” but only if chess involved yelling at your teammates to sweep harder. The aim? Slide a 44-pound stone made of Scottish granite down the ice towards a bullseye known, charmingly, as “the house.” The aim is to land your stone closer to the centre of the house than your opponents’.
But don’t be fooled: beneath the simple premise lies a labyrinth of etiquette, strategy, and the mysterious art of choosing just how vigorously to sweep. For the uninitiated, the sight of grown adults screaming “HARD! HARD! HURRY HARD!” while furiously scrubbing ice with broomsticks can be both mesmerizing and deeply confusing. Is this a sport, or the world’s most competitive custodial crew?
Sounds orgasmic too.
The brooms, meanwhile, are wielded by athletes dressed in a delightful array of stretchy pants, team jackets, and shoes that appear to have been designed for a particularly enthusiastic clog dance.
What truly sets curling apart is the volume and frequency of communication. As the stone glides down the sheet, curlers bellow instructions at one another with the urgency of firefighters…
- “SWEEP! SWEEP! SWEEP!”
- “OFF! OFF! LEAVE IT!”
- “BIT MORE! NO, LESS! WAIT, NEVER MIND!”
while rocks ricochet like bumper cars at a winter carnival.
Curling isn’t merely a sport: it’s a social institution. After each game, teams retire to the warm embrace of the curling club lounge, where victories are celebrated, defeats are analyzed, and everyone agrees that “it’s just a game.” The post-game handshake is sacred, as is the tradition of buying your opponents a drink—presumably as compensation for the emotional trauma of having to watch your technique.
This camaraderie is the true soul of curling. While other sports produce rivalries and feuds, curling fosters lifelong friendships.
A mixed-gender club, our high school curling association provided fertile ground for courting and for illicit co-ed smoking.
Curling in London, Ontario during the 1960s was a popular winter activity, particularly at the Highland Country Club where it was introduced in 1959 as a way to keep the club active during the off-season. The Highland Community Curling Club has hosted numerous curling events, including national and provincial championships. The Ivanhoe Club, another curling venue in London, also opened in the early 1960s and was known for hosting various events, including curling, dances, banquets, and even bingo.
https://londoncurling.ca/index.php/about-the-club/history
Your friend,
Robert
https://robertmcbrydeauthor.com/
