Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Bloody Stones

I don't know anyone in Nova Scotia. I always wanted to go there, though. But that will apparently not be happening. If I knew someone there, I would call. Nova Scotia has gone the way of Belgium, and nary a word about Nova Scotia, let alone Belgium.

I am disappointed. I was thinking of going to see the Canadian Olympic curling trials, which start on December 3, in Halifax. After all, the Canadians are the world's best curlers.

I feel a connection to curling. I have, you see, spilled blood on stones that may have been used in the US national championships. It was a hockey game at the Cleveland Skating Club. Instead of the blue lines and the red goal lines and the face-off circles, curling markings were laid out, which was somewhat disconcerting to the hockey fans, most of whom had never seen grown men and women sweeping the ice to direct things that resemble squashed bowling balls with handles, which are called stones.

The stones were stored in a non-cordoned-off area in one of the corners of the rink, where my older, somewhat belligerent son, playing defense, did some of his best work. I must admit that his blood lust was most elevated, and he did his best work, as he jammed any forward trying to camp out near the goal mouth, oftentimes leaving a sprawled body behind as he skated, in all innocence, up the ice toward the offensive end.

But on this evening, he went into the corner with the CSC's best winger, four inches taller than my older, somewhat belligerent son, but a tad on the skinny side. And as things go, I was urging my son on as he stung the big forward with a crashing check into the boards, separating the winger from the puck and some air. I didn't see the end result, which was the pass on a break-out, which turned into an assist. I was down among the stones, having tripped in my zeal, smashing my elbow on a piece of metal framework holding the boards in place, leaving a big, bleeding gash. I picked myself up from among the stones, thankful that I hadn't hit my head, but embarrassed, hoping nobody had seen me take the dive. And then I noticed the bloody stones.

Yes, curling ... and the bloody stones. I now have a certain fondness for the sport.

Posted by Bill at November 28, 2005 09:25 PM