Driving by the curling rink today reminded me of the shame I have brought upon my family by not heading up the Hockey family's tradition on the other rink Canadians drink and fight in during the dark months. Everyone else in the family gives it their best shot on rinks all around Dope City and beyond each winter. It has been a while since the family coughed up a decent competitive curler but somehow I doubt I would have been The One.
My drug, beer and prison inclined high school had a curling club nearby. One and all were invited to try their hand at the great Scottish game we Canadians dominate like wars dominate all oil producing countries except Canada. (Could be the lack of fighting over our oil, and Russia's oil come to think of it, is because army generals like fighting in places where snow shoeing and skiing ability are not prerequisites for success on the battle field.) For some reason only the geeks curled. If us heavy metal monsters had took to curling like we did to recreational drugs we would have made for a wild eyed Canadian junior team.
My mom and dad have both retired from curling due to health concerns. Bad knees make for bad curling. But they both still like to watch curling and drink catastrophically in the bar. Hell, they even pay to watch the best curlers when they put on their big motherfucking curling shows.
If there is a rink in your town you might want to consider giving the game a try. You will meet some damn fine people in your local curling rink. They will be fucking Canadian. But do not look for me in the bar, I will be at the racetrack, picking winners and losers with the help of Mr. Carlsberg.
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