Curling

I’ve been watching the Winter Olympics. Not very much of it since a succession of people all trying to do the same thing in turn palls after a while. One of the exceptions t this rule is Curling. Curling has a fascination all its own- a sport that involves stones with handles and a generous supply of yard brushes has a claim to idiosyncrasy if nothing more.

I’m fascinated by the energetic brushing of the ice, the shouted instructions of the throwers, the consultations on strategy, the sheer time taken to get things right. Science applied to chasing a stone across a frozen surface. Mad, but strangely appealing. Maybe because it’s so much like the rest of life.

I think the appeal is partly down to the similarity with bowls, and I spent many hours on my local crown green in my youth, partly the attempt to impose precision on a rock sliding across ice, and partly in the involvement of the whole team in deciding what to do next. In that moment nothing else matters, the focus is absolute. Thought planning, teamwork applied to a nigh impossible task. One that requires strategy more than speed and in which the elements may not be on your side. And one that can appear slightly ridiculous. Again, not unlike life.

Curling – the early days

It must have taken hours
searching the Scottish lakeshores
to find those particular stones
the smooth ones with handles
and the brooms, the besoms
fit to sweep the ice

over eager players learned hard lessons
when the ice was still too thin
cracking beneath the sweepers
who focussed on the stone 
sensed danger too late
as the water welcomed both in

bedraggled, cold, and wet
they crouched beside the fire
and waited for a fiercer frost
searched to replace the stone they’d lost
before they tried again
coaxed that spinning rock
worked hard with the broom
brought it safely home














Image courtesy of AccidentalNomad https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en