Larry, Moe and Curling

It’s Olympics time again, my sporting aficionados; and I’m hunkered down in front of the TV with one hand on the remote and the other clutching a candy bar. Okay, it’s not exactly candy. It’s a faux chocolate, protein bar that tastes something like a dead wax-dipped gopher stuffed with peanut-flavored Play-Doh. Just my wife’s way of keeping me healthy and alive. Bless her “all natural” little heart.

Like most of you, I love the swimming, gymnastics, track and field and stuff. Oh, and the women’s beach volleyball. I admit to having some trouble staying focused on the game due to the wardrobe selection, but generally manage keep my eye on the ball.

Here’s where my problem lies. I am a curling fan. There, I said it. I hear some of you (my spouse included) snickering. We have spirited discussions on whether or not curling is an actual sport. Granted, speed, acrobatic prowess and jumping abilities aren’t essential in this highly skilled, chess-like sport (yes, it’s a sport), and the outfits are less than titillating, but it might be my only chance of attaining Olympic greatness.

This dawned on me as I sat in the Laz-Z-Boy watching my wife sweep outside. I could do that. I can wield a broom like nobody’s business. I realized that at my age I had all the fundamental skills necessary to take the curling world by storm.

I spent years cursing the trees for their incessant shedding of needles and leaves on my patio and walkway when like a towering, shaggy-headed Mr. Miyagi’s (watch Karate Kid) they had been preparing me for my run at the gold.

Ah, who am I kidding? My desire to sweep my way to curling fame is vastly outweighed by my desire to snack and nap.

Better wrap this up. My wife is scowling at me through the window. Doesn’t she realize that cleaning up the backyard is not a job, but a path to Olympic glory?

By the look on her face I would say not.

K.G.