DOING THE CURL

Thanks to the 3,650,000 televised hours of these Oh-Limp-Ick Games, I now have an obsession with a sport previously unwatched by me.

Curling could be described by the casual observer as a hybrid of darts, horseshoes, hockey, and custodial engineering. Each four-person team has eight tries per end (similar to an inning in baseball). One person (whom I'll call "the stoner") pushes a 42-pound chunk of finely shaped granite across the sheet (what the playing area is referred to as) without going over the hog line. As the stone makes its way to the bulls-eye, two teammates with brooms (known as sweepers to me and many others) follow alongside. Their function is to either smooth the ice in front of the rolling rock (which increases distance) or let the stone travel uninhibited (mainly as a defensive strategy for positioning). The fourth individual (also holding a broom) stands around the target and brushes the surface to guide offensive boulders or misdirect defensive rolls. After each side has passed eight rocks, points are scored by the team whose stones in the target are closest to the center (I've seen teams score as many as four points an end). Often, an entire end is scoreless because a team will knock an opponent's rocks outside the circle (where the horseshoe comparison is most apt). When ten ends are completed, whichever side has the most scoring stones is the winner.

As of 2/16/02, the Ewe Ess curling dudes have defeated Sweden (a power in the sport); lost to Canada, Germany, and Sweden; and stomped Switzerland. Those in the know say we'll have to sweep (HA! HA!) our remaining four matches to get any chance at a medal. If the Ewe Ess Aye fails to bronze, I'll move to Minnesota and be joined by fellow curler Tim Willig. Once there, we'll spend hour after hour sweeping and stoning the 10,000 available ponds. When not training, Tim and I will aggressively promote our new passion via innuendo-laced bumper stickers ("Curlers...Do It From End To End!"), impromptu sponsorships ("You're damn Skippy Peanut Butter we're gonna bring home the bronze in Oh-Sixx!"), and Jesse Ventura ("These two gentlemen of sound body, sound mind, and sealed spirit represent everything that is so great about Minnesotans"). Paul Westerberg, Bob Mould, and Kirby Puckett ("great Minnesotans" all) have promised a third-place party upon our if-successful-but-not-too-successful return home. Billing themselves as The Twin Twins, Minneapolis' favorite sons will play any of Tim's or my requests ("as long as they're not Grant Hart-penned numbers," Puckett warns). Also, the two long-legged femmes from the TV show "Let's Bowl!" told us they'll be ours for Return-To-Minn night, providing that they can wear our medals.

Hey, ladies: We'd like for you both to have a bumper sticker.