There is something about living in a Northern climate that makes one prone to odd, self destructive behavior involving alcohol. Spend enough time snowbound inside your house, and you start seeing things. Just ask Jack…
Thankfully we live in a Northern Suburb of Minneapolis, and not at the Overlook Hotel. Although the recent return of winter is now taxing our limits of sanity. So on Saturday night, Mrs. 20 Prospect and I joined a group of 20 some parents from Our Lady of the Subdural Hemotoma for a night of curling.
What is curling you ask? Why just the greatest sport ever invented by drunk Scotsmen! (Sorry golf, get over it). The rules are fairly straightforward, and once you’ve got a couple of drinks under your belt they even start to make sense. Basically it involves sliding a 40 lb stone across a sheet of ice, to try to place it in a target, while a couple of broom wielding teammates try to control its speed and direction.
For a sport invented by drunks it requires an incredible amount of balance. Unfortunately Mrs. 20 Prospect found that out the hard way by falling and hitting her head on the ice not once, but twice. (It’s not a coincidence we decided to send our children to Our Lady of the Subdural Hemotoma.)
While you are on the ice flailing about with brooms and dodging rocks, spectators sit behind a window in the warmth of the bar laughing at you. Seriously.
Despite the head injury, we had a great time. In fact it was so much fun that we are planning to sign up for the Instructional League to pursue our new found curling dreams. And why not? At 44 years old this is my absolute last chance to make it to the winter Olympics.
More importantly, it will give me an excuse to wear a curling sweater to the bar.
The Dude would approve.