A-curling we will go

Ready to rock

"Are there a lot of curling-related deaths?"

This was not an altogether frivolous question, although it was a mostly sarcastic one, given that in my hand I was holding a waiver (!) in which I was to acknowledge, by my signature, that I was aware of the potential for serious injury or death while curling.

After the woman handling the paperwork reassured me that curling-related deaths are uncommon -- and that if I dropped a curling stone on my head, I was doing it wrong -- I signed the sheet allowing me to take part in the local curling club's introductory class last week.

My buddy Pizz and I sort of goaded each other into going, me by originally posting the notice for the class on my Facebook page, and him by saying he wanted to go if I did. Our friend Woody was originally going to go with us, but he couldn't make it.

I, like most of the 40-plus people in the class, was drawn to curling because of the Olympics, where every four years I watch it incessantly, becoming an "expert" just in time for the gold-medal match, whereupon I forget most of it. Not only does the game itself make for oddly compelling television, I would argue that there's another secret to its appeal ...

... You watch it and think, "I could do that." 

But could we? That's what we were there to find out.

After an explanation of how the game was played, which was supposed to be accompanied by a video but the TV was missing, we headed out onto the ice to learn the basics of pushing out of the hacks, sweeping and manipulating the stones to get the desired curl.

The good news as we got ready to start our two-end mini-game was that I seemed to be getting the hang of it. I was able to push straight out of the hack without injuring myself, and it looked like I had the hang of curling the stone. (I was somewhat familiar with the concept, having been a bowler.)

Then we started playing. On my first shot, I set my sights on the target, went through each of the steps very carefully ... and then pushed the stone left. It wasn't a horrible shot, though, safely inside the house, and for a long time it looked like it would hold up for a point for our team until our opponents put one in the center.

So that left us losing 1-0 going into the second end, and I put my second shot right down the middle ... but too short for it to count. I must confess ... I'm not real hung up on being macho, but I felt like a wimp. I hoped to get a chance to redeem myself.

I did. Our opponents were in position to score another point to clinch the match when I was chosen to take the last shot. My job was simple ... put my stone closer to the center of the house or knock the other team's unguarded stone out of the house while leaving mine in. It was a chance to be a hero for my team, or as much of one as creating a 1-1 tie would create.

And I pushed it left ... again. Way left. Left like one of my golf shots into the woods left. Left like the only chance the shot had was if someone tilted the Earth's axis like a desperate pinball player.

Before I describe what happened next, let me remind you that everyone was having a great time ... laughing, joking, hanging out, high-fiving and fist-bumping each other, sweeping with more enthusiasm than effect and yelling like the skips on TV mostly just so we could yell like the skips on TV.

And oh yeah ... none of us had ever played this game before.

So what did I do?

I cursed. Multiple times. And not the breezy "Ahhh, (expletive), that really sucked" kind of way, but the one you say and the way you say it when you're really angry. In that moment, the worst part of my competitive nature, the one that I'm not proud to say I've been told can be a little scary, came out.

All because I cost my team a game that I had never played before.

I can't help it. It's who I am.

Fortunately, it subsided fairly quickly. Pizz and I talked about the Merseyside Derby the next day (he's an Everton fan and I root for Liverpool, but neither of us were to gain bragging rights this time), I sent a text to Mrs. Last Honest at her convention to St. Louis that I made it through the evening with no injuries worse than banging my kneecap on the ice and I drove home.

Would I do it again? Sure I would. I'm no threat for the 2018 Olympics, but it was fun.

Confessions of a soccer "tourist"

I saw an article on the Guardian website about a growing concern that the atmosphere at Premier League games has become a bit ... blah.

"For big games and on heady European nights, the atmosphere at most grounds can still make the spine tingle. At others, such as Stoke City's Britannia Stadium, it crackles no matter the opposition. But elsewhere there is a definite feeling that something is being gradually lost from the matchday experience."

Even though it's something I do mostly with extreme trepidation, I started reading the comments. The views expressed were mostly along the lines high ticket prices keeping the "real" fans out, players making so much money there's no connection to the fans anymore (I, like one of the commenters, wondered how Andre Wisdom could afford the Porsche he marooned in the mud) and all-seater stadiums meaning fans can't get together and make noise.

There was also the complaint that there are just too many damn foreigners in the game, because even I know that if there's something wrong with English soccer, blame the foreigners.

I'm no expert on the Premier League or fan behavior in England, but if I had to guess, I would say the ticket prices have a lot to do with the problem. But the comment that got my attention was this one.

"The last time I went to a live game there seemed to be more tourists than fans. People spent most of the game talking or videoing with their phones and posting the "experiance"(sic) to Facebook. Dull as dishwater."

You mean tourists like ... me?



I will confess that Fulham-Stoke would not have been my first choice for a game while I was on vacation, but Liverpool wasn't at home and the Fulham game was the game Mrs. Last Honest and I could get tickets to, and we spent a lot of time online trying to find the best deal on tickets we could.

And even though I bought a hat, I was not full of vim and vigor for the home team. Sure, I hoped they would win, but I wasn't going to scream and yell over it.

Here's the thing, though. I fully admit to being a guy who was at the game just because I wanted the experience of being at a Premier League game. That's my excuse, but what about the rest of the fans at Craven Cottage, given that the Stoke fans in attendance seemed to be far more into the proceedings than they were?

Were they not cheering because Fulham has an owner who was born in Pakistan and now lives in America and a Dutch manager? Were they angered into silence because the players were making too much money? Were they thinking, "I'd scream and holler, but look at all those foreigners out on the pitch"?

Or was it because Fulham is a bad team and the game looked for all the world like it was going to end in a goalless draw where neither keeper had much to do until Darren Bent scored for Fulham? (Granted, he is an Englishman, and people did cheer when he scored.)

Even though, as I said before, I do think high ticket prices are probably limiting crowds to people less likely to make a lot of noise, that's a generalization and there's probably no one real answer.

But I think I can say with some certainty that the "tourists" are, at worst, a tiny part of the problem.

Stop, ESPN, just stop

I love college basketball.

I love how, even though there are obviously teams favored to win the championship, anyone has a chance to make it to the NCAA Tournament and once there, anyone theoretically has a chance to win. It's better than college football, where the SEC is basically one national semifinal and everyone else is playing for one spot in the championship game. (I also don't have all that much faith in the four-team playoff, as I'm sure within a year that the cry will be for two, three or perhaps all four teams to be from the SEC.)

I wish I had the time and stamina to watch all of ESPN's Tip-Off Marathon, continuing as I write with Virginia Commonwealth against Virginia.

So why am I getting so ticked off?

The centerpiece of the marathon is the Champions Classic doubleheader in Chicago that starts with Kentucky-Michigan State and wraps up with Duke-Kansas. (Given Mrs. Last Honest's sympathies, however, we may wind up watching Florida-Wisconsin, which isn't too shabby, either.)

For the past few days, ESPN's promotion has been grating on me, in that they continually referred to the Duke-Kansas game not as a contest between the Blue Devils and Jayhawks, but between star freshmen Jabari Parker of Duke and Andrew Wiggins of Kansas.

I'm confused by all the @ESPN promos. #Duke and #Kansas are going to be able to play five guys at a time, right? It's not 1-on-1?
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) November 12, 2013

I still haven't gotten an answer from The Worldwide Leader, but that's not even what has really gotten my goat.

This is.

One big reason you should watch the #ChampionsClassic: 6 of the top 10 in Chad Ford’s NBA Draft Rankings are playing.
— ESPN (@espn) November 13, 2013

I don't know ... how about that four legendary, really good teams with four of the best coaches in the country are playing at a neutral site on Nov. 12 when many of your best teams are content to challenge themselves by playing home games against No-Chance State? There are obviously countless things that could (and likely will) happen between now and then, but it would be no surprise to see these same four teams in Arlington next April.

For God's sake, NBA teams have barely started tanking to get one of those prize draft picks next year, so can we let the players that they're desperately trying to get play a little for the teams they're actually playing for now?

Hey ESPN, if you're so fixated on next year's draft, you might miss some pretty good basketball between now and then.

The Red Sox won the World Series, and as you can imagine, I'm not pleased

So, you may ask, how does a lifelong Yankees fan who lives 15 miles from Boston handle the Red Sox winning the World Series?

Not all that well.

I didn't watch one single second of the World Series live, including pregame and postgame shows. If something happened that I wanted to see, I'd find it online the next day, but I cannot watch the Red Sox in the World Series. I just can't.

But there's still the Twitter machine, and I must confess, when I knew what was going to happen in Game 6 (aka ... as soon as the Red Sox took the lead), I pretty much spent the whole night whining and railing about whatever I could. (In case you're wondering, I will never let go of the Ortiz thing until the media start treating him like everyone else linked to performance-enhancing drugs, which means I'll hold onto it until I die.)

@awfulannouncing Maybe it wouldn't be a talking point if he was treated like EVERYONE ELSE on the 2003 list.
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) October 30, 2013

Wishing right now I could leave the country again for a place where no one talks baseball. #RedSox #WorldSeries #missinglondon
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) October 31, 2013

Hiding from people, watching soccer, old wrestling watches on You Tube. #postworldseriesplans #gottamakeitthroughtheparade
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) October 31, 2013

Three Boston World Series since I moved to MA can make me an atheist! “@MLBJesus: Stephen Drew hit a home run. That was for the atheists.”
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) October 31, 2013

@SeverinoMLB @MLBNetwork As long as everyone keeps ignoring that PED test that was ignored for no one else.
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) October 31, 2013

Beyond ranting and raving, I settled into a strategy of hunkering down and waiting for it all to be over. I didn't watch the news and wouldn't have read any of the next day's Boston Globe had my wife not alerted me to a couple non-sports things I'd want to look at.

That covered me at home, but what about work? I had already noted some disturbing tendencies.

Hearing lots today about what "we" did to the #Cardinals, which is weird, since no #RedSox players work in my office.
— LastHonestSportsFan (@LastHonestSport) October 24, 2013

So of course, one of the guys who works for me walked in Thursday, gave a high-five to a co-worker and said, "We're all part of Red Sox Nation, so I can say we won." I asked him if I could be thrown in prison for being a political dissident ... and he didn't say no.

This worries me.

My plan was basically to let people do what they were going to do, but if they left me out of it, I'd be content to listen to my headphones all day. Strangely, however, there wasn't a lot of talk about it. People chatted with each other when they first got there, and then went to work.

It was kind of strange, actually.

After I left yesterday, it was easy to resume Operation Ignore, but as the euphoria started to lessen just a tiny bit, I felt safe flipping through parts of the newspaper and very tentatively putting on the news to see what silliness they were up to. (Seriously, Boston TV news has gone straight down the crapper the past few years.)

And the parade is tomorrow, so I'm thinking that the worst should soon be over.

But just in case, this match between Ric Flair and Ricky Steamboat can cover me for almost an hour.