Welcome to the BC Dick Curling Hour! (or hours. Got some slow readers in this group)

We find our heroes, the local novice curling team, in a precarious position this week.

Holding our 6-2 record high but mired deep in the bog of a two-game losing streak, we entered the club under the pressure of a thousand oceans. We were hanging by threadbare fingers to our chances of finishing in the top four and thereby gaining a coveted opportunity to hoist the $30 gift card as repeat champions.

We had warmed up at my local pub this Friday rather than at the curling club. $4 for a sleeve* really gets the blood flowing to those ever-important curling muscles, the boozeceps.

*American “pint” so only 16 ounces of sweet, gold nectar. Still a good deal.

On our arrival to the sheets of curling ice we sensed a less-than-full house for the night’s matches. Indeed, there were at least four teams absent. We watched as two sets of opponent-less teams paired off for games and we waited as no foursome arrived to take on our mighty warhorse of rock-tossing fury.

Something about a virus and being a bunch of wimps, I think it was.

We had all but packed it in for the night, opting for some more beer and an early bedtime but at the last second another orphaned outfit appeared from out of the mist and we had ourselves a game! In the interest of expediency we agreed on a four-ender rather than the usual six.

We won the toss and I annoyed my teammates by shouting out our preference for the yellow rocks rather than the hammer. We had agreed beforehand to take the hammer.

After trading singles for the first three ends we had a 2-1 lead going into the fourth but they had last rock. Apparently we should have taken the hammer but sometimes you just have to play that wild card.

And it worked like a charm. A steal of 3 in the fourth gave us a 5-1 win. Or so we thought. Having sped through the four ends at top pace it was decided that the game would be extended to the usual six ends. Our night was not yet over despite the seemingly insurmountable lead.

They came back with the hammer in the fifth end and hung a pair on us to bring the score within two for the last end. Even so, we were coming back with the hammer and could even afford to give up a steal of one. I advocated for playing it as clean as we could and taking out as many rocks as possible. The idea being to prevent them from burying rocks behind their rocks or ours which leads to more steal opportunities. The skip has a tendency to prefer a lot of draws and ignored my sage advice.

They ended up sitting one behind a line of four rocks, three of them our very own sweet yellow stones turned and used agin’ us. We had another rock out wide on the edge of the eight-foot and they used their last shot to try a hit and roll behind the wall of guards. This was just what I was worried would happen and I let my skip and third know the folly of their strategy in no uncertain terms.

By the grace of Candy they missed wide and spun off our rock, taking it out in the process. We used the resulting space to draw for one more and the 6-3 win.

Now as thrilling as this victory was it rang a bit hollow. Mostly due to its hollowness. Because you see, my friends, this game mattered not to our standings in the league. It mattered to us only for pride and craven gluttony for domination over our fellow novice curlers. For our victory had come long ago when our opponents failed to take the ice for the challenge that awaited them.

You are correct, good sires and dames. We had already won and by the two sweetest words in the English language: De Fault.

We finished up the regular season with a very solid 7-2 record, surely enough to at least be considered for the final four showdown.

Unfortunately, the world has given in to chicken littleism. I should have known, what with the doomsday clocks and shrieks of “ten years left” and so forth. We were already here, we just needed a little shove. The curling league has ended one week shy of playoffs. Much like any woman waking up next to me, our team has been left feeling listless and unfulfilled. We had so much more to accomplish.

Not only that, this month’s Women’s World Curling Championships have been nixed as well. What other horrors can you visit upon me, oh great destroyer of civilizations (of seniors)! Won’t you spare me just one child! One loaf of bread! One roll! Just one square!

Damn you! Damn you to hell, vile demon!