Controversy in the courteous world of curling
How is this acceptable?
Every four years, the world holds a curling tournament that most people refer to as “the Winter Olympics.” Yes, the ice dancers will dance, the ski jumpers will jump, and the double lugers will inexplicably stack on top of each other to hurtle down a track at 80 miles an hour. But in my house, nearly every day of the 25th Winter Games will be spent watching men and women sweeping ice to make way for 40-pound granite rocks.
For a quiet and reserved sport, curling seems to provoke fierce reactions. Its detractors place it among the most absurd of the Olympic events, such as racewalking or the brief experiment with ski ballet at the 1988 and 1992 Games. To be sure, it’s true that it can look remarkably like televised darts. And the competitors are not as physically impressive as the cross-country skiers. The sport does not require the bravery of skeleton sledding.
The Wall Street Journal captured the amateur spirit of curling and had one of the best X posts of the year in its profile of Rich Ruohonen, an alternate on the U.S. men’s team: “A personal-injury attorney in his 50s is on the cusp of becoming the oldest American Winter Olympian in history. All he needs is for one of his teammates to slip and fall.”
Canada’s Marc Kennedy during the men’s curling round robin against Sweden at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy, on Feb. 13. (Misper Apawu/AP)
Other curlers have similar backgrounds. Korey Dropkin, who won silver for Team USA in the mixed doubles, is a realtor in Duluth, Minnesota. Aidan Oldenburg, another American curler, is an environmental scientist and “experienced juggler” who works “on permitting for wind and solar projects nationwide.” I don’t imagine that Nike and Adidas are lining up on their doorsteps with endorsement deals.
Nonetheless, the people who think curling is barely a sport are badly misunderstanding it, and missing out on one of the great athletic spectacles of the Olympic cycle. Fans of curling, who I suspect tend toward the bookish end of the sports-watching spectrum alongside baseball fans and people who appreciate special teams play in the NFL, know that whatever Dropkin, Oldenburg, Ruohonen, and their teammates do for their day jobs, these men and women are master tacticians. Curling is frequently called “chess on ice,” which is a bad metaphor, but it speaks to the level of strategy involved.
The most important and confusing element of the rules for anyone that I’ve introduced to curling is the scoring. …
How is this acceptable?
Every four years, the world holds a curling tournament that most people refer to as “the Winter Olympics.” Yes, the ice dancers will dance, the ski jumpers will jump, and the double lugers will inexplicably stack on top of each other to hurtle down a track at 80 miles an hour. But in my house, nearly every day of the 25th Winter Games will be spent watching men and women sweeping ice to make way for 40-pound granite rocks.
For a quiet and reserved sport, curling seems to provoke fierce reactions. Its detractors place it among the most absurd of the Olympic events, such as racewalking or the brief experiment with ski ballet at the 1988 and 1992 Games. To be sure, it’s true that it can look remarkably like televised darts. And the competitors are not as physically impressive as the cross-country skiers. The sport does not require the bravery of skeleton sledding.
The Wall Street Journal captured the amateur spirit of curling and had one of the best X posts of the year in its profile of Rich Ruohonen, an alternate on the U.S. men’s team: “A personal-injury attorney in his 50s is on the cusp of becoming the oldest American Winter Olympian in history. All he needs is for one of his teammates to slip and fall.”
Canada’s Marc Kennedy during the men’s curling round robin against Sweden at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy, on Feb. 13. (Misper Apawu/AP)
Other curlers have similar backgrounds. Korey Dropkin, who won silver for Team USA in the mixed doubles, is a realtor in Duluth, Minnesota. Aidan Oldenburg, another American curler, is an environmental scientist and “experienced juggler” who works “on permitting for wind and solar projects nationwide.” I don’t imagine that Nike and Adidas are lining up on their doorsteps with endorsement deals.
Nonetheless, the people who think curling is barely a sport are badly misunderstanding it, and missing out on one of the great athletic spectacles of the Olympic cycle. Fans of curling, who I suspect tend toward the bookish end of the sports-watching spectrum alongside baseball fans and people who appreciate special teams play in the NFL, know that whatever Dropkin, Oldenburg, Ruohonen, and their teammates do for their day jobs, these men and women are master tacticians. Curling is frequently called “chess on ice,” which is a bad metaphor, but it speaks to the level of strategy involved.
The most important and confusing element of the rules for anyone that I’ve introduced to curling is the scoring. …
Controversy in the courteous world of curling
How is this acceptable?
Every four years, the world holds a curling tournament that most people refer to as “the Winter Olympics.” Yes, the ice dancers will dance, the ski jumpers will jump, and the double lugers will inexplicably stack on top of each other to hurtle down a track at 80 miles an hour. But in my house, nearly every day of the 25th Winter Games will be spent watching men and women sweeping ice to make way for 40-pound granite rocks.
For a quiet and reserved sport, curling seems to provoke fierce reactions. Its detractors place it among the most absurd of the Olympic events, such as racewalking or the brief experiment with ski ballet at the 1988 and 1992 Games. To be sure, it’s true that it can look remarkably like televised darts. And the competitors are not as physically impressive as the cross-country skiers. The sport does not require the bravery of skeleton sledding.
The Wall Street Journal captured the amateur spirit of curling and had one of the best X posts of the year in its profile of Rich Ruohonen, an alternate on the U.S. men’s team: “A personal-injury attorney in his 50s is on the cusp of becoming the oldest American Winter Olympian in history. All he needs is for one of his teammates to slip and fall.”
Canada’s Marc Kennedy during the men’s curling round robin against Sweden at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy, on Feb. 13. (Misper Apawu/AP)
Other curlers have similar backgrounds. Korey Dropkin, who won silver for Team USA in the mixed doubles, is a realtor in Duluth, Minnesota. Aidan Oldenburg, another American curler, is an environmental scientist and “experienced juggler” who works “on permitting for wind and solar projects nationwide.” I don’t imagine that Nike and Adidas are lining up on their doorsteps with endorsement deals.
Nonetheless, the people who think curling is barely a sport are badly misunderstanding it, and missing out on one of the great athletic spectacles of the Olympic cycle. Fans of curling, who I suspect tend toward the bookish end of the sports-watching spectrum alongside baseball fans and people who appreciate special teams play in the NFL, know that whatever Dropkin, Oldenburg, Ruohonen, and their teammates do for their day jobs, these men and women are master tacticians. Curling is frequently called “chess on ice,” which is a bad metaphor, but it speaks to the level of strategy involved.
The most important and confusing element of the rules for anyone that I’ve introduced to curling is the scoring. …
0 Comments
0 Shares
44 Views
0 Reviews
