Wednesday, Apr. 17, 2002
Dear Diary:

It's been a few days, so I've worked through the pain and now I'm ready to talk about what happened to the Canadian women's team in the World Curling Championships last weekend.

They placed freaking FOURTH, people. The team that was last year's World Champions placed FOURTH.

I am still reeling from the shock.

Oh, wait, you KNOW where they placed because only a death in your immediate family would have taken you away from the tee vee and the big happenings in Bismarck. So if you missed the games this past weekend, you have my heartfelt condolences, of course.

The kindest thing I can say about how the Canadian women played is that clearly they were the victims of random, senseless, drive-by lobotomies. The skill, finesse and creativity that used to be second nature to them was gone.

It wouldn't have been so hard to take if they had been quickly and painlessly eliminated in round robin play, but oh, noooooo, they Had To Make Me Suffer by pulling one of the most brilliant games of the tournament out of their butts in order to claw their way into the last semi final spot.

Having convinced me that they had regained their world class form, THEN they crashed and burned. I am now firmly convinced that Canadian women's curling exists only to break my heart and sap my will to live.

At one point the Canuckians led the bronze medal match 6-1--And STILL Lost The Freaking Game! ARRRRRGGGGGHHHH! That's the equivalent of leading a baseball game 63-4 and then going on to lose it. These women played so badly that I ended up chanting "Go Dordi, Go Dordi" for the last half hour of the game.

Yes, I rooted for their Norwegian opponents.

I could get my Canadian citizenship revoked for this, eh.

As hard as this is for me to admit, the best team won in the women's field. Yep, the Scottish women took their first World Curling Championship ever and they deserved it. I can't begrudge them their triumph but I would like to say that That's Enough Winning And They Better Not Do It Again.

You know, I tell myself It Could Have Been Worse. The only thing that kept me from turning into a weeping, quivering, broken shell of a woman was the fact that the Canadian men's team made up for the way THEY crashed and burned last year and scooped up the gold this year.

The Norwegian men put up a very good fight, but in the end the universe unfolded as it should and the World Curling Championship trophy has come back to its rightful home, The Great White North.

Ice. Rocks. Unfortunate fashion choices. I mean, c'mon, if EVER a sport had "Canada" written ALL over it, it's curling, eh.

Now, if I can only think of a way to protect our women's teams from those random, senseless, drive by lobotomies . . .


Old Drivel - New Drivel

Subscribe with Bloglines

Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -

.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (0 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime

A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!

< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>

This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.