This weekend, my curling team returns to the ice in our last bonspiel of the year. Curling and cribbage go great together, so I’ve re-posted this blog from last year. Have a great weekend!
“Good curling!” curlers say as they greet one another before and after the match. Besides my first year in the ACC, this is my first year throwing stones across the ice of a curling sheet at the St. Paul Curling Club as a member of the Luther College Curling Team. Imagine my delight when I learned the Mike Rugg Bonspiel (the curling world’s word for tournament) also featured a cribbage tournament. “Sign me up!” I said. Curling and cribbage have much in common: both are social sports; both involve moving objects in hand across the venue of competition; both are accompanied well by beer. Curling has the hog line, cribbage the skunk line. In cribbage terms, we got skunked this weekend on the ice.
Big time. Continue reading
The clamoring cribbage hoards of St. Paul.
After the relative success of the previous night, I wake up hopeful. It’s St. Patrick’s day, March 17, and the luck of the non-Irish (Swede and Italian) is with me. Nonetheless, I don a cheap green t-shirt I’ve had since college that reads “Shamrock Campground – Miles and Miles of Irish Smiles,” and hit the road.
I arrive in Woodbury just a few minutes before the tournament starts. I grab my scorecard from Todd and Ginger, and Todd stands up and takes out an envelope. “I owe you money, sir,” he says, and lays $100 on me. I see Jerry, and he hands me another $80. Friday night, my 13 points and +94 spread was good enough for 6th, and I scored both in the general pool and Jerry’s side-pool of $10. If I had beat Ed–if I hadn’t lost in the stinkhole–it would have been worth at least $30 more. Continue reading
It’s Friday, March 16, one day before St. Patrick’s Day, and the Twin Cities are absolutely gorgeous tonight. It’s 80 degrees outside, the birds are chirping, and there’s not a drop of snow to be found. I’m on my way to the Woodbury Country Inn & Suites for the Capital City Classic cribbage tournament. Driving east on I-94 into a beautiful waning sunset, I’ve got the windows down, music loud, an arm danging out the window, and I remind myself once again what I’m losing this beautiful night to. A game. Cards. Part of me just wants to keep driving into the dusk. Continue reading