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
You know what it's called.
This form of cribbage is generally frowned upon in public, competitive play. In private, however, it may be a different story. The Superbowl. The World Series. The Stanley Cup Playoffs.
And Strip Cribbage.
Last week, Minnesota author Phil Connors won the National Outdoor Book Award for his recent title Fire Season: Field Notes from a Wilderness Lookout. Several months ago, I attended a reading from Connors at Magers & Quinn, my favorite Twin City bookstore, and was able to ask him a bit about cribbage at 10,000+ feet. The original blog is posted below.
Last Wednesday, Connors read from his just-released book Fire Season: Field Notes From A Wilderness Lookout, at the inestimable Magers & Quinn bookstore in the Uptown neighborhood of Minneapolis. Fire Season recounts the experience of Connors’ beloved job, that of a fire lookout in the Gila National Forest of New Mexico, one of North America’s landscapes most prone to fire, to flame, to spark, kindle and inferno. After several years as an editor at the Wall Street Journal, Connors abandoned the miasma of New York life for the (relative) solitude of the southwest. I haven’t read the book–yet–but I enjoyed Connors’ contribution to State by State, writing of our mutual home state of Minnesota, and had read a few excerpts of his work in other publications. Why do I think we’d be friends?
Dude plays cribbage. Continue reading