Olympics On Mute

After the umpteenth snowstorm of the year Mrs. Curmudgeon may be getting a bit of cabin fever. The reason I know this is because she’d taken to swearing at the snow. I’m pretty sure she hates every snowflake independently and personally.

“There’s a support group for that,” said I, “it meets at the bar.”

So off we went through a gathering flurry to escape the house. After a few drinks and dinner all was well. Rather than returning home we wound up contentedly watching women’s curling on mute above the bar. A sure cure for cabin fever (or at least a treatment).

I know little about curling and nothing about the events in South Korea. What I do know is that South Korea’s skip Kim Eun-jung is cute!

That’s weapons grade cute right there.

I had a little trouble watching the action because there were two girls with giant glasses and I could scarcely tell ’em apart. Plus it was curling, which is like shuffleboard as invented by giant drunk Scottish warriors. So who knows what’s going on?

Also, why the hell was I getting all fluttery over some generic chick with owl glasses sliding a stone around on the ice? I mean what the hell wired my brain that way?

Jinkies.

It’s gotta’ be the glasses. After all, if you want to ogle like a drooling Neanderthal at  Olympic participants why the hell are you watching curling?

Hurdler Michelle Jenneke: If I posted this picture once per week my blog’s popularity would skyrocket.

I’m sorry, what was I saying? I seem to have lost track.

Oh yes. So on mute this super cute person was adorable… not on mute for all I know she had a voice like a truck driver and was screaming insults. All hail mute.

The Koreans were unlike the other team. I was too lazy to look up the actual team that was playing. I think it was Swedish but this is the first image I saw online and it seemed representative.

What is best? To drive your enemies before you!

The cute girls wearing giant glasses began to get dismantled by serious looking Scandinavian shield maidens. I usually don’t care about sports but was engaged this time. Also, uncharacteristically I was rooting for the underdog. Usually I root for the meanest looking team and am perfectly delighted by a beatdown. I normally love competition and don’t get hung up on niceness. “Up next, Tiger Woods goes head to head with the Oakland Raider’s offensive team in an MMA octagon.” (I’d pay to watch it. So would you!)

Eventually, Mrs. Curmudgeon said “They’re getting creamed and it’s snowing out, lets roll before the roads get worse.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here and get hammered?”

“Huh?”

“I’m just saying it’s February. There’s no real reason to be sober in the north right now. You think people would go ice fishing without beer?”

She steered me toward the door. “The team you’re rooting for is doomed.”

I complained. “The last time I left a game in mid competition like this, everything went wrong.”

I continued. “It was Superbowl 2017. It went to the bar because I felt it my patriotic duty to at least pretend I care about sportsball. It was 21-3 at halftime and then the halftime show involved that twerking nitwit Lady Gaga. God I hate her! Just when it couldn’t get more lopsided, the Falcons threw a touchdown and it was 28-3. I said ‘fuck this, I’m out’ and started walking back to my hotel.”

She was nudging me toward the door. I kept rambling. “Custer had better odds than the geezer-tastic walking disaster that was Tom Brady. Why watch a man face his own Waterloo?”

Somehow I had my jacket on. I was still talking. “But the very goddamn instant I left that bar all hell broke loose! Brady did a power up, rolled a natural 20, and followed it up by playing the ‘statistically improbable comeback’ card. I missed the best 20 minutes of football in the decade. What if it happens again?”

Outside the weather was appalling. Mrs. Curmudgeon was wise to get us moving before the road was invisible.

Later on I checked on the internet and there was no Tom Brady moment. Whew. Also, somehow the American men beat the Canadians. (Which is a national tragedy to our neighbors to the north. They have my condolences. Though, when cute girls in huge glasses aren’t involved all I care about is winning. “Canada really cares about this all the time and Americans only care once per quadrennial?” “Too bad! We must show no mercy for there can be only one!” Yeah… the glasses messed me up.) Meanwhile, while looking for an image for this post, Google served up this:

What. The. Fuck?

I can’t even… I mean… UGH!

I could have lived my whole life without seeing Norwegian men in pink heart pajamas.

Fuckin’ internet.

This is what I assume the inventors of curling looked like in the summer off-season. I’m sure they don’t even wear underwear, much less pajamas.

Current obsessions aside, curling really shouldn’t be about cute owlish Korean girls or Norwegians in gay-pants. It’s a sport involving asymmetrical shoes and brooms. Obviously it was invented by drunk Scottish dudes flinging rocks around a lake. It should be played by smelly men in kilts… who are drunk. (Also, you know damn well the first time someone used a broom to clear the ice in front of a stone it created a brawl. “You’re clearing a path for the stone? Are you mental?!?” “I didn’t touch the stone Angus!” “Oh yeah? Lets settle this like men… by drinking Scotch and hitting each other with hammers!”) Doesn’t it seem obvious that brooms are some dude’s wiseass addition to the originally simpler game?

Also… fuckin’ snow. I’m so sick of the fuckin’ snow! I’m just sayin.