Some of my favourite people on the planet

My mom was raised a Polish-Canadian Catholic who, in her own right, was one of eastern Saskatchewan’s better rock tossers but had virtually zero competitive spirit. Thank goodness I got that from my dad.

Remember Pope John Paul II? Here’s a tidbit of wisdom from my favorite Polish Pope:

We are best servants of this world when we live in our natural passion areas. We also heal in grief or trauma best in those passion or creative areas, hopefully surrounded by like-minded people.

Lansing, Michigan in June of 2014 with Team Colorado was my balm, which had its beginnings at the Broadmoor Curling Club in Colorado Springs two years earlier.

The USA Arena National Championship is a unique curling shootout, first played in 2013 to recognize the curling clubs that play on multipurpose arena ice. Almost 50% of all clubs in the United States are played on hockey and figure skating arena ice, not the pristine curling-only surfaces on the Grand Slam circuit.

That’s where the high hard ones react like out-turns on in-turns, and in-turns react like out-turns.

Many of these players come from curling hotbeds all over the northern states, Scotland and Canada but now work and live in cities without dedicated curling rinks. These are some of my favourite people on the planet as they are strong promoters of the game they love, and the socializing is as good as at any curling centre.

Arena curlers are often catalysts, helping their arena clubs morph into full-time dedicated curling rinks—like Denver, San Francisco, Phoenix, Charlotte, Atlanta, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh and Hollywood (until recently, sadly) to name a few, and now the latest, Las Vegas.

More than a handful of these Arena Nats curlers have played high-level curling where they grew up, often competing in provincial, state and national championships.

That’s the genesis of this championship. 

While on a writing sabbatical and healing journey (more on that in a bit), I met three Colorado newbies to our sport in Colorado Springs and Fort Collins. They recruited me to skip their team simply because I was from Saskatchewan (they figured I had to be good if I was from Schmirler, Richardson and Walchuk country—they study our sport’s history, folks). I eventually wound up in Nashville but was considered legal because the bulk of the team lived in Colorado and my home club was still there.

We honed our team by playing in 11 different U.S. states. For the first two years of this event, we represented Colorado. We won bronze in 2013 versus Northern California then gold in 2014 over the defending champs from Michigan.

This month—this week, in fact—marks our 10th anniversary of winning that USA Curling-sanctioned event, and ours was, at the time, only the third curling team from Colorado to win USA curling gold in anything.

Lansing, Michigan hosted the 2014 championship. Sixteen states were represented in a double knockout (two consolation events for when eliminated from the main event) held on pristine Slam-style arena ice. And yes, out-turn hits reacted like out-turn hits and in-turns reacted like ... well, you understand. And it was 14 to 14.5-second ice in speed. It felt like what I played on back home.

In game one we got beat by Virginia (Washington DC’s club). We can’t lose another game and there’s four days to go. Game two and we knock off the Carolinas—first the South, then the North. The North skip, Jeremy Hozjan, grew up 30 miles from my hometown in Sasky. We believe our dads curled against each other a few times. He recently joined me at Mosaic Stadium in Riderville. Anyway, we won by a measurement in the final end—we were alive, but barely!

Then came the all-time winners of this event, from Dallas. Those guys bonspieled all over North America. We got hot, I mean really hot, as the velcro came off early—they had gotten us good in the 2013 semis, so it was sweet revenge.

Game four, to qualify for the medal round, saw us face off against Virginia again. It was a close battle against their skipper who was Winnipeg-born and raised.

Those four games felt like Survivor, but we were in the medal round. The Comeback Cowboys from Colorado.

Our lead, Nate Mascarenas, must have shot 80% plus for the week. He had our opponents chasing us for most of our games. Our second man Gord Harrison, my fellow Canuck from Vancouver, was a hitting machine. 

The key? Play to their strengths: Nate said don’t give him hits unless we really had to, and Gord said don’t give him draws unless we really had too. Hey, I’m adaptable. And their brushing skills were superb.

Kevin Lyons was the other old guy on the team who had a knack for making a clutch shot in dire situations. He had a Mark Messier look in his eyes at those times. Those eyes scared me but also gave me comfort at the tee-line.

We met Pennsylvania in the semis, a team that would go on to win the title a couple of years later. It seemed like we had control but we couldn’t put them away. Our Sasky skip had to make his last rock to win and advance to the gold medal game.

There we faced Michigan, who had never lost in the two years of this event. Their skip was the late Garnet Eckstrand who died in a tragic car accident just last year; a wonderful gentleman on and off the ice and the last curler to skip the great Kevin Martin in junior competitive curling.

I so enjoyed sitting down with his team those couple of years. His squad had really schooled ours in 2013 (speaking of velcro). But one year later, we curled our best game of the championship to win the title, eventually running them out of rocks to conclude a fine battle.

To win six games in a row in a double-knockout against such good competition—and in a nationally-sanctioned championship—felt so good, especially with such a committed team, and we maintain the friendships 10 years later.

Back to the Pope and his wise words, and I’ll get personal here on why this event was more than just curling for me. I believe in serendipity when it matters; I never knew these serendipity moments until I drove from Lansing back to Nashville (home at the time) to process and write in my regular daily journal—which is my now 50-year curling journal.

Five years earlier, while living in Calgary, I had gone through a devasting divorce after 27 years of marriage. I opted out of my day job as a pastor with little or no desire to return. I had that option, but I was numb inside. I was blessed to get three writing contracts over the next eight years that opened the door to move south.

Before I moved a fellow friend and rival in Calgary, Rick Bishop, heard about my divorce. He said “I’ll bet you want to avoid people.” He was right. I told him I wanted to take a year from curling after 40-some years of playing. He said “You and I are going to bonspiel—a lot. You need people that get you, and us curlers get you.”

I reluctantly said yes, and it definitely helped the healing process—along with some pretty good formal counselling I received. My counsellor said Mr. Bishop probably gave me the wisest advice of all.

While in Nashville processing that wonderful journey to Lansing, I realized:

• That was my 100th career first-event win, counting bonspiels, leagues and A blocks.

• Lansing was the 100th rink I had curled in.

• A few weeks earlier I’d spent an afternoon on Lansing Road in Iowa at the legendary Field of Dreams. I wore the necklace I bought there during the arena championship. It never dawned on me, until writing in Nashville, that Lansing Road met Lansing, Michigan. My good luck necklace.

• This was my first and perhaps last sanctioned national championship (I’d won nine non-sanctioned ones at the Friars Briar). I’m a typical curler that still thinks he may get to a Brier, even in my senior curling years. Aren’t fantasies part of our human makeup? Yes, I’m also a realist.

• The day we won gold was my ex’s birthday (with zero disrespect) and that was the first time I had forgotten it was her birthday; that date had marked a horrible annual day for me up to that point.

After the final stones, we went to the hockey locker room our team was given. Before the medal ceremony I was left alone. Then it hit me. My ex’s birthday. A dream I always had to win something like we just won.

I was overcome with five years of wacky emotions, as my counsellor would put it. He diagnosed me with Level 3 PTSD from the trauma of my divorce and loss of what I felt was so much; even my Aussie shepherd, who went with me everywhere for over a decade, got hit by a speeding truck and died in my arms that year.

But I felt redeemed, healed through my passions and interactions with like-minded people. I may become Catholic thanks to John Paul II. I’ve always felt like I’m in a safe and temporary bubble on the ice.

I went into a bathroom stall and wept—not because we had accomplished a comeback with little room for (B-side) error, but I felt like my healing was crystalized. I wish I could explain something so ineffable but this wave of divine love, acceptance, and a return to having my moxie back seemed to flood my soul. It felt like I was given a gift for hangin’ in there. And it’s lasted!

Every June, this very week, I raise a glass of malbec to toast Nate, Gord, Kevin and their families for our friendship, our medals, and the empathy they still demonstrate.

PS: Thanks to George Karrys for suggesting this article, as he knew it was our 10th anniversary. This feels therapeutic. And believe it or not, this is my 200th article for various magazines (print and digital). Thank you, gk. You had no idea did, you?

Guy Scholz is now living 11 minutes from his parking spot for Saskatchewan Roughrider games. He can be contacted via email (guyscholz Gmail) for workshops, seminars, a coffee—or someone to throw rocks with, just for fun.