Curling Tunnel Syndrome.

The first thing they tell you about curling: Watch your balance. It's easy to fall, it's unprofessional, it's embarrassing, it damages the ice, and it hurts. Now, the Flaming Disasters are the worst team in the league, but at least we're not the most horizontal.

Well, before yesterday, that is.

We were down by five points, but it would have been eight if not for a last-rock miracle in the previous end, so the Flaming Disasters were still in the game, and we were still in good spirits. It was time for me to shoot, so I headed out of the house off to the hack, sliding backwards as I kept discussing strategy with the third...

...and I forgot that our lead had being throwing really short guards that day. Still going backwards, I caught one on my ankle, and over an extended twelve seconds, I managed to trip on it, land on it, fall on my funny bone, get my broom caught underneath my back, and chip a small divot out of the ice. And, naturally, it happened during that one rare moment when every team in the club was perfectly quiet.

I swear, the only thing I didn't do in that fall was set my clothes on fire.

The story doesn't end there. You see, the best part of any fall is the fallout.

Person #1: "Are you okay?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm fine."

Person #2: "Are you okay?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm fine."

Person #3: "Are you okay?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm fine."

Person #1: "Are you sure you're okay?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm fine."

...and so on. After a while, I started saying different things, just to entertain myself.

Person #8: "Are you okay?"

Me: "I can still feel... (pause to count) ...six toes, so that's not too bad."

But then people started worrying, so that had to stop.

On the bright side -- this was the first game in three months where I hadn't worn my kilt.

Could've been worse.


(This week's delay has been brought to you by "Zack & Wiki: The Quest for Barbaros' Treasure." More frequent blogging shall resume shortly.)