Magic moments at the Brier
No matter where you sit at the Labatt Brier in Saskatoon, the moment is magical.
In Section 9, Row 16, the seats are so high that the big TV screen vanishes. You’re winded from climbing the endless stairs and the ceiling rafters are even with your vantage point, but you can still hear the boisterous roar of the New Brunswick skip.
At the corporate table at the opposite end of the rink, companies pay $9,000 per table so guests can enjoy more comfortable chairs and are so close to the action that they can hear the murmur of a downcast skip.
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Ka-thud. Ka-thud. Another double take-out. The shot rock stays in the house. The arena breaks into appreciative applause. There’s a cacophony of cowbells, moose horns, loon calls and shouts of provincial names.
“Jeff Stoughton’s my hero. My dream is to be there, on the ice some day,” says one teenager.
While kids dream of playing future briers in city arenas, the Brier stirs memories in older curling fans of where their passions originated.
The echoing thud of rocks reminds them of small-town rinks in the days before artificial ice, silent brushes, wind suits and computerized TSN cameras.
They remember the ka-wop! of straw brooms on ice, the banging of rocks against wooden boards, and wearing thick woolen cardigans in rinks with frost on the walls and air so cold you could see your breath.
They remember the competition and camaraderie of playing with and against friends, relatives and neighbors, and the promise of a hot coffee when the game was done.
Magical moments at the Brier ensure Canadians continue to treasure the past of curling and nurture its future.
