Chapter 37 Alan
ALAN
We played that game like a well-oiled machine. People always praise a Skip for leading the team to victory, but that gold medal game was wholly a team effort.
Every one of Carol’s guards landed exactly where I told him to put them, despite the rapid fluctuation of the ice conditions in the house.
With the crowds flocking in to see the final game of curling, on the next-to-last day of the games, the arena couldn’t hold a steady, cold temperature, so the ice got so frosty I began to worry we wouldn’t be able to deliver stones fast enough for takeouts, or slow enough to make it to the other end and still curl the right amount.
I needn’t have worried. Besides throwing a perfect one hundred per cent with his stones, Carol put his entire heart into brooming the stones for the others. His game ethic rubbed off on all of us.
Evan’s percentage ended up just a few decimal points shy of ninety, and Perry’s and mine in the mid-nineties. What Evan lacked in shot accuracy, he more than made up for with his broom and his insight into what shots the ice would allow, and what shots the Swiss team would or wouldn’t make.
He had such an uncanny ability to read the other team, I stopped questioning his advice by the third round.
The game was hardly a blowout. We exchanged points back and forth until the eighth end, when the Swiss team had the hammer but we were up by a single stone.
The crowd loved the energy of the Swiss underdogs vs. the Canadian sweethearts, as we’d come to be called after someone had translated something one of the Finnish players had said somewhat incorrectly.
The Skip, in his interview after our game yesterday, had told the nice woman with the mic that we had big hearts, which somehow got translated into sweethearts, so whatever.
It felt about right whenever I looked at my guys, which I should not be doing like that in the middle of the game, when the ice conditions and the pressure meant I had to focus.
Takeouts had gotten increasingly hard to accomplish on the slow ice so the game had shifted to precision and proximity. We stole another point in the eighth end, forcing them to take two in the ninth, leaving us with the hammer for the final end.
“One point,” Carol breathed. “We are one point away from the top of the podium.”
He was standing next to me in the house, gazing at the mess of stones at our feet. We were down to Perry’s last rock of the game, and only a single yellow stone—theirs, was not in play.
“It’s a lot of granite right there,” Evan said.
They currently had shot rock, with a stone sitting pretty on the button, behind another of theirs, though one of ours was second shot, off to the right.
“I can take them all out,” Perry declared. He’d been playing a conservative but effective game so far, so I was surprised by the bold assurance in his claim.
“All which ones?” I asked.
“I come around the outside, clip our stone, and it will clear both of theirs. Leave ours pretty much on the T.”
“That’s an outside shot,” I pointed out, unnecessarily. It was risky for most players but Perry happened to be good at them.
“You’d have to chuck that sucker for all you’re worth to get enough weight for a double tap and takeout on this ice,” Carol said. “And with that much speed, it won’t curl enough.”
Perry shook his head. “I don’t come from all the way out. I thread the needle. Come up between these two guards.” He pointed to two yellow stones in the front half of the house off set just enough a really accurate shot could, potentially, sneak between them.
His suggestion was met with silence so profound, I heard the game clock tick over a second, then two.
“You have such a tiny slice of our rock, if you do it that way,” Evan said finally. “Your brick peels with that little sliver, and if you miss—”
“I know. I make a mess of the board, but I won’t miss.”
If he did, guards could go flying. Our one chance to keep them to a single point might get knocked out of play. Any number of things could leave the house wide open to them.
“Call time,” Perry said when I failed to make a decision.
“Why?”
“Get Michael in here. See what he says.”
From his place in coach’s area, Michael watched us keenly, waiting to see if he would be needed.
“Not necessary,” I said finally. “I trust your judgement. If you say you can do it, you can do it.”
Perry’s expression brightened when I nodded.
The night before he’d put himself in our hands completely. Putting the game in his now was a no brainer. “Of course,” I told him, “Just tell me where to spot you. I’ll call it, but if you think I’m wrong, take over.”
He squinted at me.
“I mean it. Don’t hesitate. If you start yelling—” I turned to Carol and Evan. “If he starts yelling, ignore me and listen to him, yeah?”
Evan nodded.
“Oui. Yes.” Carol clapped Perry on the shoulder. “Allons-y.”
Evan paused as the other two slid off.
“What is it, precious?”
His eyes got big at the same time I realized what I had called him over the mic. The crowd noise surged.
I ignored everything but his big, luminous eyes. “Words,” I said softly.
“He never takes the glory shot.”
“He’s taking it now.”
“That’s huge.”
I winked at him, because I’d been reminded I had a live mic on and I could hardly say what I wanted to about fucking the caution out of our boyfriend the night before, but I guessed Evan got the message anyway because he grinned.
“He’s taking it now,” he muttered as he slid away. “Fucking right he is.” His mic cut out halfway through his last word and I chuckled. A bad word here and there wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
Perry’s shot was fast and wild. I screamed for them to curl it until my voice broke. The crowd had gone quiet, like they were all holding their breath, the same as I was.
“Off!” Perry shouted about two seconds before the loud crack of granite on granite echoed through the hushed building. Our second shot rock slammed into their shot rock, shooting yellow off the rings and sticking red to the button like glue.
“Right fucking on the button,” I muttered.
The stands erupted.
Perry literally jumped up, fist-pumping like he was that relieved to have made the shot he’d said he could make. Evan hugged him, yakking animatedly as they slid towards me.
“Great shot,” I said.
Perry beamed at me.
“All we have to do now is keep it there.”
“We have the hammer and you,” Perry said. “I’m not worried, even if they knock that one out.”
“No pressure.”
“Why would there be?” He took my hand as we stepped off the ice for the other team to take their turn. “We get a medal either way, and we get each other no matter what.” He snaked an arm around Evan’s waist.
“I want gold,” Carol whispered, leaning his arm on Perry’s shoulder and his head between his and Evan’s. “Since I’m still waiting for my happy ever after.”
Evan looked at him like he was completely nuts, and I couldn’t help glancing over at Michael.
“Don’t say it,” Carol warned.
“We’ll get you gold,” Perry promised him. “Then we have another four years for you to sort the rest of your shit out.”
Much as I wanted to pretend I felt no pressure to win the game, I did. I’d worked hard to get here. We all had, and we were so close.
As we watched, the Swiss Skip delivered his stone just short of the hit and stick he’d aimed for.
“You got this,” Evan said as we waited for Perry to place his broom on my first shot of the last end. All I had to do was lightly tap that last stone to one side and leave mine as a guard to our shot rock, making it that much harder for them to take it out.
What if I’d read the ice wrong? What if my release was too light, or my turn too deep?
“Hey,” Evan said, stopping as he passed me. “Breathe. It’s the Olympics, baby. You already made it.”
I did breathe, crouched to take my shot, and paused, just long enough to meet Perry’s gaze. He smiled. It was fine. We absolutely could do this.
My shot was a little bit light, creating a cluster in front of our shot rock.
Perry squinted at the configuration a moment, then shrugged. “The right hit could take it all out,” he decided. “But it would be hard.”
“As hard as the shot you made?” I asked.
“Almost.”
“You are…”
“What? What am I?” He was smirking at me, waiting.
“We made the right choice when we picked you three,” I said.
“Of course you did.” He shoulder-checked me lightly, but then remained there, his shoulder against mine as he leaned on his broom and watched the Swiss Skip take his shot.
He tried to take out the mess I’d left him and came within less than a centimetre of our shot rock.
Everyone groaned. Even us.
“Dude, that was so close!” Evan said as the Skip watched his stone glide out of play.
“Sadly, close does not count,” he said, holding out a hand to Evan. “Well played. It has been a pleasure.”
“Likewise!” Evan grabbed his hand and shook it hard. “Amazing game. Thank you!”
I could only make out what they were saying because I could see their lips moving. The crowd was on their feet, and seconds later, the announcement made that we had won. There was no need for me to take my last shot since we had that one lovely red stone of Perry’s right on the button.
“This was a good day,” Carol said.
“Ya think?” I grinned at him.
Standing on top of the podium later, it was a relief to have the freedom to finally hold Perry’s hand and know he was holding onto Evan on his other side.
We’d come into the event open about who we were to each other but professionalism kept us from being very demonstrative through the games.
Now we were done. We were still respectful but we could be less rigid.
The weight of that medal hanging around my neck as our anthem played was like nothing I’d expected. Sure we’d said it didn’t matter, win or lose, but we had won.
At some point during all the press interviews, Michael grumbled at us to stop mentioning his name but there was no denying we wouldn’t have made it as far as we did without him.
If he didn’t get to wear the medal he’d worked so hard to help us get, he sure as hell was going to get the credit he deserved.
Standing up there, basking in the actual glory of being a champion Olympian, holding Perry’s hand, feeling the confidence radiate off him, it was hard to believe that wasn’t even the best thing I’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours.
I glanced over at him and he grinned. When I met Evan’s gaze, he had teared up, but happiness glowed from every pore. We had climbed the mountain, to the pinnacle of our sport, and still, we could look down on that height from our personal perspective.
It felt like there was nothing we couldn’t achieve together.
Thank you for reading On The Button.