They play hooks and cuts at will. My hooks and cuts are unintentional. They gracefully slide down the ice gently releasing a rather large boulder with skill and precision on an intended line. I shove a too small white ball on grass on no discernible line. They're attractive. Male golfers are not.
For the better part of the last week I've discovered women's Olympic curling. I must confess there's still much to learn about this quasi-sport, but I'll have to wait another four years to get my degree. In between Olympic games you couldn't find curling with both hands. The Canadian women lost 7-6 in 10 "ends" to the Swedes in this evenings gold medal final. Think of "ends" as innings in baseball. Heartbreaking. You see I'd semi fallen in love with the Canadian "skipper", Cheryl Bernard. I'm sure I'm at the end of a long line, but smitten nonetheless. Something about women in athletic casual wear, sliding on ice with big rocks, that gets my motor running. Be careful who you "Google" however, as my bubble burst with an audible hiss when I discovered that Ms Bernard was married. Probably to some weenie she met on the curling court. Or is that rink, or stadium, or pitch?
I added "In the house", "peeler", and "On the button" to my lexicon. Pity I now have to wait four years to show them off. Pity as well that my so-called life has disintegrated to this level. Bullcrap! No excuse to watch attractive women stretch and slide is a bad excuse.