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?”
