How did we get here?

LONDON, ON – Colin Hodgson announced his retirement from the competitive curling life heading into the Brier this week, so Northern Ontario losing in the play-in page playoff (I’m not even sure what to call that game) means that it might have been Colin’s last game.

I first met Colin about 15 years ago in a Charlevoix hot tub. I’m not sure who he was even playing with at the time, but I remember how that young, curly-haired kid was just soaking in every minute of it. He loved being at a ’spiel. He loved the atmosphere. And he loved striking up conversations with just about anyone around.

Colin is a presence in the game. In part because of his curling, but more importantly because of his voice. He is a fierce advocate of mental health and wellness, and a strong voice for indigenous rights. He is an athlete who uses his platform for good. 

Curling is better with Colin.

So I was very sad to hear that Colin is hanging ’em up. To give you some perspective, Colin is 32. Not 42, and definitely not 52 like some elder competitive curlers I know. I’m sure we will still have him around in mixed doubles, or maybe coaching. But one of the true role models in the game will not be on my television.

My question is … how did we get here? How did we get to the point where Colin feels like he should step away from the game? How did we get to the point where curling is not fun—certainly less fun than it used to be?

I think it’s a question worth asking. I grew into the game in what was the golden age of curling in Canada: the 9’s and early 2000s. There were bonspiels, cashspiels, there were massive amounts of teams and fans. Every ’spiel was a new adventure. And every spiel was FUN. There was drinking, there were parties, but mostly there was just fun.

And there was the lure of the Brier. The Brier at the time was ridiculous. Briers were sold out, and played in NHL arenas in big cities. Everyone wanted to get to the Brier, even if it was an elusive dream.

I had never heard of anybody “retiring.” The biggest names in the game did not “retire,” they just played a bit less. And God help you if you ever ran into a wily veteran in the first game of a ’spiel. “Retirement” meant you retired from your day job so you could curl more.

But somewhere, we got more serious. The sport became Olympic. The Slams came into being. Curling was no longer about the masses, it was about the elite. It was about winning.

Okay, who am I kidding, it was always about winning. But I do remember it being fun.

And the best teams were leading the fun parade. The top teams were often found in the Patch, or the bar. It’s as if they recognized this is an insanely hard game on the psyche. Some would say that they performed at a high level despite staying late at the bar or the club, I would argue that a big part of their success was because of it. The top teams often had a bit of perspective.

Now, competitive teams find themselves at the Grand Slams. Slams often last a full week. They are held in small towns, with the same limited cast of characters. They involve a lot of time spent killing time. You spend time in hotels. There is a lot of time for thinking and self-reflection, in a sport where thinking and self-reflection are often the enemies of greatness. You play a game a day. Then kill time. Then off to the next Slam. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This seriousness has also translated itself into a business-like approach to curling. Perform or you are fired. The next Olympic cycle is always only a few years away, so there is no time to waste. I don’t remember ever hearing the best teams thinking of themselves as a “business” but this is the case today.

So, as I raise a glass to Colin and wish him well, I am secretly holding out hope that we can work again to make this game something he won’t want to retire from. Let’s make curling fun again.