The Lisas had us some exciting weekends. One of us ate back-to-back dinner/breakfast all-u-can-eat buffets and ran the risk of being trampled to death. The other traveled to an exotic foreign country to sit for hours on end in an icebox, but in the arena of meal competition, won hands down.
Lest you should think the latter Lisa had the more interesting weekend, you would be right. Although #1 Lisa risked not only being trampled by mad, sushi-hungry diners, she also sat on the sidelines of a semi-professional polo match, where there was a minuscule chance of being pulverized by a deranged man atop a fine specimen of horse flesh. Or was it a fine specimen of man atop a deranged horse? Either way, watching polo as a non-horse-lover is fun for one reason: people watching. Namely, rich people. People with names like Tiffany and Hayden. Plus, where else can you use the word ‘chucker’ in polite conversation? For the uninitiated, a chucker is the polo equivalent of a baseball inning. Although One Lisa can see how you might be confused and use it inappropriately, such as, “Polo is a sport that kinda makes me want to chucker up, but not as much as say, curling.”
My dear Lisa #1–Curling is not obscure. Millions of Canadians can’t be wrong. Though hockey is my true guilty pleasure, I am always content to accompany my spouse to curling events. We spent this past weekend in London, ON watching some of the best curlers in the world at the Tim Hortons Brier.
Everyone is so darn enthusiastic and full of provincial pride at curling events. From the folks from Newfoundland and Labrador in their yellow fisherman hats to the contingent from Alberta in their foam cowboy hats. I am sorry for the gentleman behind us who enjoyed periodically warbling through the arena, “Whooooo’s the team that’s number one? ON-TAAAAR-IOOOOO” His enthusiasm was laudable, but misplaced; Man-i-toooooo-baaaaa is the team that’s number one.
None of my meals were all-you-can-eat-style, but I did snag a butter tart for lunch and had a truly delicious 6 course meal at Braise. The dinner clocked in at over three and a half hours, so we did miss a teensy bit of the 7:30 draw on Saturday night. It was too bad, since who wants to miss a minute of a sport where grown frantically men shout, “Hurry, hard, hard” to each other before mixed company without a lick of embarrasssment.
So we wrap up Part I of Obscure Sport Weekend Recap with this brilliant author tie-in: remember, everything you say or do can and will almost certainly be used against you in one of our books. The good, the bad and the really ugly hats worn by polo enthusiasts and curling nerds alike. In Part II we will discuss exactly how we expertly use memories and powers of observation to create fiction almost stranger, yet far more poetic than truth. If we don’t forget.