I recently had a conversation with someone who I played against in little rocks that went something like this:
Him: "You were a really good skip. You were the only girl who ever beat me."
Me: "We played against each other in little rocks? I'm so sorry, I don't remember."
I don't know why, but I can't remember very much from my years as a little rocker. There are small flashes of memories, but not much else.
It was the 2000/2001 season and my last year of little rock age eligibility. I had no problem beating any of the kids in the little rock program and so I had been introduced to bantams a year early. The bantam program is for kids aged 12-16 and is the official introduction to "real" curling. You graduate from the plastic little rocks to playing with a set of 42lbs official granite stones. It was a step up and more challenging for me, which I loved. I couldn't wait to be a grown-up curler.
One day, all of the youth program curlers were sitting around in the club lounge as the league convener was making announcements. I was barely paying attention, lost in my own world as usual, but my ears perked up when he said:
"Now, you may see on the flyers in front of you that Ottawa will be hosting the 2001 Nokia Brier at The Civic Center. This year, the Little Rock Championship game will be held at the arena on the Brier ice before the final game."
I sat there and thought, 'Wow, that would be really cool, but I'm playing bantams now, so I guess I can't go'.
My dad pulled me aside. "Julia, do you want to play on the Brier ice?" He asked.
"Well, yeah," I replied.
"Okay, then you're going back down to little rocks," he said.
I was bummed about spending another year playing little rocks, but excited about the opportunity to play in an arena. My dad was coaching me and put a team together with myself at skip, Julie Frame at vice, Emma Miskew played second, and Jaclyn Rivington at lead. It was a strong team of talented young girls and we knew we had a good shot at winning the title. We represented the Huntley Curling Club in Carp, Ontario.
You'll have to accept my apologies for this part of the story - I can't remember any of the games leading up to the championship. I don't have an epic tale of a rise to glory where the protagonists battled it out, overcoming obstacles along the way. If anyone reading this knows what happened please feel free to leave a comment below and try not to be too offended if I beat you and can't remember doing it. I promise its not personal, I just have a terrible memory from back then. All I know is that somehow we won enough games to get us into that championship final at The Civic Center on the Brier ice.
I don't think I realized how big of a deal it was at the time. To me, it was just another curling game. One of my greatest gifts as a young skip was the inability to feel any pressure. My parents and coaches would always comment on how I never seemed stressed when it came to throwing a big shot, but I just never really thought about it all that much. Still to this day, I don't like knowing too much about what the outcome of a game will mean. I never look up how much money or how many points are on the line until after a tournament is over. It doesn't help me to think about what I'm playing for. I know some players who refuse to skip because the pressure of throwing the last rock is just too much for them. I've heard of players who would throw up before games because they got so nervous. I have never felt anything close to that. When I step out onto the ice I'm confident and relaxed. I know I'm capable of making any shot at any time on any day. I'm oblivious to the pressure of a big game and I don't feel stressed. When I curl, I'm calm and I'm focused and that's it.
On the day of the championship, I woke up early and came down to the kitchen where my dad was making me scrambled eggs for breakfast.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied, nonchalantly.
My team arrived at the arena already wearing our matching team vests (let's not forget that it was 2001). We were supposed to be wearing white long-sleeve shirts underneath, but I added an extra layer over top: my favourite blue t-shirt with the Superman logo on the chest. I was invincible that day, and I wanted everyone to know it.
We stepped out onto the blue carpet as the traditional bagpiper led us to the end of the sheet and a huge smile crept across my face. Even I had to admit that this was pretty cool. I looked up into the stands and waved at my parents when the MC read out my name. I looked up into the rafters and was blinded by the bright TV lights. This was it. We were real curlers.
We got to play the championship game with intermediate rocks. They were a new kind of rock that weighed the same as a little rock, but had the size and feel of a big (standard) rock. They were amazing. The ice was so pure and easy to read. It was the best stage I had ever played on and I knew I couldn't lose.
As we were playing our game, the two men's teams from Manitoba (Burtnyk) and Alberta (Ferbey) who were playing in the Brier final came out to practice on the sheets next to us. The players all came over to introduce themselves to us and sign some autographs before they left to prepare for their own game. It was an incredible experience. I noticed them watching some of our game and thought 'wow, they are watching me play!', but I refused to be starstruck in that moment and stayed focused on the task at hand.
(Note: Randy Ferbey went on to win his first Brier as a skip along with David Nedohin, Scott Pfeifer, and Marcel Rocque later that night while we watched them from up in the stands.)
The score was close and it came down to the last rocks in the final end. My team had the hammer (last rock advantage). I made a beautiful draw around a bunch of guards to sit shot and buried with my first shot. My opponent, Rachel Homan, made a raise on her own rock to out-count me. With my last shot I had to play a precise raise-tap for the win. I showed Julie where to hold her broom and I slid down the ice, cleaning the path as I went. I communicated the shot to my sweepers and settled in the hack to clean my rock. I stood, lined myself up, and took a deep breath. I crouched down, pulled the rock back to my toe, and pushed off. The moment I let go of the rock handle I knew that the trophy was ours.
Our parents were going crazy in the stands with pride and excitement. We hugged them over the side boards before we went to pose for photos with our trophy. We were treated as if we had actually won the Brier. The men's teams were cheering too and came over again to congratulate us on our victory. I felt like a celebrity. The winner's buzz was a high like nothing I had ever experienced before.
The next day, I went back to school beaming with pride. I tried to explain to some of the other kids in my class about what I had accomplished over the weekend, but their eyes glazed over with boredom. They could not have cared less that I was a champion. They still teased me about playing an 'old man sport'. The letdown of going back to my regular life was crushing. At the curling club I was loved and supported. I had friends and teammates and coaches who respected me. School was an entirely different story.
Him: "You were a really good skip. You were the only girl who ever beat me."
Me: "We played against each other in little rocks? I'm so sorry, I don't remember."
I don't know why, but I can't remember very much from my years as a little rocker. There are small flashes of memories, but not much else.
Except for one game.
It was the 2000/2001 season and my last year of little rock age eligibility. I had no problem beating any of the kids in the little rock program and so I had been introduced to bantams a year early. The bantam program is for kids aged 12-16 and is the official introduction to "real" curling. You graduate from the plastic little rocks to playing with a set of 42lbs official granite stones. It was a step up and more challenging for me, which I loved. I couldn't wait to be a grown-up curler.
One day, all of the youth program curlers were sitting around in the club lounge as the league convener was making announcements. I was barely paying attention, lost in my own world as usual, but my ears perked up when he said:
"Now, you may see on the flyers in front of you that Ottawa will be hosting the 2001 Nokia Brier at The Civic Center. This year, the Little Rock Championship game will be held at the arena on the Brier ice before the final game."
I sat there and thought, 'Wow, that would be really cool, but I'm playing bantams now, so I guess I can't go'.
My dad pulled me aside. "Julia, do you want to play on the Brier ice?" He asked.
"Well, yeah," I replied.
"Okay, then you're going back down to little rocks," he said.
I was bummed about spending another year playing little rocks, but excited about the opportunity to play in an arena. My dad was coaching me and put a team together with myself at skip, Julie Frame at vice, Emma Miskew played second, and Jaclyn Rivington at lead. It was a strong team of talented young girls and we knew we had a good shot at winning the title. We represented the Huntley Curling Club in Carp, Ontario.
You'll have to accept my apologies for this part of the story - I can't remember any of the games leading up to the championship. I don't have an epic tale of a rise to glory where the protagonists battled it out, overcoming obstacles along the way. If anyone reading this knows what happened please feel free to leave a comment below and try not to be too offended if I beat you and can't remember doing it. I promise its not personal, I just have a terrible memory from back then. All I know is that somehow we won enough games to get us into that championship final at The Civic Center on the Brier ice.
I don't think I realized how big of a deal it was at the time. To me, it was just another curling game. One of my greatest gifts as a young skip was the inability to feel any pressure. My parents and coaches would always comment on how I never seemed stressed when it came to throwing a big shot, but I just never really thought about it all that much. Still to this day, I don't like knowing too much about what the outcome of a game will mean. I never look up how much money or how many points are on the line until after a tournament is over. It doesn't help me to think about what I'm playing for. I know some players who refuse to skip because the pressure of throwing the last rock is just too much for them. I've heard of players who would throw up before games because they got so nervous. I have never felt anything close to that. When I step out onto the ice I'm confident and relaxed. I know I'm capable of making any shot at any time on any day. I'm oblivious to the pressure of a big game and I don't feel stressed. When I curl, I'm calm and I'm focused and that's it.
On the day of the championship, I woke up early and came down to the kitchen where my dad was making me scrambled eggs for breakfast.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied, nonchalantly.
My team arrived at the arena already wearing our matching team vests (let's not forget that it was 2001). We were supposed to be wearing white long-sleeve shirts underneath, but I added an extra layer over top: my favourite blue t-shirt with the Superman logo on the chest. I was invincible that day, and I wanted everyone to know it.
We stepped out onto the blue carpet as the traditional bagpiper led us to the end of the sheet and a huge smile crept across my face. Even I had to admit that this was pretty cool. I looked up into the stands and waved at my parents when the MC read out my name. I looked up into the rafters and was blinded by the bright TV lights. This was it. We were real curlers.
We got to play the championship game with intermediate rocks. They were a new kind of rock that weighed the same as a little rock, but had the size and feel of a big (standard) rock. They were amazing. The ice was so pure and easy to read. It was the best stage I had ever played on and I knew I couldn't lose.
As we were playing our game, the two men's teams from Manitoba (Burtnyk) and Alberta (Ferbey) who were playing in the Brier final came out to practice on the sheets next to us. The players all came over to introduce themselves to us and sign some autographs before they left to prepare for their own game. It was an incredible experience. I noticed them watching some of our game and thought 'wow, they are watching me play!', but I refused to be starstruck in that moment and stayed focused on the task at hand.
(Note: Randy Ferbey went on to win his first Brier as a skip along with David Nedohin, Scott Pfeifer, and Marcel Rocque later that night while we watched them from up in the stands.)
The score was close and it came down to the last rocks in the final end. My team had the hammer (last rock advantage). I made a beautiful draw around a bunch of guards to sit shot and buried with my first shot. My opponent, Rachel Homan, made a raise on her own rock to out-count me. With my last shot I had to play a precise raise-tap for the win. I showed Julie where to hold her broom and I slid down the ice, cleaning the path as I went. I communicated the shot to my sweepers and settled in the hack to clean my rock. I stood, lined myself up, and took a deep breath. I crouched down, pulled the rock back to my toe, and pushed off. The moment I let go of the rock handle I knew that the trophy was ours.
Our parents were going crazy in the stands with pride and excitement. We hugged them over the side boards before we went to pose for photos with our trophy. We were treated as if we had actually won the Brier. The men's teams were cheering too and came over again to congratulate us on our victory. I felt like a celebrity. The winner's buzz was a high like nothing I had ever experienced before.
The next day, I went back to school beaming with pride. I tried to explain to some of the other kids in my class about what I had accomplished over the weekend, but their eyes glazed over with boredom. They could not have cared less that I was a champion. They still teased me about playing an 'old man sport'. The letdown of going back to my regular life was crushing. At the curling club I was loved and supported. I had friends and teammates and coaches who respected me. School was an entirely different story.
Julia Weagle, Julie Frame, Emma Miskew, and Jaclyn Rivington with the Little Rock Championship Trophy, 2001
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