Curling is anything but boring – it’s my surprise Winter Olympics obsession

Long dismissed as low-octane, ‘chess on ice’ turns out to be one of the most gripping sports at the Winter Olympics – and it’s even better when watched up close, says Jonathan Wells

What a play! This, surely, is what the Winter Olympics are all about. It’s skill. It’s showmanship. It’s the most daring, medal-worthy move we’ve seen all day. And doesn’t the crowd know it? Seats gripped with ice-white knuckles; misty breaths collectively held. The thrill. The chill. And the sport we’re all watching? Believe it or not – curling.

Surprised? Imagine how I feel. For years, I dismissed curling as a bit of a bore, lumping it in with other low-octane pursuits like snooker and golf (I remain unconvinced). When booking Winter Olympics tickets, I sought out ice hockey first, with speed skating a close second. Curling, if I’m honest, didn’t even trouble the podium of my ice-bound interests.

And yet, here I am – captivated in Cortina, the stylish Italian ski resort in the heart of the Dolomites – more swept up in the sweeping, more rocked by sliding stones than I ever thought possible.

I do, very vaguely, remember Rhona Martin’s nation-sweeping triumph at Salt Lake City in 2002. Even so, for years I filed curling away as sedate, almost soporific. Why, I wondered, would anyone willingly sit through “chess on ice” – as it is so often uncharitably dubbed – when a bone-shaking skeleton run or a rifle-toting biathlete beckoned elsewhere on the Games’ schedule?

How wrong I was – and how obviously so – especially given curling’s long and quietly enduring Olympic legacy.

The sport first appeared at the inaugural winter Games in Chamonix in 1924, but even that barely scratches the surface. Its origins stretch back to early 16th-century Scotland, when Perthshire locals slid the first stones – or “rocks” – across frozen ponds, dubbing curling “the roaring game” for the granite’s unmistakable growl as it skimmed across the ice.

Today, though, at the mixed doubles in Cortina, the ice is immaculate and the rocks no longer rumble. But that’s not to say the sport is quiet. The athletes themselves provide plenty of noise (Switzerland, I’m looking at you), while the thundering claps of ricocheting stones are enough to raise goosebumps – even without the help of the arena’s sub-zero chill.

There’s something else I hadn’t realised, too. At this stage of the Games, four matches are played simultaneously across four lanes – or “sheets” – multiplying the drama fourfold. It’s a detail easily missed on television, as I did in my channel-skipping youth, but in person it creates an almost unrivalled live sporting experience. Imagine four ski jumpers hitting the take-off ramp at once, or a quartet of figure-skating couples sharing the ice. There are gasps. There are claps. And you’re never quite certain which moment they’re meant for.

Yet even the action – more dynamic than all the brushing and shoe-shuffling might suggest – pales in comparison to curling’s most thrilling element: the tactics. There are feints and strikes and bold opening gambits – perhaps “chess on ice” wasn’t such a mean nickname after all. The deliberation countdowns (team timers run like chess clocks) play like atomic nail-biters. It’s almost cinematic. In fact, perhaps curling is due its big-screen break. It might not share the blockbusting, bobsledding spectacle of certain winter sports, but I’d be first in line for a ticket to Curl Runnings.

Of course, it helps that Team GB are such scene-stealers. Heading into the final days of the mixed doubles, Bruce Mouat and Jennifer Dodds have already set the gold standard. Mouat, in particular, is an ideal poster boy for an ideal sport: humble, successful and refreshingly candid about his mental health.

Judging by his jokes – whether underplaying his medal ambitions or calling himself a “hot mess” in BBC interviews – he seems exactly the sort of person you’d happily share a couple of crisp Forst Felsenkellers with at a local taverna once the round-robin wraps up.

He’s also among the most relatable of Winter Olympians – something that goes double for the sport itself. Perhaps that’s why I find curling so compelling: it feels, somehow, within reach. It would take serious work, of course, but I’d be far more likely to nail the button (land the stone perfectly within the target) than break a downhill record or land a double McTwist 2160 in the snowboard slopestyle.

And I’m not the only one. Last month, Prince William and Catherine, Princess of Wales, tried their hands at it in Stirling. (Fun fact: every stone used at the Winter Olympics is made from granite quarried on a tiny island in the Firth of Clyde.) Snoop Dogg also had a bash in Cortina last week. Over the weekend, Mouat even offered some tips to Formula One world champion Lando Norris, who posted a video of himself playing a miniature version of the sport on Instagram. “Come and try curling up in Scotland at the NCA [National Curling Academy] anytime!” offered Mouat’s teammate, Dodds.

If only that invitation were extended to everyone unexpectedly smitten by the sport. Leaving Cortina with a post-match buzz, I realise I’ve caught something rare: a genuine affection for a game of strategy, skill and some truly turbo brushing. And as my newest Olympic obsession closes out for another four years, I’m hoping more people shout for the roaring game – so we can all get our frosty fix.