Broomstones Curling Club is located in Wayland, a leafy (well OK, it will be leafy in a few months) western suburb of Boston. It’s been around for a while – specifically since 1968, and currently boasts an active membership of about 400, a number that pretty much pushes capacity.

There are leagues almost every night of the week, and special events and competitions on most weekends, from October through March. And make no mistake about it – Broomstones is every bit a social club as it is a sporting club. This is not one of those country clubs where you know the people in your regular foursome and that’s it. No – these people interact. 

How do I know all this? Sheila Hanley told me.
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…Continued from the previous post.

In an imaginary sequel to Field of Dreams, a soccer-playing counterpart to Shoeless Joe Jackson might have said to Kevin Costner “Is this heaven?” To which Costner would have replied, “No, it’s Santa Barbara in December.”

Quite honestly, I don’t know how anyone manages to graduate from UC Santa Barbara. I’m not sure I could have made it across campus to a single class without being enticed off course. So I wondered how the NCAA could expect the soccer teams from Akron and Louisville to concentrate for the 90 minutes needed to determine our national champion.

Fortunately collegians are made of tougher stuff these days though, and not once do I recall anyone drifting away from play in the College Cup final to check out the surf. Even more impressive – a crowd of almost 10,000 fans suppressed the urge to wander as well.
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A year ago it would have been different.

On a December Sunday morning back then, if I were given the option of:  (1) a 5-hour round trip drive to watch a soccer game; or (2) a day consisting of a couch, a remote and a full slate of NFL games, the beer and Cheesy Poofs would have won over the sunshine and fresh air in a landslide.

But on this particular December Sunday morning, it was quite the opposite. Somewhat distressingly, the NFL holds little in the way of enjoyment for me ever since about Week Three of the season, when I was mathematically eliminated from contention in the Demon Deacon Fantasy Football League.

Once I stopped fretting over whether Anquan Boldin was getting enough touches, I realized…I don’t much care about the football action that takes place increasingly sporadically among the steady onslaught of commercials. I know, I know – I’m aware that my U.S. citizenship is at stake for having said that out loud.
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There are some games that defy description. Some that stand the test of time and take up permanent residence in the brain recesses of those who were there to witness them.

L.A. Times sportswriter Eric Sondheimer called the Northern Division Championship one of the best he’d ever seen in his many, many years of covering CIF Southern Section high school football. Hollywood is about 35 miles away from the town of Westlake Village, but they may as well have occupied the same ZIP Code during the game between arch-rivals Oaks Christian and Westlake.

It was one for the ages.

I wish I could have seen it.

But eight months into the IGTS Tour, my luck ran out. I was left with my nose pressed against the ticket window, so to speak. The game was sold out, and no amount of begging, pleading or influence peddling worked. Trust me, I tried. I made promises that would make a U.S. Congressman blanch. I was positively Cecil Newton-esque in my shamelessness.

Who would’ve thought – after successfully worming my way into 75 consecutive events, that the one that ended my streak would be a high school football game?
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It was déjà vu all over again. Twice.

In this, the second consecutive rendition of “forward into the past”, join me as I return to the Claremont Club, in the shade of the majestic San Gabriel mountain range. Back in June I had traveled to see the CIF Southern Section Boys Tennis Championships, and now for the second time in three days, I was on a mission to see if the Girls Championships could one-up the boys in terms of athletic drama.

One thing immediately apparent on my arrival was that the girls could one-up the boys in terms of athletic spectators.

In my last visit, I was met with a robust selection of available parking spots, all within a short stroll of the tennis courts. I chose something from the “shady” collection and wandered in.

This time around, despite arriving at an earlier hour, and with only two of the five Division Championships set to begin, I was shown simply…the satellite lot. It was sufficiently far enough away from the tennis courts to make me wonder whether it was even on the Claremont Club property. I had to park between two buses, for crying out loud! Is this any way to treat an old friend?

But you take the bad with the good, because another difference I noticed immediately was tremendously enhanced signage. Truth be told, there were actually just two signs, but that was two more than were there in June. And one directed me to the restrooms – a strong value-add since it had been a two-Starbucks drive.
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