From major mismatch... to miracle?
By PAUL FRIESEN -- Winnipeg Sun
BRANDON -- Do you believe in miracles?
Sportscaster Al Michaels' famous call of the U.S. win over the Soviet Union in the 1980 Olympics would have been just as apropos here yesterday.
Let's face it: Brent Scales and his no-name rink from Swan River had no business beating the Jeff Stoughton steamroller.
Stoughton is one of the game's superpowers, a four-time Manitoba champ, two-time Brier winner and former world champ, one of the top rock throwers this province has ever produced. A win in yesterday's final would have made him the first skip with a provincial ring for every finger on his throwing hand.
This was such a mismatch, Vegas wouldn't even have bothered setting a line.
"A million to one," is where Grant Spicer, Scales' second, would have put the odds. "No one would have bet on us -- guaranteed."
That's when the improbable began to happen.
NERVES UNDER CONTROL
A picked Stoughton rock helped Scales steal a deuce in the first end, and don't underestimate the importance of that, particularly after he'd been throttled by Stoughton the day before.
"That kept our heads in it," Scales would say later.
And got their nerves under control.
Of course, by the end of the 10th, they were all a complete mess again.
There's not a skip in the world who wouldn't take an open draw with last rock for the win.
But when the shot is for a championship you've dreamed about your whole life, you may as well be throwing that stone the length of Hwy. 83, which runs from Swan River to Texas.
"They (the nerves) were not that great," the 37-year-old Scales admitted. "But good enough to throw the rock."
Yeah, but what if someone had to sweep it?
"My legs were shaking," lead Todd Trevellyan said. "I just tried to relax."
Third Gord Hardy tried to get his skip to take his time, sit down in the hack and take a couple of deep breaths.
He may as well have been talking to his slider.
"I don't like doing that," Scales explained. "Bad thoughts creep into your head."
Particularly when each team already had a rock pick during the final end.
So Scales got into the hack and just let it go.
He knew right away he'd pulled the string.
Trevellyan and Spicer were on it like cats, but as it crossed the far hog line it was dying.
That's when Hardy left the house to join in.
"I ran out there as hard as I could," he said. "I didn't know if it was going to make it. I just said to the boys, 'Polish that ice, polish that ice.' "
At one point, Stoughton lead Steve Gould raised his arm in the air, believing we were headed for an extra end.
But something kept that rock from stopping. Call it the curling gods, or destiny. Or maybe it was the sheer willpower of four life-long rink rats who valued a trip to the Brier more than anything.
"I just couldn't yell any louder," Scales said. "They were scrapin' it."
Any harder and they'd have scraped down to the brine pipes.
After the longest 20 seconds of Scales' life, the thing hit the paint with maybe an inch to spare. He was going to the Brier.
"I think I blacked out for a moment," Scales said.
"Unbelievable. Unbelievable," stammered Trevellyan. "I don't know how else to explain it."
So much for the theory the provincial field had been watered down the last two years. The Slammers will be slumming it for another year.
So much for the theory rural teams aren't worth their weight in horse manure.
Small-town Manitoba finally has a reason to celebrate.
"This is just like getting rid of mad cow up in Swan River," Spicer said. "Nobody will be thinking about it for a while."
No, they'll be talking about this one in the coffee shops for a long time.
Trevellyan already has a name for it.
"It'll be Miracle on Ice, II," he said. "Maybe we'll get a movie."
You just never know.
