My wife Aimée and I had been looking forward to this trip for months. The plan? Fly from Nova Scotia to Calgary for the 2024 Scotties, watch some world-class curling, and—if my strategic hotel booking worked out—maybe even bump into a few of the sport’s biggest names.
And let me tell you, the plan worked like a charm. Throughout the week, we met Glen Howard, Brent Laing, and Rachel Homan, just to name a few. It was a curling fan’s dream come true.
But the real highlight? Watching Jennifer Jones in her final Scotties appearance. The legend herself. We cheered her on all week, riding the highs and lows, only to watch her fall just short in the final against Rachel Homan. Heartbreaking. Naturally, Aimée and I did what any self-respecting curling fans would do in such a moment—we hit The Patch to drown our sorrows.
After a long night of commiserating (and maybe one too many beverages), we stumbled back to our hotel, exhausted but content. That’s when I noticed something. A few doors down from our room, there was a serious party happening. People coming and going, music, laughter, cheers—it was unmistakably a curling party. And who did I spot among the crowd? None other than the event host himself, Stu Brown.
Now, I knew this was my shot. I was holding a drink, still buzzing from the night, and there was a party full of curlers just within reach. As the door swung open and closed, I caught a glimpse inside—Team Homan was in there, celebrating their Scotties win, and right in the middle of the room was the Scotties Trophy itself.
This was fate.
I walked straight up to Stu, put on my best “friendly Maritimer” smile, and said, “Hey!! Looks like a curling party! Any chance a couple of good folks from Nova Scotia can join in the fun?”
Stu didn’t even hesitate.
“Nope.”
Door shut.
Denied.
I turned back toward my room, thoroughly rejected, while inside the celebration raged on. It was like they knew we had spent the whole week cheering for Jennifer Jones.
As I sat on my bed, I could still hear the party through the walls—the laughter, the music, the toasts to victory. And in my slightly inebriated, completely bitter state, I did something… questionable.
I pulled out my phone, opened the hotel app, and fired off a complaint about the noise.
Yeah. I know. Not my proudest moment.
The next morning, after maybe three hours of sleep, Aimée and I groggily made our way to the front desk to check out. As I handed over my key, the lady behind the counter gave me a sympathetic look.
“Oh, Terry… I’m really sorry about last night,” she said. “There was a curling group having a party, and they got a little loud. I’ll take $40 off your room.”
Wait, what?
Before I could even respond, she added, “You know what, I’ll make it $50.”
I blinked, still in a daze. “Uh… thanks.”
It wasn’t until we were halfway across the parking lot that I remembered—I was the one who had complained about the noise.
Oh, the shame.
But karma works in funny ways. The flight back to Nova Scotia was rough. Turns out, an entire night of drinking at The Patch doesn’t mix well with air travel. I barely ate a thing, and I’m pretty sure if I had gotten into that party, I wouldn’t have made it onto the plane at all.
So in a weird way, Stu Brown may have saved me from myself.
No hard feelings, Stu. But if we cross paths at the 2026 Montana’s Brier in St. John’s, how about you let me buy you a drink?
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