Defending Canadian and world champions, from left, Glenn Howard, Richard Hart, Craig Saville and Brent Laing. The foursome are fierce competitors, but still make time for their fans. (Frank Gunn/Canadian Press)

With Christmas approaching and the remnants of a trip to Beijing still lingering in my body and mind, the quick turnaround to Medicine Hat, Alta., and the Continental Cup of Curling was more than a little bit ominous. The prospect of trying to fill Don Wittman's place at the microphone, even for a single moment, was downright scary.

In the end, the good people of curling saved me.

There is something about sports on television in this country that calls for the narrator (the play-by-play voice) to be authoritative and beyond question. In any professional game broadcast live, whether it be hockey, football, baseball or any of the Olympic disciplines for that matter, the critics and the fans do not suffer fools. Simply put, there is nowhere to hide for the rank amateur of the airwaves. Pretenders beware. Your first call may be your last.

So with that I walked into the Medicine Hat Arena and faced the spectre of fronting two days of championship curling and seven hours of live television, from the prairie heartland of the sport. Not only that, this was no ordinary curling match. This was a confrontation with an accompanying format akin to golf's Ryder Cup, pitting North America against Europe and featuring 12 teams of four players each representing eight different countries. The research binder handed to me by the nice man from the Canadian Curling Association upon my arrival contained 400 pages of statistics and biographical facts. It was, to be conservative, voluminous.

You have to know that curling is somewhat of an obsession in Canada. More than a million people play the sport competitively on a regular basis and are registered with local and provincial organisations. When it comes to television viewers, only hockey tops curling in the ratings on a regular basis and championships like the Brier and the Tournament of Hearts get close to a million viewers.

Enough said, the evidence is clear.

People in Canada love what has been affectionately dubbed, "The Roaring Game." They gobble it up from coast to coast to coast and then they toast its ability to make the curlers, who are ordinary folks, into extraordinary stars of sport. They do this in giant-sized beer halls adjacent to frigid arenas and they relive every shot of the tournament (frequently called a bonspiel) deep into the winter nights and early mornings. It is a strange phenomenon of this vast northern expanse, which has become a trademark of the national identity.

Words from the wise

Shaking in my boots - I had to wear boots because the rink was sub-zero - I ventured a phone call to my friend Don Wittman, the legendary and generous voice of curling for so many years in Canada. He is not feeling well and I wanted to tell him that I was thinking of him. "Wish you were here Don, I'll try my best," I said, in all humility. "I know you will," he replied firmly. "Just listen to the curlers and it will be fine."

Putting on my headset in the booth, I looked over to see Olympians at my side. Analysts Joan McCusker and Mike Harris wore Canadian colours with distinction at the Nagano Games in 1998 and both came home with medals. They flashed knowing smiles and shared an inside joke at my expense while sharpening their tongues and the tips of their electronic drawing pencils.

On the ice below, world champions and Olympians, the members of a stellar international ensemble, were already engaged in three separate and concurrent matches and we were suddenly on the air. Resorting to the basics, I relied on my broadcaster's instincts and kept it very simple. I would welcome the viewers back from commercials and give the score, even venturing to recount some curling history I had gleaned from the research binder. Then I did what Don Wittman asked. I listened to the curlers.

I heard the players on the ice, who are fitted with wireless microphones, as they described the shots they would consider and then attempt. Reflected in their words was confidence and, at times, self doubt. There was joy at a beautiful takeout, a sigh at a missed draw and a thousand notes of encouragement each time a rock was delivered. It was like eavesdropping on a family summit. It was fascinating.

Also to be heard were Joan and Mike as they predicted what might come next and responded to questions I blurted over the airwaves as I endeavoured to join their conversation. Never did they dictate what should happen but instead, what the outcome could possibly be. "It's a very risky shot," McCusker might say. "But in curling anything can happen," Harris would conclude. Then he would draw the intended path of the rock on the video monitor as if he were working a high-tech, Etch-a-Sketch and sit back to see what transpired.

Inclusive atmosphere

The crowd too played its part. Listening to them, I never heard a disparaging word. They cheered for both sides and were gracious and quiet at all the right times. There didn't seem to be a favourite and there was certainly no booing or much use of crudity. They did, however, make a lot of noise at all the right times and engaged the competitors in friendly conversation.

World champion Glenn Howard was constantly waving to the fans and even walked over to the arena boards to speak with ticket holders during a break in the action. Jackie Lockhart of Scotland surprisingly agreed to perform cartwheels after a successful shot once the crowd had egged her on. The whole thing took on a carnival like atmosphere where everyone was suddenly in the game.

As the matches progressed I became more at ease. More importantly, I began to understand why curling makes so much sense. It struck me that this is a sport of inclusiveness where there are no "Insiders." Everyone is welcome to join the conversation. There is even room for the naive broadcaster who attempts to tell the story of a national obsession without much of a background in the game.

"Ordinary people doing extraordinary things," reckoned Joan McCusker. "As long as you take it for what it is," Mike Harris added. "No one's an outsider. No one's allowed to be!"

Seven hours of TV over two days went by in a flash and at the end of it all I felt like I had begun to come to terms with a national treasure. Curling is a reflection of the people who watch and play it. It is distinctly Canadian and to understand it is to be aware of what's going on in thousands of arenas across the country. It's good and honourable sport.

It's like Don Wittman told me. "All you have to do is listen to the curlers."