My own first contact with curling happened 14 years ago, right as the World Curling Federation was finalizing its Olympic franchise. In a hotel room in Toronto on a business trip, with only three available television channels, I watched the nationwide Brier tournament. Men's teams from every Canadian province were squaring off for a prestigious national title, and the announcers (unlike those at the Olympics nowadays) felt no need to explain anything to novice viewers. I would gladly trade that experience with anybody; the endless streak of arcane lingo turned me off to curling for over a decade.

Like most things, one has to get up close to gain true understanding and appreciation. On the morning of Day 10, a Sunday, I parked in a nice quiet suburban neighborhood and walked a few blocks to the Vancouver Olympic Centre. The security line was two blocks long, with Canadian maple leaf flags and red Sidney Crosby hockey sweaters everywhere.

"A lot of empty churches this morning, eh?" I overheard one fellow muse.

"This is church," came a jovial nearby reply. "The church of the rock."

The Canadian women's team was playing the United States in round-robin play, and every pew in the Olympic Centre was filled with the backside of a crazed curling fan. There were supporters of the powerful Mirjam Ott-led Swiss team ("Hopp Shwiiz!") and a small section of Brits (holding a sign that read, "Curl It Like Beckham"). But the opening hymn was an impromptu "O Canada," and that was the second, third and fourth selection too.

At a tournament, especially in round-robin play, there are up to four bouts going on at once. This experience is not unlike table tennis at the Summer Games, where spectators train their bifocals on a certain pair, and the stands are a mass of chaotic cheering and groaning that makes no sense at face value. Likewise, at curling, fans have a whole menu of choices laid out in front of them.

There are many fine online descriptions of the complicated rules of curling elsewhere, and there's no need to try and replicate those, but the nature of curling dictates that every one of the 16 shots in each of the 10 ends is closely related to those that come directly before and after. So it's only truly possible to focus on one game at a time. That's partially why Canadian TV tends to show the most important tournament matches live... then play the other ones afterwards, one at a time, deep into the night.

But one good part of seeing curling live is that if your chosen match is a runaway blowout, there are always three others going on simultaneously. And that's the dynamic that came into play on Sunday morning. The Canadians destroyed the Americans, putting up crooked numbers in three separate ends -- often without the benefit of the last thrown rock, also known as the "hammer." When the United States retired early, down 9-2 after seven ends, the Vancouver Olympic Centre was a noisy blur of red and white, and there were a few more "O Canadas" thrown in for good measure. They even did the wave.

"My goodness, I've never heard it so loud at curling before in my life," a gentleman behind me said. "I'm used to things being a bit more subdued."

"I'm just worried how it'll affect the rink," replied his friend. "A little extra heat in the building, you know? It only takes a fraction of a degree to change the ice surface."

Despite all the talk of "the hammer," there's very little that's bold or forceful about curling. It's a subtle and careful game of team geometry. In other terms, it's nerd paradise. And listening to the buzz of chatter in section 217, I started picking up on the sport's true allure for true fans.

Spectators weren't just enjoying the game, they were actively analyzing it, talking about it. They were debating the endless matrix of approaches and possibilities on each shot. (There were even a few friendly bets on the chosen spin of certain key throws, clockwise or counter-clockwise.) And baseball has nothing on the number of colorful descriptors in curling. I tried to write down as many as I could: "throw quiet," "ice pebbling," "hog line," "the house," "double takeout," "solid brushing," "blank an end," "burn a rock." It's also probably the only sport in the world where "she's a bit heavy" is socially acceptable analysis.

Curling has been called "chess on ice," but that doesn't really cover it. Only the masters of that tabletop game are worthy of study, the Kasparovs and such. Each game creates its own fixed and recordable context, but with four to a side all having to communicate and work in tandem, it generates much more fodder for discussion.

It's also been compared to bowling, especially by people who would argue for curling's expulsion from the Winter Games. That only works if bowling was no pins and all balls. Curling has little to do with the lawn sports, too -- where are the brooms in petanque?

After the Canadian dismantling of the United States team, the three other games went on. Switzerland had jumped out to an early lead over Great Britain before yielding a few points late, Denmark slipped past Germany on Sheet B, but the match that kept everyone in their seats was Russia-Japan.

The Russians broke the game open early, but Japan refused to retire and kept chipping away at the lead, putting up multiple-point ends down the stretch before tying it in the 10th. In the extra frame, Japan used the hammer to knock clear the house, pick up three points, and win 12-9. It was also a winning moment for some who stuck around for all three and a half hours of Sunday morning's Session 8.

"I told you it'd be three. That'll be a loony, eh?"

Curling is, by far, the least athletic competition on the Winter Games program. There may not be any Summer events that can match it in that category either (but in 2016, golf will come close). But even though this game is not swifter, higher nor stronger than any other, it's an important sport. In snowbound northern communities, playing at curling -- or simply watching and analyzing it -- can be a way for the mind to survive a harsh winter, and successfully stave off cabin fever. Curling madness can be a fine substitute for the real thing.