I ENJOYED the Winter Olympics more than I thought I would.

Probably because I had pretty low expectations in the first place.

It’s not that I don’t respect the athletes. I do, especially the aerial skiers and speed skaters.

Not the curlers, though. Fair dinkum, what is that meant to be?

I find it hard to take a sport seriously when brooms are involved and your peak years are between 15 and death.

Anyway, I figured out my pre-Olympic apathy was down to the fact I didn’t have a clear concept of many of the winter sports and what it takes to be successful at them.

Australia’s a sun-loving, singlet-wearing, melanoma-breeding country and most of us are children of grass and sand as opposed to ice and snow. I have a suspicion of what it takes to reach the elite level in sports like rugby league, soccer and cricket because I played them.

But it’s a different matter with winter sports.

I’ve never seen the snow, never skied and a sloth with depth-perception problems would’ve shown more elegance than I did the first and only time I’ve tried ice skating (a Dutch girl made me do it).

But I found myself flicking over to Channel 9 (when the reception wasn’t dropping out, that is) when the Olympics started two weeks ago.

Bobsleigh, ski-cross, luge – it was all a bit … well, exotic for a simple son of a humble canefarmer such as myself.

Of course, this year’s Olympics have turned out to be Australia’s most successful in the snow.

The big moments came when Torah Bright won the snowboarding and Lydia Lassila took out the women’s aerial skiing.

I was happy for both of them, but it never crossed that line into jubilation.

Neither success was enough to make me upper-cut the air, like when Harry Kewell scored the equaliser against Croatia at the 2006 World Cup or when Steve Renouf ran the length of the field for the Broncos in the 1992 NSWRL grand final.

It was more a warm tingle of satisfaction, like when you correctly choose the quickest checkout aisle at the supermarket.

And while it annoyed the hell out of a lot of people, I didn’t mind the whole ringing of the cowbell thing.

I think it has a future in more mainstream sports, particularly golf.

I can see Tiger Woods wearing one when he rejoins society from his sex rehabilitation, so his wife knows where he is and what he’s up to at all times.

She might even put one around his neck as well, just to be extra safe.

More White Line Fever:

• Hitting on-air turbulence
• A one-day exursion
• Deciphering rugby code
• Is this town big enough for Willie?
• Finger food for thought

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