Queen of Hearts Jennifer Jones, the GOAT of Canadian women’s curling, is leaving an indelible imprint on the ice eclipsed only by the impact she’s had on lives off it… thanks, Skip By: Melissa Martin Posted: 1:50 PM CST Friday, Feb. 23, 2024

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 23/02/2024 (876 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

One of the most common questions asked of many curling reporters, and at least a few top-level curlers I know, is not about the game. It’s not about shots, or strategy or sweeping. It’s not about a memorable game, or a place we’ve been. It’s actually about a person.

“What is Jennifer Jones really like?”

The ubiquity of this question — during my years covering curling, fans posed it to me a dozen times or more — is itself fascinating. Among top women’s players, only Rachel Homan seems to attract the same personal curiosity, the same sense that there’s something about the player that fans watching at home don’t get to see.

“I wonder why it’s such a common question,” one experienced women’s curler replied, when I mentioned to her the topic of this column. “Because I would get asked that all the time, too.”

Maybe it’s the steely game vibes Jones keeps on ice that makes people wonder. Or maybe it’s the fact that, despite her seeming comfort in front of the cameras, she actually considers herself to be very shy. Either way, I’m here to tell you that it’s true: there are many things about Jones that you won’t see on TV.

Now, as she takes her final slides down Canadian women’s championship ice, it’s a fine time to answer that question, and tell you what one of the legends of the game is really like.

I have not known Jones as long as some reporters. The first curling event I ever covered was the 2013 Canadian Olympic Curling Trials. I was there when that iconic Jones team won their right to wear the Maple Leaf in Sochi, Russia; I remember standing on the ice as they grasped hands and took their victory walk in front of an ecstatic hometown crowd.

Jones was at the top of her game then. She was radiant, I thought.

In the years since, I followed her to every corner of Canada and, on one memorable occasion, beyond. I watched her win Manitoba championships and Canadian titles. I was with her at the 2015 Women’s World Championships in Sapporo, Japan, where she earned a silver; and again at the worlds three years later in North Bay, Ont., where they won gold in the last game of retiring second Jill Officer.

Along the way, Jones and I have had countless conversations. We’ve chatted in hotel rooms and restaurants and the workaday back halls of small-town rinks. We’ve talked about curling, of course, but also about life, and family and our fathers. We’ve had short conversations and long, most of them on the record but some, most decidedly, off.

In that time, I came to know a few things about Jones that I might not have guessed. The fact that she’s wildly intelligent came as no surprise — being both a lawyer and one of the greatest skips of all time suggests such a mind — but what I did not expect is that she is also wickedly funny, with a quick and razor-sharp wit that can catch you on the sly.

What always struck me most about the real Jones, though, was her sense of caring. For fans, for curlers, for anyone who entered her sphere. I was an inexperienced curling reporter when we first met; of all the welcoming skips, it was Jones who offered the most encouragement, giving me lots of kind words and exclusive time. Having the biggest star of the sport on my side built my confidence immensely.

Time and time again, I saw her offer the same support to up-and-coming curlers, taking time after games to offer wanted advice, a comforting hug or just an ear for their troubles. One of the most remarkable things about Jones, I soon learned, is her incredible capacity to remember small details about people’s lives, and to make time to check in on them, even in the midst of the chaotic schedules and intense pressure of major events.

At one Scotties, for instance, after she learned a TSN crew-member’s relative was sick, she sought out the worker to offer her support; that’s just one of many such stories. On a lighter side, at the 2021 Canadian Olympic Trials in Saskatoon — which I attended only as a fan — she asked one of my colleagues when I’d be at the rink; somehow, she’d heard it was my birthday, and wanted to wish me a good one, in person.

“How does she even remember that?” I asked, shaking my head, when my colleague told me. But of course, she always does.

And Jones has often been the first to stick up for other curlers, whether in media interviews or behind the scenes. She’s spoken up many times about situations and treatment of players she disagreed with, even if it didn’t affect her team directly. She knew, I suspect, that her voice held more weight than most, when it came to how events were managed.

At an onstage group interview at one Scotties that included Rachel Homan’s team, the host — possibly inadvertently — asked some questions that were, at that time, an uncomfortable topic for Homan. It was Jones who intervened, deftly interrupting to redirect his questions with a joke that got the crowd laughing.

I asked her about that thoughtful interference run later; she just chuckled.

“I was like, ‘Come on, man; this is supposed to be fun,’” she said.

Still, even this show of care paled in comparison to what she offered fans. Curling is a folksy sport, and most players delight in meeting supporters. There are few, however, who have the same fame — and the same demands on their time because of it — that Jones, for most of her career, has had to deal with.

Yet somehow, she always has time for fans. Whether she’s just finished a triumphant win or a crushing high-profile loss, she always goes out to do the rounds of the rink, taking photos or signing autographs for as long as it takes to make sure no one gets missed.

And in 2021, when a man I’d interviewed for a story about vulnerable seniors during COVID-19 mentioned that his mother, an elderly woman in a locked-down nursing home, was a Jones fan, I texted her to ask if she’d record a video greeting.

Her reply was immediate: absolutely. A few hours later, after putting her kids to bed, she sent me a delightful video thanking the fan by name. It was almost midnight where she lives in Ontario, and she was doubtless busy preparing for her second Olympic Games. But she still made the time to make that personal connection with one supporter.

So when Jones announced that this would be her last Scotties, my heart broke, knowing that, during my time away from the Free Press and living in Ukraine, I wouldn’t be there to see it in person, to give her a hug after the final game. (She is, to be clear, only retiring from the four-person sport; she plans to continue playing mixed doubles with her husband, three-time world champion Brent Laing.)

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Because on the ice, and in front of the cameras, her contributions to the game will always be part of the history books. But I will remember her career in other ways. I’ll remember the time, respect and the encouragement she gave to me, and everyone I know. I’ll remember our many fascinating conversations, and a whole lot of laughs.

And if a fan ever again asks what Jennifer Jones is really like, I’ll answer the same as I always have: she’s the star the game needed, and the one it deserved. The best ambassador a niche and growing sport could ask for, a talent who never took her role as inspiration for generations of young curlers for granted, but always carried that pressure with grace. Someone whose love of the sport is eclipsed only by the care she shows for the people around it. A true professional, a true friend, a great comedian and one of the most unforgettable characters I’ve ever met.

Congratulations on a beautiful and trailblazing career, Jen.

Melissa Martin, the Free Press’s writer-at-large, is currently on a leave. She covered curling for the paper for eight years.

Melissa Martin
Reporter-at-large

Melissa Martin reports and opines for the Winnipeg Free Press.

Every piece of reporting Melissa produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press‘s tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press’s history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates.