In the heart of Chattanooga, Tennessee, a peculiar winter sport has been sizzling up the ice for the past few years. Forget polished granite stones and brooms—this is skillet curling, where cast-iron pans become projectiles and a grill press serves as the target. The annual Skillet Curling Championship has transformed a traditional Olympic pastime into a downhome spectacle that’s equal parts competition and comedy.
The concept is simple enough: take the basic framework of curling, replace the stones with skillets, and substitute the stationary bullseye with a movable target called the “bacon.” But as the 32 teams who gathered last weekend discovered, the execution requires surprising skill and strategy.
How It Works: From Kitchen to Ice
Emily Rasmussen, a competitor in this year’s tournament, explains the fundamentals with a straightforwardness that belies the sport’s absurdity. “You throw the bacon, and then throw the skillet kind of like you’re bowling, trying to get closest to the bacon,” she says. The “bacon” is actually a grill press that’s hurled down the ice to establish the target for each round. Teams then alternate launching their iron skillets, attempting to land them as close as possible to the bacon while simultaneously knocking their opponents’ pans out of position.
Scoring mirrors traditional curling: only one team scores per round, earning points for each skillet that rests closer to the bacon than the nearest opponent’s pan. A perfect round—four points—is celebrated as a “stovetop,” a fitting term for this culinary-themed competition.
Phil Harris, the tournament’s executive director and a competitor himself, notes that technique does matter, despite the sport’s whimsical nature. Players adopt various stances—some crouch, others get on hands and knees. The skillet itself can be deployed right-side up or flipped over in what’s called a “turtle” throw, named for the domed shape the inverted pan creates on the ice. “People will throw turtles a lot if there’s a lot of skillets around the bacon,” Harris explains, “if they really want to move a lot of stuff out of the way.”
A Mardi Gras Atmosphere on Ice
What the sport lacks in Olympic pedigree, it more than compensates for with pure enthusiasm. Alvaro Victoria, another competitor, describes the event as “like a Mardi Gras sport, in a way. It’s flamboyant, it’s fun, it’s social.” And indeed, the tournament feels more like a festival than a formal athletic competition.
Most teams arrive in elaborate, coordinated costumes, embracing the event’s spirit of creative absurdity. The team names themselves tell the story: Wu-Tang Pans, Natural Born Curlers, Cornbread & Butterbeans, Curling Irons, Rock, Paper, Skillets, and Krakens Kilts are just a few of the groups that have become local legends.
The Chattanooga championship, which began in 2019, is part of a small but growing number of similar events across the United States. But what sets this particular tournament apart is its explicit mission: to combine “equal parts skill, luck, and hilarity” in support of charitable causes. The lighthearted approach has clearly resonated, drawing spectators and participants alike to the First Horizon Pavilion for a weekend of unconventional entertainment.
More Than Just a Gimmick
While it might be tempting to dismiss skillet curling as a simple novelty act, participants insist there’s genuine strategy involved. Rasmussen compares it to bocce on ice, emphasizing the precision required to control both distance and placement. The weight of the cast-iron pans, the slickness of the ice, and the unpredictable final position of the bacon all create variables that demand adaptation and skill.
Traditional curling has captivated audiences with its intense athletes who slide across the ice in a deep lunge before releasing their stones. Skillet curlers, by contrast, typically just stoop before sending their pans clattering across the rink. Yet even this simpler motion requires practice. The release point, the spin (or lack thereof), and the angle of approach can all affect where the skillet ultimately comes to rest.
The turtle throw, in particular, demonstrates a level of tactical thinking that surprises newcomers. When the ice around the bacon becomes cluttered with pans, flipping a skillet upside down creates a different weight distribution and impact profile, allowing a skilled player to clear space more effectively. It’s a move that combines physics with kitchenware in a way that would make any physicist-chef proud.
A Community Forged in Iron
Beyond the competition itself, the tournament has become a cornerstone of Chattanooga’s winter social calendar. Teams often practice together throughout the year, bonding over their shared love of this quirky pastime. The event attracts families, friends, and curious onlookers who come for the spectacle but stay for the community.
April Watson, who competes with a team called The Breakfast Club, represents the heart of the sport: local enthusiasts who’ve embraced something uniquely their own. These aren’t professional athletes seeking glory—they’re neighbors, coworkers, and friends who’ve found joy in the absurd.
The charity component ensures that every thrown pan serves a greater purpose. While the article doesn’t specify which organizations benefit, the emphasis on fundraising suggests the event has become an important local philanthropic vehicle. This dual mission—entertainment and altruism—has helped the championship grow from a quirky idea into a beloved tradition in just a few short years.
The Future of Fridge-to-Ice Sports
As skillet curling gains attention, it raises questions about the nature of sport itself. Must athletic competition be serious to be legitimate? Can something born from a joke evolve into something more meaningful? The Chattanooga tournament suggests the answer is yes.
The event’s success points to a broader trend: the democratization of sport. In an era where traditional athletics can feel inaccessible or overly commercialized, grassroots competitions like this offer an alternative. They prioritize fun, community, and creativity over pure performance, welcoming participants of all skill levels.
Moreover, skillet curling taps into a distinctly American tradition of adapting and remixing cultural imports. Just as the United States has put its own spin on everything from pizza to pop music, it’s now reimagining a Scottish-Canadian sport through a Southern lens. The result is something that feels both familiar and completely novel.
Conclusion: Where Culinary Meets Competitive
As the final pans slid to a stop on Sunday and the champions were crowned, one thing became clear: skillet curling is more than just a punchline. It’s a testament to human ingenuity, community spirit, and our endless capacity to find new ways to play. In Chattanooga, at least, the ice is alive with the sound of clanging iron—and the laughter of people who’ve discovered that sometimes, the best sports are the ones you invent yourself.
Whether it will ever achieve the international recognition of its Olympic cousin remains doubtful. But for the participants and spectators who’ve fallen under its spell, skillet curling doesn’t need a global stage. It’s already found its perfect home: a pavilion in Tennessee where kitchenware becomes sporting equipment, and every throw is a celebration of skill, luck, and above all, hilarity.