When Lindsey Vonn announced that a lingering knee injury will force her to miss the Winter Olympics, many began to wonder who on the American squad will fill her popularity vacuum in Sochi, Russia next month.
Shaun White, an action-sports icon since his teen years, is one popular choice. Lolo Jones, the hurdler-turned-bobsledder who became a media darling during the 2012 Olympics, is another possibility.
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But perhaps American sports fans should instead consider a motley crew composed of the unlikeliest of parts: a restaurant manager, a middle-school science teacher, an engineer and a college student. Together, they make up the U.S. men's curling team that will compete this February in Sochi.
Unlike the Games' biggest stars, the American curlers' workaday existences will be interrupted by bright lights, international coverage and — just maybe — glory for one brief moment when their obscure sport takes the world stage. Like many lesser-known Olympians, however, the American curlers represent the original spirit of a modern Games increasingly overrun by commercialism.
"Any money we make at a tournament goes into our team account to help pay things off, then hopefully we break even," said 22-year-old Jared Zezel, a senior at Minnesota's Bemidji State University, who's taking the semester off to focus on Olympic curling. "Otherwise, we just make up the difference ourselves."
Zezel is the baby of a group led by 31-year-old skipper John Shuster, who's recently cut back on his hours managing the Pickwick — what he describes as " kind of an Americana steakhouse" — in Duluth, Minn. — to focus on curling, and be a stay-at-home dad. Their foursome is rounded out by two more Minnesotans: 30-year-old Jeff Isaacson, the science teacher, and 23-year-old John Landsteiner, who earned his civil engineering degree just last spring.
They're part of an American curling community that's bigger than you might think. USA Curling has 16,000 members across the country, according to communications director Terry Koselar. More than 160 local clubs are active in 43 states, led in popularity by Wisconsin and Minnesota. Seattle, Chicago and upstate New York are other hotbeds for the cold-weather sport in which teams slide stones weighing up to 44 pounds across ice sheets in something roughly analogous to a frigid, oversized game of shuffleboard.
So how did this quartet become world class in a sport that only bubbles into the mainstream consciousness once every four years?
"I wouldn’t say I’m athletic at all," Isaacson insisted. "I’ve always had a love for food and, hence, always been a bit overweight."
Similarly, Shuster took up curling after realizing he didn't have a future with his local high school basketball team. Zezel originally found the sport "really boring" when he started it around age 12.
But all four Sochi-bound curlers grew up in households where at least one parent "threw rocks," as the parlance goes. And all four root their current elite status in something familiar to any world-class athlete: practice.
"I can honestly say I've thrown more practice rocks than 99% of curlers in our country," Shuster told Mashable. "You feel like you can never get it, then when you do, it feels amazing. I'm a perfectionist and a competitor, so two of my stronger qualities fit into this sport very well."
Shuster and his mates share every Olympic athlete's drive and dedication, but the details of their lives set them apart from the most famous Olympians.
Isaacson frequently traveled overnight to get home from competitions this school year, only to get dressed the very next morning and teach "on little to no sleep," he said. After a December event in Germany at which the Americans qualified for next month's Olympics, Isaacson returned home to a classroom full of congratulatory posters made by students.
Yet despite the aid of sponsors — Dairy Queen is the team's biggest backer — travel costs add up. Shuster estimates the team has spent $25,000 since beginning its qualifying campaign in September, including trips to Germany and Scotland.
To help cover costs, they're looking to raise money in an unorthodox way: by selling gear not through a fancy online store, but via a Google spreadsheet:
Here is the link to our apparel for sale. Support our team and our families' journey to support us at the same time! https://t.co/IkJPgV36Q7
— John Shuster (@Shoostie2010) January 9, 2014
Even in curling's underground world, the Americans are underdogs. Contrast their day jobs with curlers elsewhere: Shuster said his Canadian rivals can expect to make decent livings through the sport, while athletes in other countries receive government funding that makes them professionals.
The American team currently sits eighth in the World Curling Federation's global rankings, placing it near the bottom of Sochi's ten-team field. Canada has won the past two Olympic gold medals, as well as three of the last four annual world championships. The U.S. did not medal in 2010, 2002 or 1998, although it brought home the bronze in 2006.
But if you ask the restaurant manager, the teacher, the civil engineer and the student about their prospects of winning a medal in Russia, they'll sound like any other athletes steeling themselves for competition — and hoping for victory.
"We need to go out there and play our game," Landsteiner told Mashable. "Execute shots like we have in the past, and give ourselves the best opportunity to win the game. We have to take it one game at a time. If we focus too much on the big picture, we will lose focus on the here and now. One shot at a time."

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