It is hard for me, so very hard, to understand why I love the Zamboni machine.

The way it put-putts onto the ice; this box on wheels, it just looks so wonderfully inept.

Yet, once it finishes its drawn out laps, the ice is always glossy.

For a man, there is something very visceral about this.

“There are three things in life that are fun to watch,” Charlie Brown once said in Peanuts, “A rippling stream, a fire in the fireplace and a Zamboni going around and around.”

“Maybe it’s a purely masculine idea,” writes Sports Illustrated’s Richard Hoffer, “but could the Zamboni be the ultimate dream machine, an exaggerated riding mower, a huge vehicle you can hop on and artfully maneuver in circles to do nothing less than dominate nature? Of course it is.”

I have three goals in life: 1) Win a Nobel Peace Prize 2) End boy bands by whatever means necessary (Hey, it’s a key for world peace) and 3) Ride along on a Zamboni.

Brian Varney, 26, is the assistant facilities manager for the city of Ames. He drives the Zamboni at the ISU Ice Arena. (Note: Varney actually drives an Olympia – same thing as a Zamboni, only wider. For the purposes of this column, and so I don’t confuse the reader just joining us – who begins reading a story eight paragraphs down anyway? – I will call Varney’s Olympia a Zamboni.)

In 1940, Frank Zamboni, (no, not just a clever name) his brother Lawrence and a cousin, opened an ice rink in Southern California called Iceland.

After the sun burned Iceland to Poolside, Frank and the boys covered it with a domed roof.

This worked better.

In 1940, they pulled a scraper behind a tractor to resurface the ice. Then three or four guys would scoop away the shavings, spray water on the scarred frozen pond, squeegee it clean and wait an hour for the water to freeze.

Frank wanted to resurface ice faster.

The Zamboni was born.

Now, if you own an ice rink, you own a multifaceted, funny- looking ice cleaner too.

Saturday night, before the Iowa State-Colorado hockey game and after the fourth, fifth and sixth grade pee-wee game, Varney let me ride on the Box with Wheels.

Our Zamboni has a Chevy V-8 Blazer engine and chassis.

Top speed: 15 mph.

“This is the moneymaker of the arena,” Varney says. “This can make the ice look like it hasn’t been used.”

It better. There are more cuts on the ice than a Barry Sanders rushing attack.

The Zamboni is designed for one, so I stand next to Varney and grab on to anything that doesn’t move, or threaten to.

Varney shifts his automatic transmission into drive and we creep on the ice.

He lowers the blade underneath his seat. Vertical and horizontal augers shoot the snow and shear ice into a dump tank in front of the driver’s seat.

Cold water fills the skating ruts left by the blade and the players. Warm water smoothes it over.

The ice is dirty. The Zamboni passes over it. The ice is clean.

It’s that efficient. That wonderful.

For two laps, we circle the rink. On the third, we cut down the middle.

Here, the newly-glossed stuff stands in stark contrast from the ice on either side. Varney tells me when he misses a spot, he hears it from the crowd.

A guy who worked with him once missed some ice, and the crowd chanted “D.U.I., D.U.I.”

I say that’s being considerate, given this is the crowd that once shouted in between play: “Give me an `O,’ (`0!’). Give me an `R,’ (`R!’). Give me a `G,’ (`G!’). Give me a `Y,’ (`Y!’). What’s that spell? Orgy, orgy, orgy. What’s that mean? Teamwork, teamwork, teamwork.”

Al Murdoch, Iowa State’s hockey coach, said two guys have been fired from the Zamboni for doing donuts to appease the chants of the crowd.

He also said, at the old ice arena, fans slung their arms over the plexiglass, trying to slap five with the Zamboni-man.

No shouting or “Up High” yet from the fans, but many have wistful smiles on their faces and some stop their conversations as the Zamboni tools by.

Some stares follow our pattern through all seven laps.

I don’t blame them. It is nearly hypnotic watching the Zamboni.

I wonder how many wish they could be Varney – perched six feet above the ice, cranking the wheel this way and that, effortlessly dominating nature.

We finish, and the game begins. I thank Varney for letting me ride along, letting me cross off a life goal.

Now for the world peace.

Paul Kix is a junior in journalism and mass communications from Hubbard.