Restless nights are now a thing of the past for me. Now that I know the origin of the keyboard arrangement, I can turn my attention to more meaningful topics, such as trying to figure out who named those pink discs that sit in the bottom of toilets “urinal cakes.” That’s one type of cake I’m not eating any time soon.

I also have more free time to attend different sporting events. This Friday night, I attended my first-ever Cyclone hockey game. It was cool. Cool enough that I went back on Saturday night, and cool enough that I should have brought a jacket. Something about needing to keep ice cold, I guess.

It was not my first experience with cold weather sports. Growing up near Dubuque, I spent several nights watching the Dubuque Fighting Saints junior hockey team “kick ice.” Their slogan, not mine.

Also, living near Sundown “Mountain,” I spent a few hours hitting the slopes. Key words: few and hitting slopes. I spent most of my time trying to get up, find my poles and put my skis back on. It also took awhile to walk down the hill after becoming so frustrated that I gave up.

But back to hockey. I always had a good time going to the games. Something about physical contact between two people, neither of whom is me, is one thing that has always made me laugh.

The other reason I went to the games was because during the intermissions, they would have little kids, maybe 2’3″ tall (with skates on) give an exhibition.

I loved watching those little guys slide around, mostly on their rear ends, watching the puck go between their legs. The only physical contact was with the ice. It was hilarious.

But hey, who am I to laugh? These kids would have schooled me.

To me, hockey would be suicide minus Jack Kevorkian. I have enough problems walking around campus when it’s slick. Two golden rules: Don’t step on anything that is painted (curbs, parking lines) and never step on one of those metal grate things on the sidewalks. If those grips are supposed to make them less slick, they aren’t working.

My feet are unstable enough that I don’t need to be on skates, too. I can’t roller skate (forward or backward,) roller blade or skateboard. Nor do I have any desire.

Anyway, I admire hockey players for their athletic abilities. Being on skates seems so natural for them that I wonder if they can actually walk on land. It looks so effortless, I can’t picture them even breathing hard or sweating.

Until I got near the players locker room. Then it was apparent. It was a locker room full of players who work their ices off.

To me, skating is enough, much less trying to knock that little puck into a net while trying to avoid getting crushed by some huge dude. I can’t follow the puck just sitting there. I just hope it doesn’t hit me in the face sometime. My rule: just clap when the little red light goes on. I guess it means that someone scored or somebody got smacked really hard. Either way, it’s good.

I have no need to get out on the ice. Not even to try to shoot a goal and win a car during intermission. It’s not worth it. I have a car and no broken bones. I’ll leave that up to those who enjoy the ice: polar bears, ice fishermen, penguins and people with more coordination than me.

Drew Harris is a senior in journalism and mass communication and political science from Peosta.