October 18, 1996

So there I was riding the bus (red route choo choo) and I pick up a copy of the paper and I see a story about this GSB guy that wants some advisor to resign.

Because he says so.

So this gets me thinking: Hey, if he can get away with it, then I want my advisor to resign because he made me take that damn artistic history of political science in law and rhetorical thinking behind biomedical illustration in organic chemistry class. As an elective.

But then I read on and it turns out that this guy has something to talk about.

It seems that because some of the people on his committee acted in such a way that it made people wonder what the hell they were thinking, their adviser proceeded to ask them what the hell they were thinking.

He didn’t like her tone of voice and said that she was out of line because she stopped to wonder what the hell they were thinking and then asked them about it.

So she should resign.

If that reasoning holds true, then my mom and dad should have resigned from their parental positions a long, long time ago.

The way that I see it, this is like Gilligan asking the Skipper to remove himself from command every time he pulls his little buddy’s hat off and smacks him with it.

If me and my pals asked for a resignation from every DPS officer that told us to empty our pockets before entering the stadium each Saturday, we would be locked up on charges of public intox as well as utter stupidity.

My first-grade teacher would have had me slapping erasers if, when she yelled at me for getting two chocolate milks with one punch of my milk ticket, I would have asked her to get out of education.

Just think of how red in the face Captain Stubing would have been if Isaac had demanded he give up the ship’s wheel after the captain found Isaac doing shots behind the bar on the promenade deck.

It would be like Troy Davis and company demanding that Jim Walden resign just because Jim doesn’t think Troy should run the ball. Oh wait, bad example.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that this guy needs to realize what people have told me for years. If you say something dumb, admit it and move on. If you do something dumb, don’t do something dumber to try to remedy it. And don’t be pissed off when people ask you what the hell you were thinking.

Just like I could have gotten mad when I got beer poured on my head this weekend, but it wouldn’t have helped the situation anyway.

My clothes would still be soaked, the beer cans would still be empty and my melon would still reek of Natural Light. Not to mention, it felt kind of funky in a soothing sort of way.

So there I am at the hockey game just gettin’ stinky. Everyone around me is sniffing the air wondering who the hell smells like barley and I’m standing there wishing I’d showered. And scrubbed.

It was the first time I’d been to a hockey game and I quickly realized some of the major differences between hockey crowds and football crowds.

Hockey is a more intimate sport in a smaller venue, therefore when a fan tells the rest of the crowd about the ref’s relationship with livestock, everyone knows who said it. Including the ref.

There are more diverse cheers to be heard at the ice arena. You just don’t hear “blood makes the astroturf slick” or “more fights, less football” at the stadium.

I think the key difference is the beer to be had at the rink. Not just dripping from my shirt and sticking to my head, but flowing freely from the tap.

The brew seems to lighten things up a bit and even adds the possibility of more cheers.

At the stadium, it would be uncool to shout at the top of your lungs, ‘Norm’s got beer! Norm’s got beer!’ because Norm would get arrested and you’d get beaten after the game, but at the ice arena, alcohol announcements are welcomed, if not encouraged.

So with that in mind, I plan to hit every home hockey game from here on out and by the end of the season, I may even understand the rules of the game.

Until then, though, I’ll be the one doing the train, falling on my ass while trying to win a car at halftime or third time or zamboni time or potty time or whatever the hell you call it and yelling “Buy ME a beer!”

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Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. It runs weekly, on Fridays. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.