where is it now

I apologize for my uncharacteristic absence due to studying. I realize that most of you, when you read the last post, immediately thought to yourselves, "Liar. the Reinman doesn't study. He's just making some half-baked excuse for being lazy again."

And most of time I would be standing right there with you, shaking my head at such shenanigans. But this week I did, in fact, have an unprecedented four midterms -- each worth half my grade in their respective classes.

But now they're over, and conceivably, I don't have to go back to campus until finals week.

Except to play intramural, Team Ramrod-style broomball -- I would go back for that.

Broomball, in case you're wondering, is kind of like boot hockey, but instead of a puck, you use a softball-sized rubber ball, and instead of hockey sticks, you smack the ball with a small pentagon-shaped rubber appendage at the end of a short pole. This device in no way, shape, or form remotely resembles a broom.

The game consists of eight guys slowly shuffling around the ice, poking their sticks at the ball, which rolls just fast enough to remain inches out of reach of the closest shuffler.

But as soon as that shuffler gets greedy and tries to catch up to the ball, he slips and falls -- every time, no exceptions. The shufflers behind him see the fall, of course, but they can't stop their slow, yet persistent, momentum -- which leads to some of the most agonizingly slow-paced pile-ups you'll ever see. Eight athletic young man will all be floundering around on the ice, while the ball continues to creep away. As I myself have been floundering, I swear I've seen that ball roll by my head and wink at me.

Occasionally the ball, on its own merit, will find its way into a net because the goalie was either A) extremely bored and looking around for a Coke machine or B) involved in a pile-up.

It's a great game.