The ice man cometh, AKA the 5 stages of Zamboni grief, illustrated poorly by The Nut.

I thought of this post last night while I was at the rink and dug it out again today for shits and giggles. My stick figure drawings are still no fancy blowfish, but I love them anyway.

Spoken Like A True Nut

I have a love-hate relationship with the Zamboni at my ice rink. Or any ice rink, really.


On the one hand, public skating sessions always leave the ice horribly chewed up within minutes, as people who have no idea what they’re doing scratch and scrape their blades along torturously while hotshot hockey kids duck around them at Mach speeds and deliberately mark up every last pristine inch they can find by practicing sudden stops and irritating passers-by with showers of snow.

On the other hand, I instinctively consider anything that makes me get off the ice to be my natural enemy. Even if I was literally thirty seconds away from leaving on my own, how DARE you suggest I go sit down?!

You know how when people experience the loss of a loved one, they go through the five stages of grief?

That’s me every time that Zamboni bullies me…

View original post 305 more words

4 thoughts on “The ice man cometh, AKA the 5 stages of Zamboni grief, illustrated poorly by The Nut.

  1. I had to go back and reread the original post mainly because your illustrations are hilarious but also so I wouldn’t say the same thing again. Your earlier suggestion that “Zamboni” sounds like a magical word still fits and I think when I thought of it as slightly inappropriate I was really thinking of the Zamboni driver who I assume is called a Zamboner.

    Nothing inappropriate about that. Move along on your feet knives.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. When I was little, I used to love when the Zamboni came out to clean the ice (cocoa break!) and also how clean and pretty it made things, but not how slick the ice was immediately after. Because I was an impatient child (I know, right? Shocking.) and would sneak out on the ice just before they gave the all-clear. And fall on my butt. Then I’d limp off to watch the other skaters make a cautious round or two before heading back out, and begrudge them all that time I spent nursing my bruises.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I looooooove the ice when it’s still slick. I always resent the stickler-type staff members who won’t let me go out if there’s even the slightest lingering wet patch. That first glide around the rink before the ice dries and starts getting all chipped and marked up is pure heaven!

      Of course it helps that I’m pretty good about keeping my blades nice and sharpened, so my edges have a good bite. Dull blades + wet ice = bruised derriere!


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