And so, my proverbial number came up, and Dad and I were reunited once again around a frozen rink, surrounded by overzealous and overweight college hockey fans and some kids on ice playing their hearts out for pride in a sport that means nothing in the United States. 

College hockey is light years away from the glare of the lights of college football and basketball, so the marketing of the finals as the Frozen Four, an expanded tournament and reassessing the distribution of tickets to the faithful followers of the sport before it was started to be marketed to the masses all weighted heavily on my dad's soul, much like gentrification and the lack of awareness of the arts weighs heavily on mine.

So, my Dad used frequent flyer miles, flew us both out to Columbus, Ohio for a five day stay in the old industrial heart of this aging country.  I've tried to give you a fair run through of just what took place in those days, so start reading and clicking , and see if you come out on the other side with a better idea of the good times Columbus provided us:

To further illustrate the small, yet wildly perceptible changes in my parent's expectations when traveling on the road, I remember a childhood of Holiday Inns surrounded by prostitutes and chains of fast food restaurants in exotic locales such as LA, Orlando and San Francisco.  Nowadays my parents willingly pay more for hotels with amenities - the Blackwell came with thick, lavish bathrobes that suited me just fine.  Not that I'm complaining about the sudden increase in my parent's taste, I'm just still stunned.