Pond hockey is a simple game. Wait for the lake to freeze, find a bunch of guys willing to put on ice hockey skates, buy some Advil and a bunch of extra pucks for all the shots we will miss, and play. Those of you who have played know what I am talking about. For those who don't, I am talking about a slip in time that lets you be a kid again. I am talking about the reality of time travel. The excitement surrounding pond hockey begins early in the day, the first time one of us goes out and measures the ice. Drill in hand we drive the bit into the frozen surface of the lake hoping like children that it won't give too soon, that we will feel at least four inches of resistance before hitting water. We are dying to send out the text telling everyone that the ice is thick enough to skate, that the game is on. Once the news is out, we feel ourselves getting more and more distracted as the day goes on, maybe c...