Well, they might. Something about the process of creating and maintaining them does, anyway.

Lately I've been spending untold hours in a frozen netherworld at the back of my back yard, preoccupied with boards, tarps, slope, snow, pipes, hoses, leaks, and, of course, weather. All this to provide my progeny with a 20' x 20' sheet of the slippery stuff to play our game on. More ice in my yard than in my drink, lately. But as I stood out there tonight in the -10 night air, my fingers frozen around the hose, swirls of snow gusting off the neighbours' garage roof and hissing gently into the 1/4" of water freezing before my eyes on my ice pad, I felt a special kind of winter peace enveloping everything out there, including me. Tomorrow the rink will echo with the slap-boom of the puck off the stick then off the boards, the grind & crunch of blades digging up the ice, and the clang of the red metal goalposts stopping some object's flight--but tonight it was all slow, quiet preparation. And a few snow-cooled Creemore to lubricate the process.