[ WP ] Strange things happen when you step into an abandoned ice rink .

Like so many Thursdays in the summer of 2011, we spent ourselves on cheap beer and hookah. Conrad, Mike, Jared and I sat telling stories of urban climbing adventures, trespassing and near police-custody. 
 
 `` You know,'' Conrad said. `` Since I've been up here, I still have n't been to the Old Ralph.'' 
 
 `` Really? Its awesome,'' I said, already knowing where this conversation was going to lead us. 
 
 The old Ralph Engelstad Arena was 6,067-seat arena that opened in the fall of 1972, originally named the Winter Sports Arena. It played host to the University's hockey games until 2001, when it was replaced by a new state of the art 11,643-seat arena. During her life-span she saw 7 MacNaughton Cups, 4 Broadmoor Trophies, and 5 NCAA tournament championships. When she held ice she saw blood and battles, tears and triumphs, first dates, broken promises, and traditions begin and fade. 
 
 Without another word, Mike walked into the fraternity house and grabbed his coat and a screwdriver ( just in case ). `` Well, let's go,'' he said, walking toward the sidewalk. 
 
 Jared began to follow him without hesitation, grabbed a few beers and threw them in my pockets, and with no need for coaxing, the four of us began walking toward the abandoned arena. 
 
 The stars were barely visible among the dark blue cloud cover and contrasting yellow lights. Our footsteps padded the ground, three sets of tennis shoes and one of steel-toed boots. We chatted openly of the way in, near the back was an entrance for vehicles and immediately to its left was a small fence. The fence guarded the air conditioning unit. And right behind it was a small service door, which had been unlocked for years a lock that was forgotten and let us and many others make late night trespassing a college tradition. 
 
 We arrived at the old door and Mike pulled it open, tis hinges creaked with years of neglect and harsh winters. We stepped in through the dark portal and into the bowls of the building. 
 
 `` Left or right?'' I asked when we stepped into the first room, rusted tools lay scattered among the scaffolding and vents of the dark room. Light leaked underneath the door to the left and the door to the right was dark. The light could mean someone else was here, potentially even University police checking in on the place. 
 
 `` Let's go left, but stay quiet,'' Mike said. He'd done this many more times than I had and was far more acclimated to the possibility of things being out of place. 
 
 We walked through the door after watching for shadows for a minute. I pulled a pencil from my pocket and placed it between the door frame and the door ( a precaution against doors locking behind us ). As we crossed the barrier a large booming sound echoed throughout the hallway. My heart jumped up into my throat, as Conrad jumped back. 
 
 `` What the fuck was that?'' 
 
 `` First time gets me every time, too.'' Jared laughed. The boom was one of the old systems it was still powered on and would go off every 10 minutes or so. 
 
 As we traveled inward and upward toward the arena we stopped several times to venture into rooms like the player's lounge and the head coaches office ( later we would come back and steal these signs for decoration ). We found old VHS copies of games from the'82 season and a forgotten pair of hockey gloves. I would often stare at the rooms in amazement of how it looked like everyone left abruptly, leaving these things behind. 
 
 Eventually we found ourselves in the arena entrance. Stepping onto the hard concrete, I looked around the room. There were large puddles on parts of the rink floor, made of large, flat cement slabs. A camper and bobcat were parked toward the vehicle entrance. Large sections of the seats were missing as they were auctioned off when the new Arena was built. 
 
 Twelve years earlier, a person standing in our place would have been faced with thousands of fans, a vast sheet of white ice, and the anticipation of victory hanging in the air. The student band would be playing music, that -- even at its full volume -- would n't drown out the roar of the crowd. The announcer would be introducing the Fighting Sioux as another team would feel dwarfed by the home-ice fervor that echoed in these walls. 
 
 Mike, Jared and Conrad began moving toward the tech booth and roof access. I stayed behind, listening to the echoes of water leaking through the ceiling and landing in the pools that amassed on the floor. I could hear the roar of the crowds, I could feel the anticipation, I could hear the havered conversations, the chants, and I found myself whispering `` Sioux, yeah, yeah.'' 
 
 I watched as the room around me transformed and the crowds and laughter engulfed the damp echoes of an old building. The buildings aches became music, and I spun around taking it all in. The ground trembled as the underbelly of the Ralph boomed, the sound of the game winning goal. The crowd jumps to their feet and the building trembles with the movement. 
 
 I stood in the arena, with my arms in the air. My ghosts were torn away, by Jared yelling at me asking what the duck I was doing. I would return many times to sit on the cement where the chairs used to stand and write term papers by the soft glow of my laptop's light. The echoes would be there tomorrow. `` Nothing,'' I said and jogged over to join them. 
 
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