I Floridian. Ice for iced tea. It’s a mantra of sorts. I find myself repeating it each night as I sit down to watch the Winter Olympics. Spills don’t get me. Crashes on the luge? Limbs flying by? I can handle it. But show me a close-up of some ice — of that Sochi winter slush — and I cringe, burrowing deeper into a blanket. “Oh, this is horrible!” I say. “How can they show this in primetime? Children are watching!” I Floridian. Ice for iced tea. I grew up in Tampa. You find record heat inside freezers there. I remember when the NHL first awarded the city its hockey team. My mother was incensed. “How can they play that here!” she demanded. “It’s not right. It goes against the laws of nature. I’m writing my congressman.” We knew little about ice skating. There was a rink at one of the malls we used to go to. As kids, we would fumble around with the other pathetic Floridians, crashing into each other like bumper cars. The rink attendants skated about with a wheel barrow to cart off the wounded. Each session came with a free ankle brace and a coupon for the ER. I went on to marry a woman from Long Island. As legend tells it, she was born in the snow, was strapped into snow shoes and then sent off to the store in a blizzard for milk. Northerners are a hardy breed. She tells stories of the … Continue reading A Floridian’s take on the Sochi Olympics? Ice for iced tea