THERE COMES A TIME in the dregs of winter when I just have to get out. In my undergrad days, after I invented alcohol, a group of us would get up before dawn and go down to the still-frozen lake to drink beer from a keg. Most of us thought we were pretty cool just to be up so early, but Malzone took it up a notch when he rushed the ice. He was amped-up in a loony, intense way, and got about ten yards from the beach leaping from ice chunk to ice chunk before he began to sink. He stopped, turned to us, raised his arms and screamed: “They said only Jesus
