I didn't find hockey, hockey found me.

I admit that my very first hockey game was October of 2009 when I was hired as an intern for a local ECHL hockey team, the Florida Everblades. At the time, I liked my icing on cake and my wings on pigeons, planes and deep-fried in buffalo sauce. Oh, and Wayne Gretzky? Was that the guy that Marion Morrison played in those old, gun-slingin' movies? Oh? That's John Wayne? Right.

A lot has changed in a season.

Sideline? More like the front line.

Being the sideline reporter for a professional hockey team (or as some of the young, French-Canadian rookies who don't know my name call me: "interview girl") might seem like a pretty neat job - especially for an intern.

However when the pressure is on for the players (like now, during the playoffs) trekking onto the ice in my patent leather heels can be like walking straight into a war zone.

My first fan: NHL/Olympic goalie Olaf Kolzig

In the grand scheme of all things broadcast, my job doing the on-ice interviews during intermissions of ECHL hockey games is one of the least important. I have one minute of air-time twice per game and maybe an extra minute if one of the stars of the game is an Everblade.

Did I mention my boss' advice? "Be brief. Fans want to hear players, not you."

You can imagine my shock when the first time I was "recognized" in public as the on-ice reporter for the team was by NHL goalie and ECHL hall of famer Olaf Kolzig.

Guns, lockdown, elementary schools, hockey players & the power of 140 characters

This afternoon was going to be simple. Play little miss public relations and chauffeur two Everblades players to Gulf Elementary School.

Somewhere in there, word of a man with a gun turned our day upside down.

It's common knowledge among my friends that my driving skills are less than acceptable, so on the drive there I was extremely concerned with keeping the players mildly unscathed.

If I crashed my PT Cruiser and gave former Minnesota Wild first round draft pick A.J. Thelen (who was riding shotgun) another concussion or somehow injured forward Dominic Osman who was half asleep and hungry in the back seat, I had a feeling coach Cameron wouldn't be too pleased with me.

Playoffs are approaching, they need players on the ice... not in the hospital.

After initially wandering into Gulf Middle School on accident (we were greeted with confused looks and 8th grade boys scrambling for autographs), we finally found the elementary portion right up the street.

We walked in and were immediately greeted by a chipper, brunette teacher named Elizabeth.

Elizabeth: "Hi guys!"
Osman: "Where's the bathroom?"

We walked through the main office and into the library ("media center" as they call it). The 3rd, 4th and 5th graders were doing an Olympic-themed project, so the teachers recruited some Everblades to come and talk about what it's like to be a hockey player.

As we stood around waiting for kids, all admiring the hockey puck fashioned out of a can of chewing tobacco (Dominic: "That. Is. Brilliant."), the Principal approached us. He was holding his walkie talkie and seemed very concerned.

He turned to me, A.J., Dominic and a photographer from the Cape Coral Breeze who was also along with us.

Principal: "I'm going to ask an odd question. But I really need to know the answer: were any of you just in the boys bathroom?"