Last weekend, I did something I never thought I’d do – I wrestled a gator. That’s right, on this very campus, I wrestled a gator.I must mention, it wasn’t a fierce, raw-chicken eating gator you might see at the zoo; it was a green, mechanical, John Deere Gator I drive responsibly and respectably around campus to distribute the newspaper. That is, until, last week.The morning started out as it normally does, 3,000 newspapers need to go to 18 buildings before my 9 a.m. class. Thankfully, the Gator tops out at 6 miles per hour, making the entire trip almost instantaneous.I took along two writers, Hallie and Noelle. Both agreed to come along because they knew I was a safe driver, and I knew what I was doing. Plus, as staff writers, they had to.Distribution started out normal. My only problem was students asking, “Where can I get one of those?” To which I would always respond, “Your local John Deere retailer.”As we began our journey into the west side, something strange happened – the brakes stopped working. At 3 mph, this didn’t seem like such a big deal, seeing as how I could still stop the thing by putting my foot on the ground.As our route ended, I was on my way to pick up Hallie and Noelle when the brakes decided not to work again, and, since the brakes had so much fun the first time, they decided to have the throttle join in as well.Both the staff writers stood and watched as I passed, full speed (6 mph) into oncoming traffic, which was a minivan and a big truck.So, with all of this going on, I did the normal human thing to do – panic. When I say panic, I don’t mean scream and yell like a little girl; I panic like a white guy in a horror movie, meaning I don’t use common sense.My thought was to simply avoid personal injury, or at least, a lawsuit. So, I swerved into the grassy area in front of Ummel Technology Building, thinking I could go in circles until I could figure out something intelligent.My plan was almost flawless; the only exception being the Gator doesn’t turn all that well. It’s a fine machine, but there’s a reason it’s called a Gator and not a ballerina.Looking at my only option, which was to fit the Gator between two railings of a walkway in front of Ummel, I felt like Keanu Reeves in Speed, except instead of blowing up when the Gator stopped, I would get out, squint my eyes and try and look cool.Instead, the Gator wedged itself in-between the two railings, perhaps causing minor abrasions to the side. I did, however, set out what I wanted to do – stop the Gator.It was then I realized the best option would be to turn it off, which entirely solved the problem.David 0, Gator, 1.I would like to thank the workers of the Physical Plant and apologize for any repairs the Gator may need.So, that’s it. If you happen to see me riding around on a Gator on Friday mornings, don’t worry. I will tame the Gator. And, if it does get the best of me again, I’ll shut it off, get out and look cool.