A coxwain who is so cold that they turn into a replication of Satan. Coxsicles have frozen hands and toes, and will use their tool, the cox box, to voice their complaints of frostbite to the crew (and the fact that the boat is constantly down on fucking port). To prevent coxsicles, and arguably the worst row of your life, smother them in the clothing you were going to wear on that below zero row (especially your fleece-lined leggings); after all, your cox clearly checked the weather this morning, for the tropics instead of your climate, and showed up in shorts. If you thought your cox hated your technique before they became a coxsicle, just wait until their lips turn blue and every stroke you take is considered absolute shit.