Two different types of players walked through the arena doors. A dozen of them, the teenagers, had their equipment slung over their shoulders. Most carried two sticks, one for the game and one as a backup. They were all products of the minor hockey system.

The rest of the guys pulled wheeled hockey bags that go for $100 or so. These modern contraptions have telescopic pull-handles that bring the convenience of modern luggage to the hockey rink. These were the veterans, guys in their late 20s and early 30s; they were playing because they liked the game.

It’s rare for teenagers and adults to face each other on the ice. The young guys are strong, skilful, and cocky, but they’re still teenagers. The adults may be as fast, may be as skilful, and are frequently just as cocky, but their youthful innocence has been transformed into arrogance.

The teenagers were trying out for the juvenile J&R Hawks of the Greater Toronto Hockey League. Juvenile hockey is the place for 18- and 19-year-olds who aren’t quite good enough, or determined enough, to play junior hockey. They love the game, but they don’t want to be on the ice every night and won’t put up with a coach who’ll be in their face if they miss a pass or a check. Their idea of a good time is to pull on the skates with their pals and play shinny.

A decade ago these veterans were playing for the J&R Hawks. They were talented enough to win a championship or two. When they were too old for the league they decided to keep it going. They didn’t want to let go of the repartee of the dressing room and the camaraderie of the game so they keep playing in adult leagues or whenever they can get a game.

Ray has been running this organization more than 20 years. Every August he brings together his new team to see how they look. Sometimes they develop into a cohesive unit, other years they don’t. Lately there have been too many seasons where it hasn’t worked out. This year he decided to give the rookies some competition, so he scheduled this unsupervised game of shinny.

For the first 45 minutes it was a bland, non-contact affair. The older players all wore black, and showed their familiarity with each other by moving the puck around to the corners of the ice, looking for the guy who was open in front of the net. The rookies spent too much time making individual rushes, passing only when they had no other choice.

Although the score wasn’t posted, the veterans knew they were handing the kids a beating. And they loved it.

With only a few minutes left, one of the young guys, Pat, took the puck behind the veterans’ net. There was no play in front so he skated to the corner where his path was blocked. He stopped a foot or so from the boards with his face towards the glass. One of the veterans came up from behind, his stick horizontal to the ice. He hit Pat into the boards. Pat crumpled to the ice, hitting his chin on the ledge of the boards as he fell.

He quickly got back on his skates, turned and pushed back. The veteran didn’t hesitate; he delivered a short punch to the head. There was no dropping of gloves or ritual challenge, just the quick shot.

What followed was a stupid but familiar rite. Two of the veterans confronted Pat, one on each side, their sticks off the ice, ready. The other three took on the other rookies who were observing from the safety of the faceoff circle.

“You wanna go, punk? Come on, kid. Show us what you’ve got.”

The rest of the veterans on the bench jumped up and added to the chorus.

“Come on, guys. Let’s show them what it takes.”

Pat was the only rookie to say anything. “What the f___ is this?” It reverberated through the rink.

The other rookies skated backwards. They didn’t know Pat and weren’t ready to take on a bunch of antagonistic adults. The tension dissolved as they made their retreat.

Pat could see this was a losing proposition. There were too many warriors lined up against him. Pride was one thing. Getting pounded for no reason was another. He turned and skated away.

The teenagers retreated to their side of the red line. One of the veterans picked the puck up from the corner to resume play, as if nothing had happened. By the time he reached centre ice he was in full flight. Pat moved diagonally to cut him off against the boards. Here, quickly, was his chance for revenge. Instead, he reached in with a lame stick-check and skated to the bench. One of the veterans came over.

“You’ve gotta learn to finish what you start if you want to play in this league.”

“You hit me from behind into the boards and then you take a shot at me when I push back. That’s bulls___, no matter how old you are,” said Pat, calm, no longer angry.

“You might not like it, but if you want to keep playing you better learn the system,” said the veteran.

He held out his glove, palm down, fingers bent. Pat responded with a similar gesture. Their battle was over.

It was an introduction to the game outside the world of the minor hockey establishment. It’s the world of men who have their own definition of what’s acceptable on the ice. Fair play and sportsmanship are the watchwords of youth hockey; these adults, it seems, have a different code.