There are hockey teams.

There are drinking teams.

And then there is Tuck Hockey, an organization that has spent years conducting an important scientific experiment:

How many former high-level hockey players can you put on one beer-league roster before Applebee’s becomes the primary reason everyone shows up?

The answer remains unclear.

Tuck returns for another UVHL season with its traditional mixture of grizzled veterans, suspiciously talented newcomers and players whose hockey résumés have absolutely no business being mentioned in the same sentence as the UVHL.

High school standouts.

College players.

Former NCAA talent.

And now they're playing Wednesday-night hockey against a 47-year-old web developer who ate a cheeseburger at 5:30.

Life comes at you fast.

On paper, Tuck is almost always terrifying.

They're skilled. They're fast. They move the puck. They have enough actual hockey experience that their breakout occasionally appears to have been discussed beforehand — a concept considered dangerously progressive elsewhere in the UVHL.

And yet Tuck remains beautifully capable of turning all that talent into complete chaos.

That's the magic.

They can spend five minutes looking like the 1985 Edmonton Oilers, followed immediately by a defensive-zone turnover so catastrophic that three guys simultaneously stare at each other like someone just farted in an elevator.

Tuck Hockey.

Last season brought more of the same: stretches where Tuck looked capable of beating anybody, mixed with nights where the hockey gods apparently decided these Ivy League assholes had experienced enough success in life already.

But hockey has never been the entire story here.

Because when the final buzzer sounds, Tuck's real season begins.

Applebee's.

Half-priced apps.

$4 Brewtuses.

Very large containers of water.

And, of course, the ever-professional Lexie, who has spent enough Wednesday nights dealing with these idiots that she should probably qualify for UVHL pension benefits.

This is where Tuck's legendary team chemistry is actually built.

Not on the power play.

Not during some inspirational pregame speech.

Over mozzarella sticks.

The rest of the UVHL goes home, checks the standings and wonders where everything went wrong.

Tuck orders another round.

There is something admirable about that.

Possibly.

So once again, Tuck enters the season with enough talent to make a legitimate run at the Whalen Cup and enough institutional commitment to Applebee's that winning the actual hockey game occasionally feels like an administrative prerequisite.

Other teams play for championships.

Tuck plays for something greater.

Half-priced appetizers begin at 9.

And the clock is fucking ticking.

“Guys, we've got 1:47 left and we're down two.”

“Pull the goalie?”

“No. Pull up the Applebee's menu. Lexie needs our order.”

— Tuck Hockey, probably