They are the only ones who bother me. I am the only one who teases them. Eleven short opponents with short legs and Nike shoes like mine. Eleven who do not play here but are here. Eleven bad justifications spoken by the referee. From the locker rooms, they can see us, but the injured captain just retain and doesn’t cheer his teammates.
Their weakness is shown. They send cruel players on the field. They fight and they tackle down and grab the champs between their sweaty legs and break the bone with vicious hits and never quit their rage. This is how we win.
Let one remember their reason for existence, they’d all smack like glass in a ground, each with their hands apart from others. Defend, defend, defend they scream when we approach. They shout.
When they are too anxious and too scared to keep retaining, when they are a short players against so many brave, then it is we look at them. When there is no time left to look at on the scoreboard. Eleven who fought despite hardship. Eleven who retained and always remembered to celebrate. Eleven whose only reason is to win and win.