They are the only ones who fight for control. I am the only one who sees the unseen battle. Two aggressive bulldogs both fighting for the top and clawing for power. Two who can’t share one ball but fight anyway. Two roughed up trains running off the rails. From the sideline, we can see them pushing, but the crowd cheers louder and misses the detail.
Their battle is known only to them. They gain their stance ready for the whistle. They tear left and they tear right, destroying ground beneath their heavy feet as they slip and slide with uneven footing in the small pocket. This is how they struggle.
Let one forget his strength and effort, the body would collapse, each with their arms spread wide. Push, push, push they roar as I watch. They brawl.
When the rest are too tired and too exhausted to push any more, when the remaining are crumbling under the strength, then it is they that finish the battle. When only one shadow remains and there is nothing left to push against but him. Two who brawl despite the uneven ground. Two who propel and do not forget to observe. Two whose only goal is to guard and to sack.