Part of my job leading the line for Watford is to occupy

Hear the words of Troy Deeney, warrior of the football field and captain of men, who declared: “Part of my job leading the line for Watford is to occupy centre-halves – by that I mean those battles with Huth, say, to try to win headers when the ball is played forward. But I also look to bring centre-halves out of position to the flanks and make space for my team-mates in the middle.” In this saying, though it speaks of football, lies the ancient wisdom of sacrifice, of leadership, and of service to others. For the striker’s duty is not only glory in goals, but labor unseen—battles fought in silence, to open the way for his companions.

For what does it mean to occupy centre-halves? It is to grapple with the giants of defense, to endure their strength and cunning, to be bruised in body yet unbroken in spirit. It is to stand as a shield for one’s team, absorbing the fury of defenders so that others may move freely. This is no small labor, for the striker is judged by goals, yet his unseen victories—the flicked header, the dragged marker, the space created—are the foundation upon which the team’s triumph rests. Deeney, in his wisdom, speaks to us of a truth greater than sport: that the one who leads must sometimes suffer so that others may succeed.

Consider the names he invokes—Robert Huth, a defender renowned for his strength and fearlessness. Against such men, the battle is not of one moment but of ninety minutes, each duel a test of resilience. Deeney’s words remind us that greatness is not found in avoiding conflict, but in embracing it. By choosing to wrestle with the fiercest defenders, he carries the burden of the team upon his shoulders, freeing others to strike at the heart of the opposition. This is the labor of the leader: to take upon himself the hardest battles, so that his brothers may find victory.

History itself offers echoes of this truth. In war, the vanguard—the warriors at the front—endured the fiercest blows, not always for their own glory, but to break the enemy’s line and make way for those behind. In politics, reformers often bore ridicule and exile so that later generations might inherit freedom. In science, pioneers faced scorn and danger to expand the boundaries of knowledge. So too, in the smaller but no less noble theater of sport, Deeney shows that true leadership is to fight the hardest duels, not for oneself, but for the team.

When he speaks of making space for team-mates, he reveals the hidden essence of cooperation. Alone, even the greatest striker can be neutralized. But by pulling defenders from their fortress, he opens paths for others to exploit. This is strategy, foresight, and humility—the acknowledgment that victory is not the work of one hero, but of many hearts working as one. The leader’s greatness lies not in hoarding glory, but in creating it for others.

The lesson, O seeker, is this: in your own battles—whether in work, in family, in community—learn to bear the weight so others may thrive. Do not chase recognition alone, but consider how your labor creates opportunities for others. Be willing to fight the strong, to endure hardship, so that those beside you may flourish. For in this, you become more than a worker—you become a leader, a servant, and a builder of victories greater than yourself.

Therefore, let Deeney’s words ring as a teaching: leadership is sacrifice, strategy, and service. Whether on the football field or in the struggles of life, the one who leads must not only seek his own triumph, but also carve paths for others to shine. For when the team rises, the leader’s name is carried upward with them, not as one who sought his own glory, but as one who gave it away, and in doing so, became immortal.