When you go out on to that field it's going to be war.

Hear, O children of striving and of contest, the words of Bruce Grobbelaar, the legendary guardian of the goal: “When you go out on to that field it’s going to be war. Sportsmanship is playing to the best of your abilities and then, afterwards, shaking your opponent’s hand.” In this utterance, he speaks not merely of football, but of the nature of conflict, of honor, and of the balance between ferocity and respect. For the field of play, though bounded by rules, becomes a battlefield of will, and those who step upon it must summon all their strength. Yet the measure of greatness is not only in the struggle but in the grace with which one honors the foe once the contest is done.

The metaphor of war upon the field is ancient. In the stadiums of Greece, wrestlers grappled as though life depended upon victory; in the coliseums of Rome, gladiators clashed under the gaze of thousands. And yet, even in those fierce contests, the ideal of respect endured. For no true victory is complete if it breeds hatred alone. Grobbelaar, a warrior of football in the 1980s and 1990s, understood this truth well: one must fight with all the fire of war, but once the final whistle blows, the enemy is revealed again as a fellow man, deserving of a handshake and respect.

Consider the tale of the 1968 Olympic Games, when sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists in the Black Power salute. Though their act was political, it also embodied the spirit of Grobbelaar’s words. On the track they had run as if at war, giving their all against each other and against the limits of their bodies. But when the race was over, they joined hands not only with one another but with Australian runner Peter Norman, who stood in solidarity. It showed that sportsmanship transcends competition—it binds even rivals in shared humanity.

In Grobbelaar’s own career, he was known for his fierce competitiveness, his daring saves, and his eccentric style, especially in the 1984 European Cup final where his famous “spaghetti legs” unsettled Roma’s penalty takers. That night was indeed a battle, a clash of nerves, strength, and cunning. Yet when the match was over, there was no gloating, no dishonor—only the recognition of a fight well fought. In this, he embodied his own teaching: give everything in battle, but when the battle ends, let respect reign.

The wisdom here applies not only to sport but to life itself. For in our careers, our debates, our personal struggles, we too find ourselves upon fields of war. To give less than our best is to dishonor ourselves, but to carry bitterness beyond the contest is to dishonor others. True greatness lies in balance: ferocity in striving, humility in victory, and dignity in defeat. To shake the hand of the one who opposed you is to confess that, without their struggle, your own triumph would have been lesser.

The lesson, therefore, is twofold: First, embrace the war of effort—step into every challenge as if it were a battlefield, demanding your fullest measure of strength, courage, and skill. Second, embrace the sportsmanship of peace—when the contest is over, honor your opponent, for he has been your teacher as much as your foe. Without rivals, there is no excellence; without respect, there is no honor.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, take Grobbelaar’s words as a guide. Whatever your field—be it sport, work, or life itself—fight with all your might while the contest endures. But when it ends, release your anger, extend your hand, and honor the bond that struggle forges between souls. For in the end, it is not only victory that crowns you, but the dignity with which you treat those who stood against you.